I remember when my Mom was pregnant with my youngest sister.
I was nine and the thrill of having a baby sibling was almost more than I could bear. From the moment I knew, I could hardly contain my excitement as I waited to find out whether I was going to have a baby brother or sister. I wanted to find out right away. I wanted to hold her right away. I bragged to my friends and then I waited. Pregnancy took way too long.
From that point on, I was sure that actually being pregnant would be torture. And I don’t mean the morning sickness, back pain, sore hips, itchy skin sort of torture. I just meant that it would be excruciating to wait nine months for the baby to be born.
But as soon as my body started sprouting my little bundle of joy, I found myself drenched in patience. Waiting was so beautiful as I relished each new joyful experience while I started to get to know my son and journey into motherhood. I didn’t need to know the gender, I wasn’t rushing delivery, and I often found myself wishing for more time pregnant instead of less. Being pregnant was such a gift I didn’t need to rush through it. I waited. It was a beautiful wait.
Waiting takes on a new meaning now.
Waiting for blood tests. Waiting for answers. Waiting to get pregnant. Waiting to see if the pregnancy will stick. Waiting to grow my family.
I’m trapped in a cycle of waiting. It is perpetually cyclical. Repeating steps I never wanted to take. Home pregnancy test – Positive. Joy bursting. Hope wary. Dreams dashed. Blood flows. Heart broken. Pricked arm. No reasons. Bad luck. Just wait. Try again. Again. Trapped. Again.
This is a waiting I don’t enjoy. A slow trod from drugstore to doctor’s to clinic to doctor’s. It isn’t the innocent peaceful anticipation of waiting for a new child. Instead, it is hoping for a miracle.
Praying for patience.
I went to my doctor’s office yesterday to move this process forward. My miscarriage was confirmed. And I was given a promise of more tests. Blood work to start. “This is probably just really bad luck” my doctor told me “but we can look into it”.
Bad Luck. Just wait. But just in case…
Just in case – wait. “Wait a few months – if only for your psychological health”.
If only he knew that it was the waiting that is so psychologically draining.
But what else can I do? I’ll wait. Wait for answers. Wait for hope. Wait for another positive pregnancy test. Wait anxiously for any sign of loss. Wait for the moment when I can maybe enjoy the waiting once again, expecting a safe and healthy delivery.
Waiting.
