This is a post I would usually call family and close friends about first. If you are among that number and become offended after reading this that you are reading the news instead of hearing it, I’m sorry; I just didn’t have it in me to call anyone. In fact, I only called my mother and my mother-in-law.
Sunday night, we had a positive home pregnancy test. Monday morning, I went in for blood work at the specialist’s office. The results showed a faint positive, with the progesterone and hcg levels extremely low unless we were extremely early in the pregnancy (realistically, both numbers should have been at least 5 times higher than they were). The repeat hcg level on Wednesday showed that it had dropped (in half) from Monday instead of doubling. The repeat blood work was unnecessary: by Tuesday I was cramping and by Wednesday I had started bleeding. It was too early to do a d&c, which means there is no pathology to perform. Next Wednesday, I go back for another blood draw to ensure that the hcg level has dropped back to zero, and then I will go in for a follow-up with the doctor.
I am so tired – tired of the process; tired of the loss; tired of knowing that every time I think the depths of my disappointment have been exhausted, there is some new and horrifying loss to prove me wrong. It is beyond bleak to realize that, with the exception of our first pregnancy, we have never made it past week six, which makes pathology impossible/futile. It is a wordless frustration to know that in six pregnancies, I have accumulated less than a trimester in total actual weeks pregnant. I am tired of hope and the certain disappointment that will follow; I am tired of feeling ridiculous for hoping that somehow each new pregnancy will follow a different route than the previous ones. I am tired of the disappointment each loss causes my husband and my family and the friends who have buoyed me through the last several years.
It would be so much easier to know, to have a definitive answer. It would be a relief to know that either way, I wouldn’t have to have another miscarriage. Regardless of the anticipated reward for doing so, it does feel remarkably good to quit beating one’s head against the proverbial brick wall. That said, I don’t know if this is the time to beg God for a reprieve or not. Jacob wrestled the Angel of the Lord and refused to quit until God blessed him and gave him a new name. I don’t know if this situation counts as wrestling with the divine, but if I give up too soon, what will I miss? I am not so laser-focused on having a baby that I think a baby could be the only blessing in this situation. And the new name references in the Bible have always fascinated me – what beautiful name might I miss if I quit wrestling now? In my heart I want to ask, “How much more of this can I take?” But the millisecond I ask, I already know God’s answer: “As much as I give you.” My human being wishes there were another answer; my eternal being glories in the knowledge of God’s abiding peace.