A Different Kind of Loss

The comments on Mel’s Cold Peace post have struck a chord with me. “Wait!” you may be thinking, “dspence hasn’t experienced pregnancy loss!” And you would be right. But the comments have me thinking about loss and our children.

Specifically, the children we have from previous relationships.

When I married Little K’s father, I had dreams for our life together. It would be both true and a massive understatement to say that things did not work out like I planned.

By the time everything blew apart (and oh, how it blew apart…), all I wanted was to be away from him. But I will never be away from him, at least, not fully.

Because we have a child together, our lives will forever be connected.

Do I wish I had never married him?

Do I wish I had never had children with him?

These are questions that are impossible to answer. Little K is the most wonderful thing in my world. She is smart, precocious, sweet, strong-willed, musical, loving, and outgoing in a way that I have never been. Don’t get me wrong, she is also blunt, argumentative, non-compliant, and frustrating. But that’s because she is a child and still learning.

But she is perfect and she is mine. I wouldn’t trade her –this specific child- for anything. I do believe I have the daughter I was meant to have and that she has the mother who was meant for her.

I look at my life now and know that I would not have it if not for Little K. It was her father’s actions during the first year of Little K’s life that finally caused me to take steps to leave him. It was Little K’s need for a defender and protector that made me shake off my tolerance. It was Little K’s very existence that caused R to propose. It was Little K’s need for a stable and loving home that taught me how to be a Godly wife. By being Little K’s mother, I have become strong, patient, and kind.

Being her mother –this specific child’s mother- has made me a better person.

There are times I do mourn. I mourn my naivety. I mourn my actions during my first marriage. I mourn the fact that I am a divorcee. I mourn the fact that this situation has hurt Little K. I mourn the fact that I am now in the position of not having more children.

But I can’t just say “I wish I had never married him” or “I wish I had never had a child with him” because then I wouldn’t have her.

And I am so thankful that she –this specific child- is mine.

Silence

I arrived at 7:31 AM this morning, but the elevator was still locked. I joined eight other women and one man by the elevator, waiting for the keypad to blink, announcing that we were open for business. I glance around the group of women, all avoiding eye contact with each other. The thought crosses my mind to break the silence, but instead I pull out my phone and check email. If they want to remain anonymous, I will let them.

I enter the clinic at 7:35, add my name to the sign-in sheet, and have a seat. Glancing around the room, I see that each woman has taken a seat away from everyone else. Somehow, with only 10 bodies, we have filled the entire waiting room. Some read, others play with their phones, and the only break from silence is the nurse calling us back.

I am finally shown to a room by my least favorite nurse at 7:52. I am already heading to the restroom when she asks me if I need to use it. Yes, I think, I know the drill. Instead I nod my affirmative and let myself in.

As I sit down, I notice that the woman on the other side of the door has left her pants, shoes, and jacket in the room. I remember those boots from the waiting room, camel-colored Uggs with fleece lining. There were two women with those shoes, one my age and the other slightly older. “I wonder which one,” I think.

As I wash my hands, I think about that woman. About how she gets the chance to become pregnant and how I’m jealous. “Donor hormones are kicking in again,” I think. As I fold my pants and hide my panties, I wonder about whether or not to try this cycle. “R’s sperm count was never verified after his vasectomy and maybe this is the cycle…”

I pull the paper sheet over my lap and take out my phone, figuring I’ll read a few blogs as I wait. I hear a noise and think it’s my doctor coming in, but it is the restroom door locking. Then a gulping noise and the tears start. I hear her sobbing and pulling paper towels out of the holder. I want so badly to knock on the door, to offer her a hug and to hold her. I don’t want her to be alone.

Just a minute later, my doctor comes in and invites me to lie back as she readies the wand. She asks me about my upcoming weekend as we both pretend not to hear the woman crying on the other side of the wall. I put my feet in the stirrups and pray that she doesn’t have to go to work, that she can just head home.

By the time I make it to the lab, there are no Uggs. She has already left and I have no way to find her.

Whoever you are, I am praying for you. I hope you are not alone today. I hope the next one works.

Cycle Day: 10

Estrogen: 1500

Follicle Measurements: 10m to 12m range

Dosage: 150 Follistim, 1 vial Menopur, 1 Ganirelix pre-filled syringe

Estimate retrieval date: CD15

Baby Crazy (1=least, 10=most): 5