8-11-09
Ah dreams. The playground of the unconscious mind. Needless to say, I’ve got a lot of free-range fear roaming around in my subconscious these days. Last night one facet of this dark diamond came out to play: I am sitting across the table from a close friend, telling her that I’ve had another miscarriage, my third.
“Well, at least it was pretty good timing. I was starting to eye Lucille Bluth’s martinis a bit too closely as of late,” Dream Me said, forcing a laugh. (We’ve been watching a lot of Arrested Development over the last few weeks, one of my “I’m pregnant, what the hell” purchases. My other AD-related dreams include one where David Cross and I became buddies and have a ball wisecracking and snarking about, and another where Will Arnett and I pal around. Please pardon this second dream digression. Other people’s dreams are about as interesting as…other people’s dreams.)
In my dream, I try to laugh off this miscarriage, performing an ill-considered “the funny thing about miscarriage” monologue while inside I am dying a little more with each lame joke. My friend sits there mute.
Cut to new dream scene where I sit alone, lamenting my membership in the 2% of women who have 3 miscarriages in a row. I am bereft, hopeless. What next? Adoption? Try again? The thought of trying again as I drag through week 15 sounds impossible. The fact that I’ve only been pregnant 15 weeks sounds even more impossible. When I wake up I keep turning this question over in my head. If necessary, could I really do this again?
I tell Mr. Crud of this latest manifestation of one of my greatest pregnancy fear.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” he says.
“I don’t either.” I wish somebody would pep talk my subconscious.
“I really wish my doctor’s appointment hadn’t been cancelled,” I say.
“Me too.”
Monday, yesterday, was supposed to be my first meeting with Dr. Awesome’s replacement while she’s on maternity leave. Dr. Awesome-In-Waiting cancelled due to either illness or being “called to the hill.” I had been anticipating the appointment for weeks, needing a shot of reassurance in the form of hearing Purvis’ heartbeat. Much like my last petit panic, I decided to wait this one out since, again, there’s not really anything that can be done either way. Plus I’m trying to reserve my freak-outs for later in the pregnancy. I don’t want to cash in my chips too soon.
My new favorite fear, third only to miscarriage and genetic abnormalities* is the swine flu. Everyday I ride home from work and am greeted by a new story on NPR detailing how harmful this new flu is to pregnant women and their babies. Fucking great. My miscarriage outrage is renewed. If just one of my previous pregnancies had come to term, we’d have missed the pregnancy-swine flu scare. Then I wonder how soon I can get the shot because oh yes, I will get the shot. I do not buy into the unproven fears that autism has anything to do with vaccinations or thimerosal. I hope the reassuring CDC rep isn’t steering me wrong with her claims that the shot is likely safe for the preg ladies. Or maybe I’ll just lock myself in my room for a few months and cover myself in duct tape. (‘Twas supposed to save us all from a terrorist gas attack, right?)
* I’m starting to lean towards doing amnio but am torn. I want the info, but fear the small chance of miscarriage. Another topic I hope Dr. Awesome-In-Waiting is prepared to tackle when we see her later this week.
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2 comments:
I don't know if this is reassuring or not, but even women who haven't had miscarriages go through a lot of these same fears. I was completely terrified the whole time, imagining every terrifying scenario that could happen. I can only imagine that times ten million if you've had a miscarriage.
Anyway, I'm loving these updates. Know that we're thinking of you (and not stalking you, even though it may appear that way ;)).
The freaky thoughts come so easily, don't they? Even while wide awake, and especially while listening to NPR. You could try my goofy thing I told you about--trying to shift my thoughts to "happy" scenes that are just as compelling as the freaky scenes. It's proved impossible so far, but the meager, clip-art-like "happy-scenes" that my mind conjures are annoying enough to shake me out of the doomsday thoughts.
Ah, well. Just think of when Purvis is here and you can say (with martini in hand of course), "Oh, remember when I worried about swine flu? Oh, ha, ha, ha..."
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