Rubbernecking at 34+6

Disclaimer: This entry may not be so friendly to the non-baby loss Mama’s in my life. This is something a lot of BLM’s endure and I hope you can understand that. This post is not about those whom genuinely love us and support us, we know who you are and are ever grateful for you.  Nor is it about the fact I am a blogger, I never write anything here I would not want seen publicly.

I am 34+6 today.  Yup.  Here it is.  Ava died on 34+6.  If we make it, every day after today will be the furthest we have ever been.  This extremely high risk, life threatening pregnancy just took the pressure up another few notches.

I go to Doctors appointments, midwife appointments, ultrasounds and blood labs each and every week.  Every single time the medical professionals assure me I will freak out, I will fall apart, I will loose my mind and beg God for mercy before this is done.  Almost as if they are willing it so. They tell me they have seen it before and that I must remain calm as they nod with an all knowing smugness that they are wise in the ways of loss.

Our friends and family do the same.  All eyes are on us, the phone rings constantly and emails stream in.  All with the same message.  Are you okay? Are you freaking out yet? How are you managing? How do you feel today?  You can freak out, it is okay.  I am here if you need to scream, cry and let all the crazy out.

It feels like rubbernecking on the highway, our life has become a horrific accident for all to see. Everyone is lining up now, some out of true compassion, love and caring and some out of morbid curiosity. Suddenly the traffic has slowed and everyone is taking a moment to gawk at the freak family whose entire world was shattered moments before. Don’t think the family on the side of the highway doesn’t see you gawking because we do.  

What I find odd is everyone is waiting for me to scream, loose my sanity and beg for mercy but hardly anyone is crediting the fact I am not.  No I am not loosing my mind.  Neither is Matthew.   No, I will not break down and cry in your living room, doctors office or ultrasound room so you can be the person to assure the Mom with one dead baby and another on the way that all will be well.  You do not actually know that.  Your words will not comfort me.  Further to, this is not about you.  Our Beta, our Ava and our life are not your entertainment news. Why shouldn’t a Mama be given as much credit for managing the extraordinary stress of life threatening pregnancy as she would be given for if she let it consume her?  I simply do not understand it.  Why would you want me to fall apart?

I am not made of stone. Of course I break down.  I cry, I stress, I pray and allow the fear to overwhelm me.   My Matthew is my main source of strength in those moments.  We hold onto each other, as if in the midst of a hurricane and simply pray it ends soon.  We also have a very small, core group of people whom we let in at those dark hours. I journal, meditate and listen to my body each and every single day.  Matthew has his projects, we have our coping mechanisms.  We survive.  We continue to survive.  

The reality is, we feel very good for being at 34+6.  We knew it was coming and have spent the last year of our lives preparing for this day.  We have no idea what will happen next, if and when HELLP will strike or if our daughter will survive.  We love each other and are grateful to still be here together, still alive together and we pray and hope against all else that we get to bring our second daughter home with us.

Today, on the day where all things change in this pregnancy, I want to take a moment for all the  BLM’s whom have crossed the boundary into the unknown as terrified as we are.   Thank you for being there for us, thank you for giving us hope.  I know the next 3 weeks will be harrowing and I am grateful to have you on this journey with us.