So far, I've mostly written blogs about the early days of loss. If you'll pardon me for stepping out of my pattern, I'd like to fast forward to today. I lost another baby this week, a very early pregnancy. This is always a hard thing, but this one is particularly hard. Almost everyone who loses a baby looks forward to their rainbow, the baby born after the loss. This week, after 13 early pregnancies, the latest at ten weeks and the earliest at just over four, I'm finally facing the apparent fact that my body will not carry another baby. I'll go into some detail at a later date on individual miscarriages.
But for now, I'm just processing the thought that I will not get a rainbow. It's not a pretty thought, but I don't think there's anything we can do about it. Some suggest artificial insemination. What good would that do if my body just won't carry them for whatever reason? Some might suggest adoption. I'll get to that in a later blog post, why that is not likely to happen aside from the expense and our age. I'm nearly forty. My husband is nearly 50. It doesn't even make any sense that we have been trying like we have. But we just felt like there was another one waiting. Now we see that it is not to be. My body just will not do it. I've done the testing, and the doctors come out without any answers for me. I tried some pills I was given to try to keep my next pregnancy, but they did not help.
In the beginning, all I wanted was a warm body to fill my empty, cold arms. I don't think I could have then survived the thought that my arms would remain empty of another baby. Now, I know I will survive. It's been a long journey. I will focus on my gratitude that I have a wonderful husband and two beautiful children I can still hold. That won't make repeat loss any easier nor the fading rainbow in my imagination any less sad. It still hurts. Sometimes, it hurts so badly I still cry like my heart is bursting. I dread the day very soon when I will let my baby clothes and toys I've held onto for all these years go.
But I know that there will come a day when I can hold my babies. I will live for that day, the Second Coming, when I can fill my arms with them again or for the first time, and that reunion will be forever. And it will be very sweet.
