Around 6 or 7 weeks, I started bleeding. It was light to moderate. Pink-tinged. I laid on the bed and cried. I was sure that I was losing this baby. I was not made for this.
The RE’s office said that I could come in for peace of mind if I wanted but as long as it was light and pink-tinged then it should be okay to wait another day until my regular weekly check-up. I waited. And spent an entire day in agony.
The ultrasound showed a subchorionic hemorrhage (a spot of separation of the placenta from the wall). I was put on modified rest and told to call if my bleeding changed. I bled off and on for weeks watching carefully for any color or volume changes. I could feel where the separation was- it was sore and got worse if I walked too much. An ever-present reminder that this pregnancy was fragile.
With the guilt of being pregnant when I shouldn’t be and the pressure to be happy despite all logic, the biggest complication of my pregnancy was antenatal depression. For the life of me, I couldn’t stay joyous. I was burdened with every twinge. I was fatigued from the roller coaster of doctor’s visits. I struggled through every trimester with the painful balance of showing a smile when people congratulated me to crying tears of angst and just wanting to be “done.”
With a 4.5 month old sleeping in the next room, the words echo in my mind. “I was not made for this.” My body is not made to be pregnant. And my husband’s resounding, “but you obviously were.”
Yes, I obviously was meant to carry that baby. Just don’t make me do it again.