Welcome to the Baby Stakes

My husband and I are ready to have a baby, ready being the operative word. Based on what I've seen my friends go through, I don't think any one's ever "ready" to have a baby. But, we're ready to fall into the parent trap and I think I'm ready to join that secret society known as Motherhood.



The thing is, it's not that easy.



In October, I miscarried our first pregnancy. It was one of the most terrible experiences of my life. I felt genuine grief and rage and disappointment and heartache. And the worst part was, it was all top secret. It was only about 6 weeks along and so we didn't tell our friends, colleagues or family. It was a secret grief. A lonely grief and a burden I shouldered with much more difficulty than my husband.



I felt somehow responsible. And I hated that word miscarried. I didn't miscarry it at all, I carried it with all the love and hope and anticipation I could muster, but it just went away.



In the end, I told my mum. I had to, since my husband was off on a golf trip the day all the blood and cramping and clotting and sadness started to come out. Mum was patient with me, but firm too. She reminded me that it's happened to most women and that it could be worse. Someone could have died.

For a while after that, I think I lost my mind. I tried and tried to fall pregnant that next month and when it didn't happen I went into shock. After a while I calmed down, I'm a teacher and the school year was drawing to a close. Things got busy and I stopped stressing about falling pregnant... another stupid expression. Why do we fall pregnant?

So then in November I fell again. I waited about four and a half weeks before I did a home pregnancy test. It came out positive and at that exact moment the worry set in. Would I lose this one too? Miscarry it, mis-place it?

Things were going fine, although I was paranoid. Then on New Year's Eve, when I was away on holiday with some friends, I started spotting. It was exactly like the last time. I even had the same sinking feeling of terror. I went up to the Emergency room at the hospital. They did an ultrasound which showed nothing. Then they took some blood. I went back later to collect the results and was told "Good News - your pregnancy hormone level is high."

It was a Crappy New Year, not a happy one. I was stressed and away from home and expecting the cramping to return like last time. In my mind, I decided things were over. There was no baby - just another awful miscarriage. I promised myself I would survive and that I wouldn't cry. But I did cry a little, when I rang and told my Mum.

I continued my New Year's holiday, travelling around with my husband and visiting friends. I plastered a pretend smile on my face and feigned interest in menus and tourist sights. I went to the toilet continually. I dreaded falling asleep, expecting the pain.

Days passed. One, two, three, five, seven. Just spotting. No cramps. No clots. My breasts continued to feel tender and sore to the touch. Occasionally I felt nauseous and came close to vomitting. Food was of little interest. I was often tired.

I made an appointment to see my doctor as soon as I got home. Of course it was the weekend. Wait. wait.

I saw him today. I waited thirty anxious minutes in the waiting room, scratching at my excema that has decided to inflame with my rising worry. I showed him my results from the Emergency Room blood test and told him of the spotting. I wished for a miracle.

"Blood test," he said. "Simple as that. One today and one in a few days."

"Should we be concerned about the spotting?" My husband asked.

"Well it could be a normal pregnancy. It could be a miscarriage. We'll get the blood results back before we go looking around for a sac."

And that was that. Probably not even seven minutes. I don't know what upsets me more. The constant spotting, the impersonal consult, the expression 'looking around for a sac'.

And so here I am, blogging in secret. Not even telling my husband. Hoping that someone else out there might read this and reassure me. Hoping that... that what? Hoping that something good might happen - one way or another. I'm disappointed in myself. I'd given up on this pregnancy, had stopped feeling hopeful. And now, because of time and symptoms, the hope has crept back.

In my experience hope is a dangerous thing.