Health knowledge made personal
Join this community!
› Share page:
Go
Search posts:

I was pregnant...for like, 30 seconds.

Posted Apr 25 2013 12:03am

Today we are going to talk about my uterus. There will be much TMI. This is a rare moment on the blog because nothing skeeves me out more than talking about the crap that comes out of or goes into one’s vargeena.

But stuff happened. Stuff that went into my Ute and then stuff that came out. Stuff that made me happy and then stuff that made me sad. Stuff that first resulted in no clean up and then resulted in a big ol’ mess.

Look, I told you there would be TMI. You had your chance to turn back waaaaaay up there in sentence number two. But ooooh nooooo. You saw talk of lady bits and you just HAD to hang around.

Perv.

Anyway.

This is my uterus.

She is mostly healthy.

She gets a lil cyst on her ovaries once in awhile.

That made it hard to lose weight and made me feel like crap at times. I was told that this could result in fertility issues. But you know, we all have our ‘issues’. I can’t expect my uterus to be on top of her game all the time.

And her cervix has been through some tough times.
But I can’t blame the uterus for having a shitty roommate, can I? That’s not fair.

All in all, she’s had a pretty good run. We work well together. I know when she’s gonna do what she do; and she knows not to mess with that cycle. I show my gratitude by not screwing up her hormones with birth control pills.

We went through a rough patch somewhere between puberty and late 80’s/early 90’s feminine protection (thank god for black stretch pants and Midol). But once we hit the end of those tumultuous years, we were totally on the same page. After all, any partnership must allow for some growing pains.

Many years pass with not much of anything to note. She does her thing, I do mine. Then in 2007, the husband and I decide that we are ready for a baby. The Ute and I reviewed the calendar and acted accordingly. She did all the right things: released an egg, baked the egg, housed the egg - and then my body was all ‘Screw this. I soooo did not agree to any kids. What the hell, Ute?’ and my body promptly started to develop pre-eclampsia. My doctor induced me, broke my water with what can only be described as the Devil’s knitting needle and then, as if none of that was traumatic enough to the poor Ute, then my kid took her first dump before she ever left her temporary lodging.

Oh...the Ute was pissed.
And in true feminine fashion, she showed her annoyance in small, passive aggressive ways. Ways like
  • clinging to parts of the placenta, causing the need for it to be cut out
  • gigantic, ninja post-birth clots. 
    • me: oh yay! postpartum bleeding is over!
      ute: psssh bitch please ::12 hours later:: Tsunami-style bloodbath in yo pants, bitch!
  • ermahgerd the cramps. Who installed barbed wire in my fallopian tubes?
  • calendar? what calendar? Surprise! Here’s your party favor, a tampon that will do you no fucking good.
  • oh what nice white sheets you have...go ahead, go to sleep. There won’t be a giant, ass-shaped red stain there in the morning. ::snicker::
  • sexy time? how about ‘watch the disappointment wash across your husband’s face’ time?
She was annoyed, I get it. And like any feminine creature, you have to let them work it out in their time and in their own way. 
Finally after 3-ish years, things started to return to our normal, peaceful state. Then the Ute got lonely. She missed having a project to work on. Screwing with me wasn't as fulfilling as it used to be. And truth be told, I was feeling it too. We were frenimies who had lost their common cause. We had grown tired of trying to best each other and we were finally ready to work together again.
But much like any cooperative arrangement, time, budgets and circumstances would not allow for us to pursue any new projects. So we sat back and watched while others announced, gave birth to, and cradled new babies. The Ute and I had many quiet moments of reflection, wondering if and when it would happen for us again. We cried together, hoped together, ached together and we were just together...as we had always been. It was in those days that I was never sure what suffered worse - my heart or my ever-empty associate.
Just as we had both grown accustomed to the idea of more waiting...and quite possibly never moving forward, something happened. We got this: I had been clueless to the secret that my Ute had been hiding from me. Lately, the days come and go with nary a glance at the calendar. And it wasn’t until I noticed the date on the calendar that I became aware of this secret. Then for nearly 48 hours we were allowed to linger in the joy, the exhilarating fear, the hope, and the idea of what could be.
I felt the push and pull of happiness and guilt. Happiness for happening upon a pregnancy that, while far ahead of schedule, would fit into our lives just fine. Guilt for lamenting over ruined summer plans of climbing walls and jumping over fire in obstacle races. Happiness in delighting our daughter with the news of a much coveted brother or sister. Guilt for having waited so long and how hard the adjustment might be on our daughter - despite her excitement.
And then it was gone. 
The spotting started. Then a smear of blood. By the third day, there was no mistaking that this was not meant to be. This was a chemical pregnancy.
After 3 positive tests, there was no denying that for a brief moment, I was pregnant. But it was never a baby. It was merely an idea. Hopes and fantasies about how we’d like our life to be. 
We didn’t even have a chance to give it a nickname.
And for as sad as I am about this; I’m equally, if not more so, okay with it. I’m an emotional person but my logical brain will always win out. We weren’t even trying. And even though this was a happy ‘oops’; we weren’t exactly ready. There is also a biological reason that my Ute let this go. Something wasn’t right and my body simply would not hold onto this clump of cells any longer than was necessary. Maybe the Ute fell asleep on the job...I don’t know. 
I won’t wax poetic or pretend to be sad about losing a ‘baby’ - because a baby it was not. But I will mourn the letting go of an idea, some hope, and certainly a lot of excitement. I am sad about those things. These are not things that are easily put to rest.
But the Ute and I, we are resilient creatures. We will have our moment, flush out the bad, and begin again. So please, don’t tell me you are sorry for my loss. We have not lost anything. We will try again...when we are ready. I am disappointed but not discouraged. The Ute and I are stuck together for a long time to come. Surely we’ll come to an agreement on this project at some point.
If not, I’ll get that bitch yanked out and get a dog.

Post a comment
Write a comment:

Related Searches