Two weeks away from writing our story, and I am already struggling with where and how to pick it back up. Let’s just resume with our theme of pregnancy woes and golf Majors. Although our response to seeing a positive pregnancy test, after so much heart ache, was incredibly anticlimactic, we started to flirt with the idea that our rainbow baby was nestling in as the US Open wore on. Adam went and played as normal that week while I walked with our caddy’s fiancé, desperately wanting to tell her what transpired at the rental house a few days earlier but being too terrified that I would “jinx” it. Instead, I chatted with Adam each evening about the wild ride we had been on and how it felt like some sort of heavenly redemption was unfolding to make up for the previous traumatizing events at the Masters. We became cautiously but increasingly more excited as the week wore on, and I caught myself daydreaming about due dates and baby names. Also, completely characteristically, I ran out and grabbed a million more tests and marveled at them as they got darker each day. It was really happening. Our rainbow baby was coming.
Fast forward a couple months and it was time for my first prenatal appointment which included an ultrasound to check on how things were progressing. I sat in the room with the same nurse practitioner who had been with us through our first unfortunate pregnancy experience, and we went through the standard questions and exam. She was so excited for us and so sure that this pregnancy was going to go all the way. So sure, in fact, that it leads me to the next big moment in our story that is seared in my memory forever. As I expressed my anxiety about getting too excited because of what happened with the last pregnancy, she listened and reassured me, and as we walked down to the ultrasound room she said, “I have a good feeling about this. Lightning doesn’t strike twice”. I don’t know why, but as soon as she said it, I felt sheer panic. Maybe I felt like she just jinxed it, maybe it was my self-conscience prepping me, I’m not sure, but whatever it was, the ultrasound began and within 10 seconds lighting had struck again. I stared at a screen that I did not need anyone to decipher for me. There was a teeny little baby with no pulsing heartbeat. The room went completely silent and then the gentle “I’m so sorry, I’m not seeing a heartbeat” broke the silence. I was once again dumbfounded and suspended in time. Despite my anxiety and reservations, I did not expect things to end so abruptly but then again, I don’t think anyone ever does. Plans were made, and I robotically stared at the wall while they finished things up. I slipped out the back door as quickly as I could and sent a “call me when you can” text to Adam who was out of town anxiously awaiting the cute ultrasound photos.
That second loss so soon after the first absolutely broke me. Not only was I miserably sad and on a hormonal rollercoaster from two back to back pregnancies, but I was furious. I was mad at myself for believing we were about to get our rainbow after all of the infertility trauma the last couple years. I was mad at all of the innocent and jovial social media posts about how hard “mom life” is. I was mad that people, who admittedly had no idea what we were going through, continued to message me about menial topics such as golf, travel, Netflix shows, etc. You name it, and I was probably mad about it. Although I was internally losing my mind with sadness, anger, and the whole gamut that comes with loss and infertility, I trudged on. I put on a brave face and went back out on the road while once again keeping everything incredibly private. The first tournament back out for me was yet another golf Major and another forgettable week. This time there were no pregnancy related surprises, but there was a lot of room service, a lot of never stepping foot on the course, and a lot of the darkest and rawest grief yet. When we left that week, I told Adam on the way home that something had to change. I told him that we needed a break from the infertility unease and devastating loss that had consumed our last couple years. We agreed that we were going to take the next six months and actively try not to get pregnant. Cliché as it may sound, the next six months I finally took time to just breath. I took the time to enjoy everything that was truly so great in our life, and I actively made an effort to let go of the anger I had towards all things pregnancy and baby related. I slowly began to feel the weight lifting, and I began to feel like myself for the first time in a very long time. If you are thinking this is the moment in our story where things really turn around and we are about to catch a break it’s not, but we are sure getting closer.
To Be Continued.
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