Being at Fault

So the waiting is nearly over. The threat of what may come looms before me, and I cower in its shadow.

What if it happens again? What if I do something wrong? Did I do something wrong before?

The answer to the last one is emphatically no, even though I keep wondering if I could have done something differently. Like in that one day that the egg decided to implant, if I ate something or did something that caused it to stop growing. But when was that? Well, it was on Christmas. Which means I wasn't drinking alcohol, or caffeine, and I was eating plenty of food. I indulged in some sugar-free chocolates, but I was assured by my doctor that unless I was smoking crack (those were her exact words) it was unlikely I had been able to do anything to hurt the embryo.

I took some Dramamine on the way home, because the motion sickness I had on the plane was the worst thing I have ever experienced. The medicine hardly made a dent in it, probably because the problem wasn't based in my ears, but actually in my stomach. I had a Diet Coke in the airport, along with some carb-loaded Chinese food (it's all I wanted to eat and oddly enough, it settled my stomach). After I got home, I began taking magnesium citrate again, because I was under the impression that magnesium in a powdered state was easier to absorb and an essential vitamin I had been lacking. It can actually be dangerous to a pregnancy, but not in the way of stopping development. It has more to do with causing abdominal cramps which can in turn cause uterine contractions. Red raspberry leaf tea, which I was occasionally drinking, can also cause uterine contractions, but again, not something that would have affected my particular problem. So unless the mixture of Dramamine, Diet Coke and whatever was in the chinese food was a toxic timebomb, there really was nothing I could have done differently to affect the outcome of that pregnancy.

It's hard to say if that makes me feel better or worse. I like to know that, in some respects, I am in control. I had been taking prenatal vitamins since mid November, along with the required fish oil and extra calcium. I gave up caffeine starting earlier in the month, but continued with caffeine free diet sodas until I got the positive test at the end of December. So other than the artificial sweeteners, which I can do without if I must, there really isn't anything that I need to change about my routine. That bothers me too, because part of me wants to say, well, if it didn't work last time, who's to say it will work this time? Should I keep taking the vitamins? I know that doesn't make any sense, but it's the same tortured pattern finding logic that people use to make all kinds of wrong observations about the world. It's a misuse of an instinctive skill that once served our species when we lived in less complicated times.

So I look at the vitamins with the baby on the label and I cringe. I look at the pregnancy tea in the cupboard that seemed to work so well last time, and my heart is sad. Why do I even want to do this to myself? It feels like a setup for more misery. It's that pattern finding again. I just assume that next time will end in a similar way, because I have no other basis for comparison. There's about a week left before I have the possibility of ovulating and I'm just not sure that being courageous enough to try is going to be in the cards for me this time. I really am terrified that something else is going to go wrong.

There is really no guarantee that it will ever work, no matter how many assurances people make. On the other hand, the longer I wait, the less chances I will have. The older I am, the greater the chances will be that the egg that does develop may have something wrong with it, so much so that I might rethink my desire to have that child at all. The logic and the math says that I should begin immediately, but my heart doesn't feel like it's ready to be broken again. But can anyone ever be ready for something like that? Is it worth it?

I know in my own life, trusting someone enough to let myself fall in love with him was worth it. It was difficult to reconcile, and took a lot of soul searching, but it was worth it. Anyone who has children says that the trials are worth it, but I'm not looking at the end result anymore, since there is no guarantee. I'm looking at the trial itself, not just the physical symptoms that I know I will have, the discomfort and emotional changes, but the apparent need for courage and strength that I am being required to show if I enter such trials again. Everything is so much more complicated now. It's not baby booties and strollers and savings accounts and college funds, it's blood hormone levels and ultrasounds and watching for every little possible spot of discharge. The magic is gone - it's not joyous, it's filled with terror and anxiety. And even if the child comes to term, there is still no concrete evidence that it will survive for any length of time. There are stillbirths every day. Young children die of diseases and accidents every day.

Perhaps the problem then is that no matter how hard one tries, no matter what is done right or what god or gods are thought to be on one's side, life truly has no guarantees except that it begins and it ends. That is the most terrifying lesson that I am taking away from this experience. Everything that people do is completely reliant on taking a chance, on gambling to see if that chance will work out. And the life of a child, or even the potential for that life, seems like something too cruel to gamble with. Is it better to alleviate that suffering by never allowing it happen at all, or is it better to take the chance, knowing that life is not without risk?

Today, in this moment, I can clearly say that I don't know.