It's Complicated

I had my 23 week OB-GYN appointment yesterday.  Although I look like a first time mom to others riding the elevator up to the doctor's office, what people don't know is that I am not.  I politely smile at the strangers who comment "Oh, how wonderful.  How far along are you?"  I answer with politeness and silently pray they don't ask "Is this your first?"  Certainly not because I want to deny Larissa's existence, but because it is complicated.  Especially in an elevator ride...with the impending silence that follows after the casual acquaintance learns that our daughter was stillborn at 40 weeks gestation.  Typically, the stranger sighs and has a look of such shock and pity on their face, followed by that lingering silence. This is then followed by an uncomfortable air, while both of us are silently praying for the elevator ride to end.  The innocent question of "How many children do you have?" has lost it's innocence for us.  Larissa will always be our firstborn and we will never deny her, no matter how uncomfortable the person asking the question may be. 

Sometimes, I ride the elevator up to the office alone and I am grateful for that, but again it is complicated.  Especially this time of year.  I press that button to go to the familiar OB-GYN office, and am reminded of last year at this time when I was ready to deliver our precious daughter.  I am overwhelmed with flashbacks of how I felt this time last year.  I was nervous (of course, aren't all first-time moms?), but most of all I was so very excited.  I couldn't wait to meet our little one and learn his or her gender.  So many little things remind me of that time; the nip in the air, driving to the doctor's office, the leaves falling off of the trees, even different smells (such as the smell in the lobby/elevator of the doctor's office).  This time of year will always remind me of our precious daughter Larissa and will never be the same for us again.  Thanksgiving, which was once my favorite holiday, will be filled once again with sadness and longing for what we have lost.  However, this year,  I will also feel some hope and thankfulness for the little life which is growing inside of me.  

My regular OB won't be in the office until early January, and therefore, my appointment was with another doctor in the group.  She provided me with many words of comfort, however, after a full-term loss any comfort I feel towards this current pregnancy is quickly replaced with fear and anxiety.  After all, I know all too well what a difference a day makes.  Sure, my OB reassures me that I will be closely monitored in the upcoming months and she assured me she has never had a mom endure more than one stillbirth in her entire 22 year career.  One would think that would be great news to me, but I couldn't help but think "great, so if it happens again, I am yet another statistic."  That's trauma for you.  It forever plays mind games and stays with you forever, creeping up on you at the most inopportune times.  

My OB also asked if I'm feeling movement yet.  I am, and I am so very grateful for each and every flutter, kick and flip my little one does for me, letting me know he/she is okay.  But once again, it's complicated.  When my baby is moving, I marvel at my belly with the life growing inside.  But when that movement stops, all I wonder is "Please don't have died."  I even get scared when my baby gives me a good kick, worried that he/she is in distress.  I recognize the baby needs to sleep, as my OB even joked to me about (saying when this child is born he/she is going to be up all through the night from my constant poking and prodding).  However, I need to know my baby is okay.  To not feel movement, brings back the extreme fear of when I no longer felt Larissa move.  I try to convince myself it won't happen again, but it has already happened once, and doesn't every pregnant mom think "It will never happen to me."  

So, needless to say, subsequent pregnancy after a tragic loss is complicated.  When first time moms look at me with their glow and excitement, I get sad, recalling how that was once me.  But you see, a pregnancy after stillbirth, is filled with frequent fear and anxiety.  There's no such thing as nesting in a subsequent pregnancy as one would rather not be prepared.  We know all too well what it is like to come home to a houseful of reminders of what should have been.  So, when I see first, second or third time moms out shopping and buying for their little one, I cannot help but feel envy.  Envy for their innocence and confidence that will all go well. Envy and sadness, knowing that I am in a minority and that yes, all will most likely go well for each of the strangers I see.  Envy and sadness for what they have and for what I have forever lost.