When Yes Means No

I’m already a mother. At the tender age of 19, I welcomed my first child into this world. As my son emerged from my body, time itself seemed to stand still. This purplish-blue newborn suddenly laid on my chest, and I completely froze. My heart stopped, and I felt the warmth and heaviness of his little body against mine. I sat still and just took the moment to process the fact that an actual human being had just came out of me. Then, a gentle voice (from either my mother or a nurse. The details are foggy) reminded me that he was my baby. I held him to me and cried with him and almost instinctively brought him to my breast. The moment I became a mother will never leave me. Though details come and go, these moments stay clear like a permanent fixture in my mind.

Fast forward to age 23, and I once again beamed with delight after conceiving my daughter successfully. Bringing her forth proved to be more difficult than my son. Six months and many tears (and pregnancy tests for that matter) later, and I suddenly glowed outwardly with the new life growing inside of me. I can’t explain what it feels like to carry a baby. Even in its earliest stages it feels warm and full. You can almost feel that little life nestling in your womb, despite the fact that science would disagree with that statement. I felt a deep love and attachment to my daughter right away. Call it mother’s instinct, but I even knew deep down she was a girl. Nothing could snuff the moment of joy I felt when I saw that second pink line appear on the pregnancy test.

My pregnancy with my daughter quickly proved difficult. Despite being unable to function, or remain on my feet without the feeling of faintness, doctors ignored me. A simple epidural nearly killed me during labor, which I now know was due to my chronic health conditions. Thankfully, my beautiful baby girl came out plump and healthy. That pregnancy left both my husband and I traumatized, though admittedly he was scarred worse than I was. We both agreed it was best not to plan anymore children, yet deep in my heart I struggle with ending this chapter.

The years passed, and we still left the vasectomy on the back burner. Life is busy, and I still teetered with my emotions regarding another baby. We had a pretty good system for preventing pregnancy, so we both didn’t feel a particular urgency to make a permanent decision. Then, one alcohol-fueled evening changed everything. We both knew we messed up immediately. I even agreed to take a Plan B emergency contraceptive pill, though morally I struggle with accepting it. One pill down the hatch, several prayers up, and a whole lot of finger crossing led to a couple faint pink lines and a “Yes” as clear as day. I was pregnant.

The emotions wafted over me. I cried, my heart raced, and I felt as though I might vomit. My husband was on a trip with his buddies, so I allowed myself a moment alone to let it all sink in. With both of my other children, a pink line equated a baby. I was having a baby. After the tears and fears subsided, I finally let it hit me deep in my gut. I would go through yet another trial as all the mothers before me had. I could do this. I could handle another baby. It was going to be OK. I immediately contacted my wonderful cardiologist and discussed a game plan for my health and safety. This was going to be fine. I couldn’t hold in the news a moment longer, and called my husband to let him know. He was always the first person to soothe me when something was difficult, but this time was different.

“Honey, I’m pregnant.” I announced over the phone. The line went stark silent. “Hun? Hello? Are you there?” I asked.

Suddenly he spoke, “Are you sure?”

I was absolutely sure. Multiple tests don’t lie. To my dismay, he panicked. “No, no, no, no, no!” he exclaimed. “You can’t be pregnant! I can’t lose you! You’re already sick, this will kill you!” he shouted in protest.

I just cried and cried. The call ended and I sat with my emotions. How could he be so cold? How could he not feel any joy for the life we started? I could already feel me growing attached to the warmth inside my womb, and dare I say it, I was maybe even a bit excited. Things were no different once my husband had come home. He was cold and distant. He cried and cursed often. How could he be so dramatic and cruel? I tried to reassure him, but he wouldn’t have it. He finally explained why he was so scared. Apparently, when they gave me the epidural with my daughter, he saw my life flash in front of him. My blood pressure dropped, my heart slowed, the doctor pushed epinephrine into my veins, and the crash cart was prepared. My husband was terrified. The thought of another baby, just put him right back in that moment over and over again. I understood, but the fact was this was already happening. I refused to abort, and my cardiologist was quite optimistic despite my husband’s protests.

Now that this was happening, I couldn’t shake that something was off. My pregnancy tests never got darker. With both my children, I had strong dark positives shortly after the first faints. I finally called my OBGYN and had labs drawn. My gut knew somehow this was bad, but I didn’t want to lose this. I was already committed. The first blood levels confirmed my fears. My levels were extremely low, and the doctor wasn’t optimistic about it either. Anxiety overtook me, and I continued to take tests. Doctors will tell you not to use tests in this manner, but at that moment I didn’t care. I begged and pleaded for just one dark positive. Just some sort of sign it would be OK. Things did not improve. As I awaited the days to have my labs drawn again, the faint pink lines on the tests got lighter and lighter until they were almost gone. My heart sank and I just knew I had lost this baby. Still holding on to false hope, I had my labs drawn before I headed to work.

Before even getting those final lab results, I began to bleed and cramp. I sat at my desk at work and felt the pain in my throat well up from suppressed tears. I feared I would burst out crying any second, and quickly excused myself of the day via IM. I quickly dashed out to my car and began to sob big heavy tears. I began to beat myself up. Why did I take that Plan B pill? This is my fault. I did this. Why am I even sad? We didn’t want this. This would have been hard. Did I want this? Why did I want this? Why does this hurt so bad? Why? Why? Why? WHY? I drove home and lied in bed, and cried until my eyes felt like burning balls of fire in my eye sockets. I shared the news with my husband, and I saw his face wash with relief. That’s when he snapped out of it and sprang into husband mode for the first time since I fell pregnant. Suddenly my husband’s relief turned from relief to guilt. I could see on his face he felt bad for wishing this pregnancy to end. He held me and apologized. He was gentle and kind. I would never be able to get through that without him.

I felt empty. Though my baby never grew past the size of a poppy seed, the pain and emptiness from even the earliest loss feels real. That baby was real. I had to remind myself that it’s OK to grieve. I kept my darkest positive tests as a reminder of the little life that passed through me in a blink. I recovered emotionally mostly in a few weeks, but from time to time a little ache hits my heart and the pain wells up yet again. My heart still aches to feel a little life grow inside me again, but my husband’s fears are not unfounded. My health has grown worse over the years, and I don’t feel another baby would be fair to my family. I didn’t just lose a baby. I lost an era. I lost a chapter. I will never feel a tiny kick or have that time stopping moment of meeting my little one again. That’s the part that hurts the most.