The Irony of Life

This blog is continued from my pregnancy story. The first blog can be found here: Giving Birth to my Daughter - Giving Birth to Myself.

I was 19 when I started dating boys. Admittedly, I wasn't making the best choices; I was rebelling and had chosen a partner based on that rebelliousness. He was not the type of guy you would bring home to meet your parents, nor was he the type to stick around and provide a stable life. At that time, I did not have a great appreciation for consequences, and when I accidentally became pregnant with my boyfriend, it was just another addition to the pile of very real-life consequences I was experiencing for the first time. 

At that time, my response to the pregnancy was an absolute and resounding "NO". I felt as though I was still just a child, and there was no way that I could be responsible for a baby. It was as if every cell in my body had unanimously decided that this pregnancy was NOT going to happen. It was so absolute in fact, that not even the slightest whisper or the faintest thought of entertaining the possibility of moving forward with this pregnancy emerged in my mind. It is actually possible that with the sheer will of my "NO", at 19 years old, I miscarried. 

I continued on with this 'NO' for years. I knew I wanted to have a baby at some point, but I wanted my circumstances to be ideal. As it turns out, life rarely gives the ideal circimstances, and years turned into decades. Almost 20 years later (and so 20 years of telling my body 'NO'), I made an agreement to move ahead with trying for a baby. 

At that point, I wasn't even sure if I could conceive because of my age, 40, my history of miscarriage, and having been saying 'no' for so long. But after several months of trying, some of the signs of pregnancy were there, so I took a test.

There is an experience that takes place when a woman is waiting for the results of a pregnancy test. She exists in two realities at the same time, like Schrödinger's paradox. It's like walking the fine edge of a razor blade, with each side being a drastically different outcome; 2 potential plots to her life story. 

I tried very hard to embrace both outcomes, but it was nearly impossible not to have a bias. For me, one plot included words like 'abundance', 'fertility', 'richness', 'purpose' and 'fulfillment', while the other looked more like 'desolate', 'barren', 'loss', 'failure' and 'hopeless'. 

When I got the positive test result, I was elated! In one moment it changed me and a whole new lifepath emerged. In one moment, parts of me came alive, parts of me dropped away, and this entire new life played out in front of me. However, that moment of elation did not last long. I had to confront the sobering reality that this was just the first step, the first hurdle with a long way to go ahead, and that I would have to walk that fine line between the two realities daily, not knowing if it will be viable, or if it will fail. 

It is very difficult to remain Here, present, and not go into hopes and dreams in one moment, fears and doubts in the next when you are a 'high - risk', 'geriatric' pregnancy. I would over-analyze every bodily sensation, movement and pain. I had to bring myself back to breathing so many times daily, remembering that discipline of being Here, in breath. The mind clings so much more easily to the safety and security of fear and doubt - that place where nothing is gained, so nothing is lost. Quelling the doubt was the hardest part of my daily life.

At about 6 weeks in to my pregnancy, I took a trip to the ocean. Over the years, the ocean has become one of my favourite places to be - like a safe haven, a calm place in the storms of life. Even when the ocean is rough and storming itself, there is still a serenity to it just beneath the surface. It's where I've gone to ground myself so many times, to be with myself in the womb-like embrace of mother nature. It is a place of maternal nurturing that gives and accepts unconditionally. 

I walked into the water alone, and in that moment - in that acceptance and embrace of the ocean, with the salt water and ocean air - I finally found the courage and fortitude to let go of the doubt and fear. I was finally able to plunge into an unconditional love and acceptance for the baby inside of me. As the fear, doubt and uncertainty dropped away, it revealed an instant and intense bonding that I had never experienced before. Suddenly, I was no longer just one being, but two. Suddenly I wasn't alone, I was WITH her.  

With a mixture of courage and profound vulnerability, I decided to start showing her the world through my eyes. I was in the perfect place for it, my favourite place, and I said to her, "this is the ocean". And I was with my baby in the ocean. I held my stomach, embracing not only myself, but her now, too. I cried tears of release. I no longer have to hold myself in that stiff and rigid position of safety, constantly protecting myself from pain. I can breathe now, I can let go... 

And then it happened. The irony of Life? In that very moment and within seconds of allowing myself that absolute vulnerability of accepting myself, the child and the situation, I fell to my hands and knees in the shallow water, in pain. My uterus contracted so suddenly and so tightly it took my breath away. The pain gripped me from the inside, feeling like tearing from my lower back and knotting into my abdomen. I could do nothing. I couldn't think - I could only endure it. I could only focus on breathing, and they were heavy, strained breaths. 

I remember finally becoming aware of the rocking of the ocean again, as the pain subsided and my breathing slowly became easier. I allowed it to soothe me and allowed myself to melt into it. The warmth at the surface and the coolness underneath. It had only lasted for about a minute even though the experience felt like an eternity.

In a way I didn't want it to stop, because I didn't want to come back and face reality. I already knew deep down that I had lost her. 

A grief counselor once told me that the moment you bond with your baby, even if it is still a fetus, that is the moment you become a mother. 

It only occurred to me months later that the very moment I became a mother, I lost the baby. I felt barren, alone and empty. I didn't cry again, instead I hardened. I closed off that part of myself once again and returned to the safety and familiarity of being closed and hard.

Everything in me vowed to never be so foolish to ever let my guard down again. To never let go of fear and doubt, to never again allow for that vulnerability and so the pain of loss. I should always protect myself, remain detached, cold, conditional and closed. 

To be continued...