For those of you awaiting fetal-tissue-pathology news: Thank you. Thank you so much for supporting me and being interested in how I’m doing and what I’ve found out. And, I’m sorry. Nothing to report yet.
I saw my doctor today and she said it’s inexplicable to her, she can’t find the report on the centralized electronic database where all medical reports and results are usually kept in this digital age for all of my caregivers in the same jurisdiction and calls by her nurse to the surgeon/obstetrician who did the D&C have not been returned. It makes no sense that pathology results would not be back after 6 months, she added. She had her nurse give me the surgeon’s phone number. I called. The receptionist said they have a pathology report but “nothing else” and assured me she would have the OB call me. Guess what? Yeah. I’m still waiting for that call.
Oh well. I’ve got ideas and experiences to share. The bonus is, they are more positive than a fetal pathology report. And they allow me to let go of my anxiety, for a moment at least, about those missing results.
First, the LP and I went to our long-time counsellor this week. On the agenda was “where are we, where have we been and where do we go from here”. We grieved a little (5 losses in the past year have become a big, dark cloud that shadows our every move individually, as a couple and sometimes as parents), we celebrated a little (our Miracle Baby is now a punchy, joyful toddler and source/recipient of boundless love) and we talked about what things might be like if we could remove the dark cloud.
I came to a number of realizations:
1. I am very freaked out when the LP claims to have no feelings about potential plans that could alter our life’s path or the events that have led us to consider those plans (i.e., using donor eggs to have another child);
2. I am afraid of losing any more babies (and that fear is not limited to pregnancies conceived with my own eggs) but if I imagine the fear and the sadness lifted, I am so happy to consider the possibility of us having and raising another child;
3. I have no particular attachment to being pregnant and would rather avoid it if we could parachute in a new baby without that step, though I’ve no desire to engage and we have no budget for a gestational surrogate;
4. The LP was far more devastated when our January IVF cycle did not result in a viable pregnancy than I was and this may be directly correlated to the incredible hope and faith he invested in the belief it would work and his choice to be positive throughout (which is not his usual starting position);
5. The world changed for me when we lost “Mandy” in late September and my faith in my body’s ability to get and stay pregnant has never been the same; and
6. Having a dark cloud shadow your every move can prevent you from having a hot clue what your feelings actually are and if you even have any (beyond “sad”).
But most important of all was the revelation that the LP loves me more than I even know how to articulate. As our counsellor put it, he is prepared to give me this incredible gift of saying “I love you, I trust you, I want what you want” without any subtext or pretence. He may not know how he feels about it all, but what he knows he feels is a deep and coursing love and a desire to co-parent our children together.
It took a long time for me to see this for what it is, to stop trying to dissect it and determine if there is some latent defect in this plan that will backfire in my face if things don’t work out as we so desperately hope they will. That, too, was an awakening for me. The problem now, in large part, is me. I have lost my mojo. I am finding it hard to trust anything about baby-making these days – perhaps most imporantly my ability to carry another child to term and to believe I can do that even if we use a younger gal’s ova.
Now that makes me sad. Intensely sad.
At the same time, I feel a weight lifted. If this isn’t about the LP having some underlying, deep-seated but unspoken opposition any longer, then I am free to move forward if I so choose, when we are ready. Wow. That is huge. And a sea change from where the LP was – where we were – a few short months ago. Amazing.
And that brings me to the light that never goes out. Enter spirit baby, stage left.
I was recently working on some of the meditations from Walter Makichen’s Spirit Babies and trying hard to make contact with our spirit baby/ies. I wanted some clarity – are you still here? Am I meant to meet you in the physical plane and share a life with you sometime soon? Am I kidding myself? Is there anything else I can do or stop doing?
I’ve mentioned my fear to attempt this kind of communication. I’ve been afraid that Azulito, my little electric blue spirit baby, may have disappeared in the past few months. I was fearful that the pattern of the past year has been a slow, painful way to bring all of this to an end, not the end I wanted. But I hunkered down and asked for an audience with the spirits I have felt around me in the past.
I suddenly heard myself sing the chorus from the Smiths’ song after which I’ve titled this post. “There is a light and it never goes out.”
I was so surprised. Where did that come from? Well, from Azulito, I believe. I am sure that this came from somewhere beyond the here-and-now, the quiet, early-morning air of our basement where I sat rocking myself, hoping to get some kind of message. And there it was. The message was clear. Our little spirit baby’s light is strong and unwavering. And waiting, just like me. Waiting for the day when we hold hands, with open hearts, and embrace as mother and child.
Some day. I hope.