Is Hope Enough?

During the three weeks I spent in antenatal at the hospital, there was a weekly 'group' session for inpatient moms, facilitated by one of the social workers. I was fortunate enough to meet some great ladies, one of whom I'm still in contact with, and to whom I wish a very long, very boring stay.

The social worker asked us during one group session how things were going, that is, how were we feeling emotionally. How could we describe our stay? In my case, the answer was: terror, punctuated by hope. Honestly, every single time I had to get up to use the restroom there was fear. With my cervix open, I knew I could have a complete rupture at any time, and straining at all to use the toilet was likely to cause that. I also had several bleeding episodes when up to use the toilet, and those brought on sheer terror. Yet every time I felt Quinn move, every time her heartbeat was still perfect and my temperature was still normal, there was hope. Every morning that we woke up and got to add another day to the whiteboard with her gestational age, there was hope.

When we knew I was going to deliver, I tried to tell myself that at least I wouldn't have to live with the terror any more. That's the bright side of the worst happening, right: at least you don't have to be scared that the worst might happen anymore. For the record, that is an awfully shitty bright side.

To be fair, looking back at my entire pregnancy with Quinn, there was a lot of fear. The two weeks leading up to our first ultrasound were so rough that I started seeing a therapist who specializes in perinatal loss and infertility. The fear leading up to the NIPT results was bad as well. There was also a lot of joy. Feeling her move was so amazing. Looking forward to our lives with her was joyous. Loving her brought joy.

As I think about the future, and try to decide if this is the end of the road for us, this weighs on me. Can I survive the emotional roller coaster that is fertility treatments? Can I survive (hopefully) 9 months of fear? If we get pregnant again, I will have a cerclage of some type. If things went wrong again, could I live in the hospital with the kind of fear I had hanging over me, knowing the cerlage could rip out (TVC) or my uterus could rupture (TAC) and I could lose the baby? Basically, it comes down to a decision: is the hope worth everything that accompanies it: fear, potential heartbreak, potential loss, and all the surgeries, fertility treatments and costs associated to even have a chance at hope?  I don't know yet, the heartbreak and the fear are still too fresh.