Mad Mission

"It's a mad mission under difficult conditions. Not everybody makes it to the loving cup. It's a mad mission, but I've got the ambition, mad mad mission. Sign me up."- Patty Griffin

This summer when I was toting around a freezer bag of fertility drugs at Pickathon, shooting myself up multiple times a day, growing follicles, and driving to the fertility doc every other day for ultrasounds, this was my theme song. It is still appropriate for this crazy journey we are on. The babies are ok. They are actually starting to look like babies! There was no new evidence of bleeding or clotting. It was truly best case scenario after the bleeding incident. The fertility doc said it was time to transfer our care to the perinatologists. It felt like a graduation of sorts, such a relief. A few days later though came a phone call from the new doctors urging me to make an appointment as soon as possible because I have "significant risk factors." The reality is that I am about to turn 41, pregnant with twins after over 8 years of unexplained infertility and pregnancy loss, and less than two weeks ago hemorrhaged unexpectedly. It's a mad mission, and this pregnancy will likely be a long haul.

I have been on modified bed rest for eleven days now. It has been a surreal time of reading, eating, sleeping, eating, watching online TV, eating. I have been lonely and scared, confused and sad, but I've also been ok, choosing in moments to be present with all of this, and in others to try and escape it. Friends and family have saved me. They have brought me food, taken care of Caden, sent me words of encouragement, crawled into bed with me, made me laugh, cleaned my house, stroked my hair.

The song that has been resonating the most with me is Shake it out, by Florence and the Machine, although it was brought to the forefront of my musical consciousness by Glee. I have been confused what it is about this song that speaks to me right now, as it is mostly about ending a relationship. Every time I hear it, I cry, and I'm not talking little trickle of tears. I'm talking about a big cry with sobs and a runny nose that gives you a release, leaves you puffy eyed and tired, and for a moment free of that building tension. "And it's hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off, whoa."

 

I think the devil on my back is fear. Fear of losing these babies, fear of having them. I will admit, I am scared of this pregnancy. I am scared of how weak my body feels, of how little I am able to care for my son right now, of how hard my husband has to work to take care of both of us. I am scared that this will happen again, that I will spend most of this pregnancy in bed and that I will never regain my strength. I am scared that when these babies arrive I will not be able to care for them properly.
"Shake it out, shake it out. Shake it out, whoa."

I spent the months leading up to this endeavor getting strong. Interval training, zumba, yoga, hikes- I feel so far away from that person doing burpees and box jumps in the park, hamper full of sweaty gym clothes. Maybe I will find her again some day. But now my body is changing and growing, demanding rest and incessant food. At this moment I feel nausea creeping up again. It is 3:40 am and over an hour since I last ate, so time to eat again! My body is not my own right now. Surrender, again and again. It is the theme for me for all of it: parenting, childbirth, pregnancy. I'm resisting softening into it. But as Florence and the Machine keep singing, "It's always darkest before the dawn." And truly, whatever this time is for me, it is not my darkest hour. It's just hard, but I never really expected it to be easy.

 

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