My name is Bec and I'm a recovering grieving mother. It's been 3 months since my last post. I went to sleep on the 31st December last year and all of a sudden, somehow, it's March 14th. Bloody hell. What a blur.
The beginning of 2013 has felt something like returning to real life from an extra long holiday. 2012 seems a little fuzzy in my memory; a long, horrific dream. This year feels kind of normal. Like life has started moving again, in our new altered post-Poppy world.
If you have a good memory you will remember that around 9 months ago we began to think about having us a rainbow baby. A child born through the storm of grief to shine brightly in a families future. Not negating the pain. Never pretending it has gone. Rather recognising and honouring that after the darkest of storms, the heaviest of rain, a rainbow can appear.
We had hoped that our luck might change, that we might be blessed with a bub quickly and without too much fuss. Who was I kidding?! Us? Have something go smoothly? Fat chance... Over the course of last year we vaguely committed to fertility treatment, but it was really hard to look forward when I was still so embroiled in the past. I guess, in short, I was about as ready to have another baby as I was to climb Everest. So in December, when my latest round of treatment ended in a chemical pregnancy, I was done. I needed to take a break and reevaluate what I could handle. And what I wanted.
Did I want another child? Could I do it all again? Was I able to put aside the fear once more and plunge off that cliff into the unknown again? Frankly, I wasn't sure I even wanted to think about it. I was scared shitless. G, as always, was flexible enough to deal with my back flipping often arbitrary decision. "I really want another baby," as I gaze at some perfect little bubba at the supermarket. "I just can't!" as I trawl the internet for new information on Poppy's medical condition. But most frequently, "I don't KNOW!"
So we look 3 months off. No meds. No medical appointments. No blood tests. Nothing related to trying to conceive again. Much to G's disgust.
Anyone who has had trouble trying to get pregnant will know what I'm talking about. How structured the....you know....gets. It's all about timing, not passion. Throw in a perpetually emotionally imbalanced women, hopped up on artificial hormones, getting up early to get to the doctors before work, and things can be a little challenging. So we needed some time to reconnect. Remember why we want more kids. Just to be in love.
But the time has come. Review appointment with my lovely fertility specialist. "Aren't you getting impatient?" she asked as I sit down in her office, "I'm impatient for you! You've been forced to wait too long." And I realise I have waited long enough. If Poppy had survived, now might be the time we would have considered trying again perhaps. It feels normal now.
So we planned a plan. Three more round of my current treatment, then some invasive testing, followed by IVF. She's determined to get us baby number 3, bless her cotton socks. So armed with my plan, I stand poised to take on Mt Everest. I am sure I'll stumble more than once, and possibly slid backwards a little. But I also know I am determined, and I couldn't be more supported. I can imagine another baby now. I can value him or her as an addition to our family in their own way. Not the fill the ache left by Poppy, but to enhance the joy in our lives.
I'm ready, I think. Well, I'm fairly sure. Mostly positive. More ready than before anyway. I'm armed with my backpack, wearing my comfy hiking boots, and I have my compass in hand. Time to start the trek. And if you've ever got a hand free, could you just give me a bit of shove upwards? Ta for that.