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Once upon a time – before I got pregnant with Lauren – I was a great dreamer. I had big, detailed cinematic dreams that went through dramatic acts and story arcs. I was often the heroine, which was awesome, because I was a lucid dreamer. I totally knew I was dreaming, and I could control it as I pleased. I gave myself super-powers if I needed them. When things weren’t going my way, I stopped everything and changed it so that everything would be how I wanted it to be. If something happened that I didn’t want to happen, I could start it all over again and do it the way I wanted to do it.
I loved sleeping because I loved dreaming because I had such power in my dreams.
That changed when I fell pregnant with Lauren. Lots of pregnant women have vivid dreams, sometimes good and sometimes bad. Sometimes they dream of their unborn child. That didn’t happen with me. I dreamed very rarely while pregnant, and they were rarely the cinematic dreams I used to have. They were snapshots or flashes of images or odd, short scenes. I had no control; I could not rewind, I could not pause or stop.
I never dreamed of Lauren. Once or twice, I dreamed of a pregnant me. None of the dreams I had were particularly bad, but they weren’t the type of dreams I was used to. I was a bystander, a spectator. Nothing more.
After Lauren died, the dreams changed again. The cinematic dreams did return, but I no longer had any control over them. I was part of the story, a character but not an author. Things happened to me, and if I didn’t like them, there was nothing I could do about it.
Most of the dreams I remember in the six months after Lauren died were not good dreams. I dreamt often of losing Geordie, in one way or another. That was natural, I suppose; I had lost my daughter, so of course I feared losing my husband. Geordie took these in stride and reassured me after all of them. Eventually, they tapered off. Since moving to Texas,I’d had a few, but only a few.
This week, I had another, the first in several months. It was not the first vivid dream of this pregnancy. I’ve already had quite a few, but this one affected me the most. It was the first one of the pregnancy that threatened a loss of Geordie. I doubt very much I’ll ever get used to such dreams.
I don’t really have any point or direction for this. I wanted to write something for today, and this was what came to mind. I have found that pregnancy is not conducive to writing for me. It’s a block. It’s hard to think about anything but being pregnant, especially in the first trimester. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to keep to my regular posting schedule. I’m going to make special effort to post on Mondays, Wednesday, Fridays, and Saturdays, but I’m not sure of anything beyond that. Hopefully, my mind will be a little more focused once I’m out of the first trimester!
I’ve spilled the beans about our rainbow baby at six weeks. I realize that most people wait to announce their pregnancies. Sometimes they wait until they have a sonogram to share. Sometimes they wait until they hear a heartbeat. Sometimes they wait until the end of the first trimester. Sometimes they wait for a “safe point.”
I didn’t want to wait, and I can give you two reasons why.
First, I don’t believe in a “safe point” anymore. Not in pregnancy, not in life. I have read the stories of so many of the babylost, and it’s taught me that it can happen at any time. One moment, all is well; the next, the world crashes down. Without much trouble, I’m sure I could find a woman who has lost a baby at any point in her pregnancy, from week 4 to week 42. And even after. Life is so fragile, it should be celebrated while it can be celebrated.
Second, I can’t maintain baby silence on this blog. We’ve known for a little over two weeks now, and it’s been driving me a little bonkers not talking about it here. This is where I vent my fears and my frustrations, where I share my hopes and dreams, where I talk out my grief so that I might stay sane amid all the deep blues and grays of my emotions. This baby – no matter how long it decides to stay – is a part of that. It’s part of the healing process. It’s also a trigger, though it’s the best kind of trigger, one of hope instead of despair.
Also, this blog is mostly about my day-to-day life. Being pregnant is too. It’s hard to think about anything but being pregnant. I don’t like the idea of censoring myself on my own blog, so I knew it would only be a matter of time before I blurted it out or dropped too many subtle hints. I have always wanted this blog to be as honest as possible; it is always what I have wanted from my writing. I don’t see much point in writing if you’re not going to be telling some kind of truth.
Ah, and I can think of a third reason: I need all the positive thoughts I can get.
Geordie and I have an amazing network of support, both in real life and online. These are people who have done their best to lift us above our grief, who at the same time know Lauren’s story and do not diminish it. I am so grateful for these people – for you readers, who read my words and know that Lauren lived and was loved, who have sent us thoughts and prayers, both for her and for the baby now growing inside me. Every little bit helps, and I am so grateful for it all.
I don’t know what the next nine months will bring. Right now, I’m still in disbelief – even though there are certainly enough symptoms to convince me that it’s true! I’m fairly certain panic, doubt, and anxiety will all be visiting in due time. So will utter amazement, sheer joy, and that most elusive feeling of all: hope.
We want so much to bring this baby home. It is, for the most part, all I can think about, but I still haven’t quite managed to convince myself that it’s true. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to, not until this baby is in my arms, happy and healthy and screaming like a banshee if necessary.
I can’t predict how this pregnancy is going to go, and I can’t predict how stable my emotions are going to be. All I know is that this space, this blog, is my outlet, and I need that. If things get crazy, just bear with me. I’m just working things out. Because once all the negative is gone, I can focus on the positive.
Today, I am pregnant. Right now, that’s all that matters.
Now that Geordie and I are actively trying to conceive, I’m thinking more about what kind of birth I want to have and where I want to have it. I’m thinking about this because it’s what other – normal – women think about when they’re having babies. I’m thinking about it because I want to ignore the fact that I will not be having a normal pregnancy, even if there is nothing wrong with me or the baby or anything else.
My daughter was stillborn. That automatically puts me in the “high risk” category. Even though I had no problems with the three glucose tests I took. Even though I never had signs of pre-eclampsia. Even though everything was going perfectly until Lauren’s heart stopped beating. Obviously, something went wrong. Unfortunately, nobody knows what or why.
I understand why I would be considered high risk, I do. The last thing I want is to lose another baby. Nobody would want that. But it frustrates me that it means that I might not be able to make the decisions during pregnancy or delivery. Again.
See, in Japan, birth plans are pretty much unheard of. The doctor is in charge; what the woman wants doesn’t always come first. In fact, depending on the doctor, it doesn’t even factor in. My first doctor in Japan was awesome, but very Westernized. He had his own clinic and, being unaffiliated with a hospital, was free to allow his patients to make their own decisions. It wasn’t until later, after we’d moved and were looking for a new doctor, that we understood how incredibly progressive he was. We rejected a couple of nearby hospitals because they did not allow fathers (or any non-medical personnel) into the delivery room. We only heard of one clinic that offered pain relief during delivery, and they were no longer accepting anyone around my due date. Although I had a birth plan in mind, I didn’t bother to write it up, much less present it to my doctor at the hospital we eventually picked. We didn’t see the point. Nobody ever asked my opinion about anything or my preference. It was always, “This is what we are going to do.” And they only did that because we asked them. The first part of my induction with Lauren went terribly because I was never told what was happening. If not for Geordie’s presence, I would never have known what was going on.
That’s just the way it was. Given the circumstances, there was nothing to be done about it. But I believe that, even if I had been giving birth to a live baby, I wouldn’t have had much say in the matter. I almost believe they gave me a little more leeway – because I’m American, or because my daughter was dead, I can’t say. In the end, my doctor did the best he could, and I liked the staff well enough. Except for that midwife. I still think unpleasant thoughts about her.
The plain and ugly truth is that – according to “studies” – a woman who has had a stillbirth has a higher risk of having another one. How much higher is the risk? Twofold to tenfold, according to one. That seems like a pretty big range, right? If the risk of stillbirth is 0.4% for a first-time pregnancy, then it could be anywhere from 0.8-4% for subsequent pregnancies. It all depends on the cause.
So what if the cause was unknown? Lauren’s cord and placenta were fine and healthy. No knots or kinks – which is important, because cord accidents apparently can recur. The same thing with placental abruptions; those also have a possibility of recurrence. Bad news for mothers who have had those problems – but what about me?
I don’t know. I do know that I follow the blogs of at least two ladies who have given birth to healthy second babies after the unexplained stillbirths of their first children. I also know that I’ve heard the stories of at least two ladies who had two unexplained stillbirths before delivering a healthy baby. I don’t know where that puts me. All I know is that I’m terrified of losing another baby. I will do whatever it takes to be able to bring home a healthy baby.
But I also want to have some say in my pre-natal care. I love the idea of giving birth in a birth center, not a hospital. I just don’t know if that’s an option for me.
Tomorrow, Geordie and I are going to an open house at a birth center run by midwives. The woman who spoke to me on the phone warned me that I might be “risked-out” because of Lauren’s death. But she also said that they needed more information to make that decision. And she also said that, if I am risked-out, they might be able to offer some suggestions on where to turn to find the care I’m looking for.
So, I’m worried but hopeful, which is probably something I should get used to. It’s likely to be my most consistent feeling during pregnancy #2.