‘I’ve got good news and bad news.’
‘Tell me both.’
I spent most of my life trying to avoid getting pregnant. All up, I’ve spent about 12 months trying to get pregnant. Two recent miscarriages and then yesterday I got the news that yes, I’m pregnant again.
I want another baby, I really do. But the instant I saw that second line appear on the pregnancy test, I didn’t get a wave of excitement or happiness or joy… I felt dread.
Here we go again.
‘Try not to worry about it, that’s the worse thing you can do.’
These are the voices in my head.
But how can I not worry? How can I not think about the terrible year I’ve had with anxiety and depression and my life spiralling to a place that I never want to go back to? How can I not be afraid of that place?
Those close to me understand. They didn’t congratulate me. They just gave me a hug.
But all the others who don’t know my history also don’t realise the harm they’re doing. At the moment it’s just medical staff and doctors (‘Congratulations! Great news!’ or even ‘I’ll cross my fingers for you’) but the more time that passes the more people will comment. It’s the way of society. A pregnancy is always a good thing, right?
People are just being nice. They think that crossing their fingers will give me the hope I need.
But I know that hope doesn’t help. I hoped the last time and that didn’t help. In fact it only made the fall worse.
This is not the way I should be feeling at the news of something I want so badly, but unfortunately that’s just the way it is.