The Not

The Not got me last night.

We were driving to church, and as always, the conversation dead-ended at THIS. We were breaking down the schedule of when we would have the pregnancy test and the ultrasound.We were brainstorming ways of how to break the news to our families. We were doing what we always do: talking as if this were a done deal.

Chris says, "You know what's crazy? We could be announcing that we're pregnant really soon. Like in a month."

I say, "Yeah, I know. What are we going to do? I want it to be creative and fun."

The conversation goes back and forth a little bit on that subject, and then, IT showed up. The NOT.

The "We could also NOT have ANYTHING to announce" was said. And we stopped talking and sat with the NOT for a minute or two: we can't expect to be lucky twice in a row. 25% chance is not that promising . . .

The NOT is always there, looming behind our excitement. When it shows its face, I can't even describe how our tone shifts . . . it becomes still, pensive, and somber.

So it got me thinking. If we do NOT achieve a pregnancy, do we call it a miscarriage? Technically, it wouldn't be a miscarriage. What do you call it? A failed pregnancy . . . no . . .? I feel like it needs a name tag so that I can call it by name and move through the grief.

This is what I do with big things--I try on the grief for size so that if it enters our world, I won't be caught off guard. It goes back to the death of my grandmother, I know. Her death was not something I was expecting, and the subsequent grief was heavy, dark. I expected her to beat the cancer; I expected her to be immortal, I suppose. And thus, I don't let myself NOT imagine the worst. I will NOT be caught off guard again.

So . . . as crazy as this next part may be . . . here is what I imagine we will grieve:

(1) The lives we never knew--it's so, so different this time. The sight of that 8-cell embryo is forever etched in my memory . . . those cells grew into cheeks I kiss, hands I hold, a face I wipe, a body I bathe, a person I love. The potential of these lives is so enthralling. They just need to be unlocked . . .

(2) The disappointment of failure/rejection

(3) As selfish as this may be, the loss of the money will be hard to swallow. We worked so hard to make it all work . . . for nothing?

I know this post is not very hopeful, and I apologize for that. But this part of the reality of infertility. Chris said he felt like this was a game of Russian Roulette--hit or miss. And the problem is that we don't have the money (or sperm for that matter) for misses.

I remembered something else vividly as we were talking: two Mays ago, we were sitting in the waiting area minutes before the transfer. Chris asks, "Did you bring the camera? Shouldn't we document this or something?" I don't remember what I said in reply, but I remembered why I don't have any pictures or any of my thoughts written down from that time. I was afraid of the NOT. I didn't want to have the evidence of failure; I didn't want to get too excited too soon.


This time, we are definitely less cautious because we "get it" this time. The lives of our embryos, whether they grow into babies or not, are lives that I want to celebrate regardless of how long they live in this world.

Yes, I am attached to them as their mother because I have a mother's heart this time. It makes the NOT so much scarier . . .but I will not bow to it . . .

We know Who holds our future and that He already knows the outcome of April 17, 9 am . . .