Perspective
Monday, January 19th, 2009I called our company’s HR department last week to ask a question about maternity/disability leave payments. I finally spoke to a person, I’ll call her Mary, who could help answer my question. She pulled up my “file” on the computer and noted that I had just been out on maternity leave in 2006-2007. “Yes”, I said, “I have one son who just turned two and we’re expecting another boy in April.” I was, at that moment, feeling the little one stretch inside me and felt compelled to add, “We feel very lucky to have two little boys. They’ll only be about two and a half years apart and we know that we will be very busy, but we are very happy.” Mary responded “Oh, I know what you mean. I have one and we’ve been trying for another.” I wished her luck and another baby soon and then as if I had opened some sort of floodgate for her it all came spilling out. How they had bad been “trying for a couple of years” without a baby. How she worried that her daughter would be too far apart from her potential sibling and that they would fight. How she had gotten pregnant a year ago only to have an anomalous ultrasound. A diagnosis of a serious genetic problem. How she had felt her son move within her. How they had named him. And then how he died when she was five months pregnant. I told her that I was so sorry and that I know she must miss him very much. She thanked me for saying so, we talked a bit more, and then we hung up.
My current pregnancy has been somewhat difficult. We had an early indication of potential genetic problems, I am perpetually nauseous, I haven’t made it more than three days without throwing up, I was absolutely felled by a bout of gastroenteritis and ended up in a hospital in Bakersfield (long story) over the holidays, and I contract every time I even roll over in bed. But at this point, all indications are that we have a perfectly healthy baby boy who is likely to stay put until he is full-term. I have an smart, charming, and very energetic toddler snoring away down the hall. And I never thought I would get here.
I’ve known that I had, as those in our grandmother’s generation would say, “woman problems” since I was twelve. I actually missed a round of the SATs when I was younger because I was passed out in pain due to cramps. The problems waxed and waned throughout high school and college and I received a probable diagnosis of endometriosis. There is no cure for endometriosis but I coped with careful management strategies and painkillers until around the time Jeff and I were married. I clearly remember looking down and Jeff’s and my intertwined hands at our wedding rehearsal noticing small red bumps on mine. I brushed it off as some sort of allergic reaction to the manicure I had had earlier in the day. I started to feel progressively sicker on our honeymoon and within a month I was at the doctor with fatigue, abdominal/pelvic pain, and other troubling symptoms. I finally had a laparoscopy in January 2002 and when I woke up Jeff gave me the rundown of what the surgeon had found: significant endometrial lesions and adhesions, holes in my peritoneum where the endometriosis had “eaten” through, and the worst, “She said that we need to try to have kids before you are 30.” I was 23 years old. I KNEW I wanted children but we were really not ready so I went into overdrive. I sought out a new job with a significant pay raise. We bought a house three months after my 24th birthday and worked long hours to make it a home. I saved hundreds of dollars a week for a nest egg to support an extended maternity leave – or fertility treatments. I felt relatively good for a couple of years until 2004 when I developed, literally overnight, debilitating pain in my wrists, followed by joint pain throughout my body, extreme fatigue, and the reappearance of those mysterious red bumps on my hands. After another round of “find a decent doctor” I was diagnosed with an unspecified auto-immune disorder, likely either lupus or rheumatoid arthritis. Living in a major metropolitan area I was able to see the guy who literally wrote the book on lupus and when I talked to him about wanting to have children soon he looked at me like I was insane and told me he didn’t think that was a good idea. Regardless of the name of the disease the treatment was initially the same and I took my much hated medication dutifully to attempt to beat my disease into submission. And after a year or so, I did feel much better. I was twenty seven, not getting any younger, and so we decided to try for a baby.
The moment I saw those two pink lines was the most shocking and thrilling of my entire life. After years of believing such a thing might be impossible for me I was utterly stunned and speechless. I immediately had a feeling that it was twins. Jeff, still shocked himself, thought I was a bit nuts. I had all the typical early pregnancy symptoms: so very tired, odd food aversions and cravings, a stuffy nose (who knew about that one!), and nausea. But after a couple of weeks I suddenly wasn’t that tired anymore, my food sensitivities lightened up, and I was devastated believing we had lost the baby. A few long days later at my first ultrasound I found out why. There was one perfect little embryo with strong heartbeat and there had been a second baby, now rapidly disappearing into the ether of my uterus. That little embryo was Thomas and now I find myself, again, against some significant medical odds pregnant with another healthy boy.
Nearly three years after seeing our “vanishing twin” I find myself thinking about him (I have no way of knowing, but in my mind, he is always a he.) a little more often, wondering what kind of little person he might have been; looking at Thomas and thinking how much he seems to need a playmate to burn off his inexhaustible energy with. I find myself thinking about Mary and her son and how clear it was from her voice how much she loved him. And I find myself thinking about all of those years I spent agonizing over how my body would ever support a pregnancy and a baby. A few nights ago Thomas was having a particularly difficult time falling asleep. Jeff came out of his room exasperated and I went in to lie next to Thomas and rub his back. Rather than being annoyed, I felt quite peaceful and I thought to Thomas “I will stay with you for hours. I will be with you as long as you need me to. I am so very glad that I have your little back to rub. ” In a few short weeks I will have two little boys’ backs to rub, to nurse, to laugh with, and to watch grow up; whatever other problems we may face, that makes me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.