I’m a huge fan of the TV show Scrubs. I think it’s brilliant. Very clever and silly-funny, which is the best kind of funny. Did anyone see last night’s episode? The one where Carla and Turk find out they are going to have a baby? I did. In typical TV- land fashion, there was a pregnancy test, some serious couple hopping up and down, embracing, tears and the exclamations of “We’re going to have a baby!”.
I will say, of all the TV (translation=fake) oh-my-god-we’re-pregnant moments I have witnessed, it was among the most touching. The actress played it beautifully, with a touch of wonder, a sense of gratitude, visible joy. It made me feel sad.
The first time I took a pregnancy test was December of 2004. I turned 34 that October and decided it was time to stop taking the pill, because, I did my research, at my age, 12 months was about the typical amount of time I could expect it take for us to get pregnant. This meant I’d be pregnant at 35, hopefully having a baby at 36. I wasn’t quite ready at 34, which is self indulgent, I know, but I was making plans. Mr. B wasn’t quite ready either. Neither of us had dreams of marriage and a whole house full of kids, but once we married the purely biological urge to have a baby was creeping up on me. So, the plan was off the pill at 34, maybe baby around 35-36.
Two months go by and I’m late. We had recently moved into a new house, gutted the entire first floor (Mr. B is very handy), were living in our bedroom, had no kitchen. Does that paint a picture for you? Not exactly stress free living. I went to get a test simply for the reason of confirming I was only late, not pregnant, so I could go on with my business. I was literally sitting on the toilet staring in disbelief at the positive pregnancy test in my hand when Mr. B walked up and surprised me. What I was doing? He was covered head to toe in dust, a breathing mask hanging around his neck. I said I think I’m pregnant and as the words came out of my mouth my brain was saying nooooooooo. This is not the way this is supposed to be. I’m not exactly sure because I think there is a good chance I have tried to consciously block this out, but I don’t think Mr. B said anything. In his defense, he had no idea I thought I could be pregnant, didn’t know I had gone to the store to pick up a test or was taking said test upstairs while he was tearing apart floorboards and I’m pretty sure he was coming upstairs only to go to the bathroom. Not to hear life changing news. Needless to say, there was no jumping up and down, no excited embraces, no tears of joy. There were some tears, just not that kind.
Fast forward a few weeks later. As Mom-101 cleverly wrote in her post here; irony abounds. Easy conception, tough pregnancy. Pay me now or pay me later. The bright red spotting started at 7 weeks. Many trans-vaginal ultrasounds ensued, as did progesterone supplements (expensive ones). Each Dr visit was a good news/bad news deal. I definitely had a sac, then a week later a sac and a fetal pole (when no one expected to see one based on my work up) another week later, a sac and a fetal pole but no heartbeat. The doc had a let’s hope for the best attitude and since I knew no better, so did I. I had no idea how badly things were progressing. I don’t entirely fault the doctor. She and I had just met, she had a busy practice (her waiting room seriously looked like a baby factory) this was all happening so fast I didn’t even have time to obsessively read up on pregnancy on the internet to find out what I should be asking. What I should be doing differently- if anything. What my ultrasounds should have looked like at those stages in a healthy pregnancy.
Meanwhile, I spent as much time flat on my back as I could and spent way too much time obsessing. I stopped walking the dog; I came straight home after work. Sex was out of the question. The spotting stopped temporarily, but the pregnancy was not meant to be. I miscarried at 10 weeks. It was painful and horribly unpleasant. I hadn’t even told my mom I was pregnant because I kept hoping I would make it to twelve weeks and the news would be good, I didn’t want to put her on the rollercoaster we were on, so now I had to tell her that yes, I was, but not, I am. Again, saying words on the outside while on the inside I was shouting nooooooooo. This is not the way this is supposed to go!
I was am not bitter. I did go on to have a successful pregnancy and a healthy baby. The second time I made sure Mr. B. knew I was late, I involved him in the official taking of the test. We learned the hard way that a positive test is no guarantee of anything. He didn’t pick me up and swing me around. There was no ceremonial jumping up and down, no tears of joy. When the two lines showed up we smiled. I think we hugged. We agreed it might be best not to tell anyone for awhile and we went on with our day.
In no way am I saying that my experience is different than that of anyone else, that it was more difficult or painful or disappointing. I’m just explaining that none of it turned out the way I had pictured in my mind. It was nothing like a TV show. As I watched the closing credits of Scrubs and all the fictional people dancing in a bar to celebrate, I replayed this story in my head and decided I didn’t want to be sad. I owned this story. It was real and it was hard. It was mine. It’s my history. The stuff that life is made of.
Why should that make me sad? Why did watching that display of dreamy sugar coated FAKE romanticism make me want to have another baby JUST so I could experience a moment like that. Picturing Mr. B staring deeply into my eyes conveying without words that I had just given him the greatest gift he could ever hope for and everything was going to be sunshine and rainbows from now on. I’ll never have that.
First of all, Mr. B isn’t really like that. He is firmly grounded in reality. Thank goodness.
Secondly, that ship has passed for us, a couple of times now.
Lastly, oh yeah, IT WASN’T REAL.
I won’t bitch about the media because an event like that is what people want to see. It’s an escape. The problem is me, not them. It can only make me feel like I missed out on something if I let it.
I don’t think this tendency is restricted to pregnancy tests. I would wager that there are other moms -whether they are adopting moms, IVF moms, C-section after 20 hours of labor moms-
thinking to themselves:
This is not the way this was supposed to be.
But it is.
That should be all that matters.
Just keepin' it real.
