Congratulations, You’re Completely Healthy

The doctor called yesterday-my bloodwork came back normal. We are now completely answerless-no one knows what happened, and we will basically never have an answer. There is nothing to treat and there is no certainty that it won’t happen again.

My husband is a bit of a gambler.  Not like, going to A.C. and blowing his paycheck type of gambler (although, he did that once in Vegas about 5 years ago and it scared the crap out of him, so he hasn’t been back since).  He places bets and plays cards, pretty well too, and he likes chance and risk and odds-it’s his mathematical brain.  My literary brain likes comfort and stability and books from the 19^th century, words like ephemeral and wainscoting, PBS/BBC hybrids and the Bravo network.  I like my evening soap operas soapy and foreseeable, just like my romantic comedies.  I am rarely surprised by thrillers or guess who’s and I like it that way (I’m one of those people who thought Bruce Willis was dead at the beginning of the movie-I study words for a living-it’s very rare that I find any movie, tv show or novel anything but predictable, and I like it that way).  I don’t do well with uncertainty.

Without a diagnosis, without a reason and solution for what went wrong, having another child is a gamble.  What if something really is wrong with me, something undiagnosible, and it happens all over again?  Only, what if it’s worse and we lose the baby?

I cried so hard last night that all the fluids in my body rushed to my nose and I couldn’t clear it.  I woke up with puffy eyes and a nagging headache from crying dehydration-you know, when you’ve cried so much that there is no more water in your body and you’re both thirsty and swollen.  My heart literally hurt.  It’s strange-the difference between those who understand by misery and those who think it’s better that there’s nothing wrong.  My husband understands, but he still wants more children.  I don’t know.  I asked him if it was okay, if we could just have Lily and be done, and he said yes, but that he thinks he’d resent it.  I understand that.  I’d probably resent him too if, after all our discussions about how many kids we wanted to have-maybe 3, he suddenly decided to get a vasectomy.  A wonderful study in expectation versus reality in my bedroom.

I feel a little trapped-I really, really want to have another child, but I’m so scared that I’m having trouble holding it together.  I had nightmares last night about ants crawling over my body and itching the crap out of me-I kept waking up and scratching and swatting at my limbs, convinced that they were there.  Aside from the neurotic fear that I’m developing formication and should be checked into a mental health facility, there’s the fact that I am so completely freaked out by ants that of course they would enter my nightmares, torment me in my desperation; my subconscious, yet another place where I have no control.

As promised, a recent picture of Lily!