Filed under: The Pregnancy Diaries | Tags: apple, apple tree, appleseed, bleeding in pregnancy, courage, France, London, miscarriage, pregnancy, pregnant, strength
How we apples swim. Jonathan Swift
My husband planted an apple tree in our garden this week in honour of our first pregnancy, a tangle of atoms that we called Appleseed⦠my column this week is a page from my diary, written in 2009:
Itās not just the little group of cells thatās lost. Iāve had a miscarriage before. I was attached to this child. I was trying to tell myself throughout to be careful, careful, not to get too attached. I was so excited that I was bursting to tell everyone. I satisfied this desire by telling strangers who I knew I would never see again. Iām so disappointed now. I havenāt stopped crying for four days. Itās horrible. It feels visceral. I miss Appleseed. I was fascinated from point āgoā by this strange little thing and its rapid growth. It was first a little group of cells, then it had layers for the nervous system and respiratory system, then it had little nubs for arms and legs, then webbed feet and handsā¦a heartbeat by the time it died. I understand the body rejected it for a reason, but it hurts deeply. Also what hurts ā perhaps more – is the attachment I felt towards the dream that having this child conjured in me and now that feeling is lost.
I have to lie down. When I knew that I was pregnant, if my body told me that I needed to lie down, I did. If my body needed water, I drank it. If my body said I was hungry, I fed it well. It was a habit quickly established as soon as I knew that I was hosting Appleseed. I quit smoking. It became a protection issue for someone else. I didnāt have breakfast before I went to the hospital. Thinking about it now, I knew that I was losing Appleseed anyway and so I didnāt have to protect the little thing anymore, so what did it matter if I ate or was comfortable? At the hospital, I sat in this little hard plastic chair, in this Victorian-type narrow hallway with little light, shabby furniture, linoleum floors, dank, with people standing and sitting everywhere. I went into a little office. Last nightās scan showed that there was a ābuoyantā pregnancy sack, and inside of it a yolk sack, and next to it, a foetus. Today, thereās just blood, the pregnancy sack has collapsed. The doctor tells me that because of my previous miscarriage ten years ago, coupled with my age, that I have a 74% chance of a miscarriage if I get pregnant again.
Feeling sick, cramped up, completely overwhelmed, shocked and disappointed, I went out into the hallway and the world seemed hard and horrible. There were so many people in this hallway. I went out into the stairwell and this guy pushed past me. I was walking rather slowly, gripping the rail with my left hand. Then from behind me this woman said, āAre you okay?ā And I said to her āNo. Iām having a miscarriage.ā She took my arm and helped me down the stairs. Outside, she asked me if I wanted to go for a coffee or a tea. She told me that she was 49 years old. Sheād had three miscarriages and an abortion because of chromosomal problems before she had a fifth pregnancy and finally her child who is now 14 years old. Sheād been at this hospital today because sheād been at this recurring miscarriage unit because a professor is doing a study for the Imperial College there with the NHS. We went out on the street into the cool sunshine, it was one of those beautiful autumn days ā I love London when itās sunny with a bit of freshness to the air. She says to me, āDo you want a cigarette?ā and I say āYes!ā Iām standing on the street bleeding profusely, Iāve not even had water, and Iām smoking.
We went to a pub across the road and sat outside. She fetched me a glass of wine. Sheās Italian. She lives in England with her husband of 30 years. Sheās well-to-do. Well-educated. Earthy. She tells me about her three miscarriages and the choice after all of that trauma to have an abortion and then about her son who has Aspergerās. She tells me how sometimes she felt angry and scared. But now she realizes that she wouldnāt be the character she is ā and she likes herself ā if she had not experienced all of this. She has truly learned to take things as they come. She tells me that if there was a lottery ticket and there was a one in four chance of winning that lottery ticket, Iād buy that lottery ticket, no? That I canāt give up because one doctor was discouraging and the statistics look bad. I must believe in, and honor, the love I feel for the child that I will have. She tells me that life is about living, having hope and faith, friendships, time. At the end of it all, itās only about this. I feel better. Courage flits in me in place of Appleseed.