You think you’re ok. Then…

It has been nearly six months since we ended our last pregnancy. I can’t quite believe it. Yesterday, I messaged a friend to say that I think I have come to accept our situation and have adjusted my expectations. Today, I broke down like a deranged mess in front of a whole toddler gym class when someone asked me how I was.

You see, today is our (latest) baby’s due date.

Today is also the day that I think I have got my period again, after trying so hard to get pregnant last month. This was the first month we have been able to try and get pregnant since we ended our pregnancy. I’ll explain why.

For a few months I had little to no periods, with horrendous abdominal pain. I’d never really experienced period pain before, so I visited a gynaecologist. He wanted to run a few tests to make sure I didn’t have Asherman’s.

We started with a HSG. It’s when a radiologist puts a catheter in your cervix and into your uterus and squirts dye in there that should flow around and show up on a screen. It was at the same hospital that we went to when we ended our pregnancy. That alone was enough to set me off. Then I had to take a pregnancy test. It felt cruel. Then I was back in a hospital gown again. Lying on a table in a brightly lit room again. This time there was no anaesthetic. The pain was excruciating. I honestly can’t remember ever being in so much pain. It was painful because the dye wasn’t going where it was supposed to. It was stuck in the neck of the uterus. I cried so much that day that the radiologist put a note on my report that she thought I needed psychological help. I had Asherman’s.

It was in December last year that I feared I had Asherman’s. I never thought I would be in the same situation again nearly a year later. This time I arrived at a private hospital. I was dressed in a gown again. I was given misoprostol again. I was led into the brightly lit theatre room again. The anaesthetist was there, she held my hand. The operation was a “success” if you put aside the fact I had bad scarring in the neck of my uterus. The gynaecologist said he had divided the scar tissue and we could start trying again immediately. We were so optimistic. It was a rare win for us in the crap of the last two years that we have plodded through.

Now though, as I sit on our couch writing this, I feel like I’ve come down to earth with a thud. We are still on a long road. We’re not even pregnant. If we get pregnant we and our little baby then have 39 weeks to survive, well, 35 if you minus out the first four weeks that you don’t know you’re pregnant. It’s hard to stay positive sometimes.

 

 

 

 

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