Pregnancy, Take Two - The Molar Pregnancy

I cannot help but feel that my body is slowly trying to tick off every single thing that can go wrong during pregnancy:

First Trimester Miscarriage:  TICK

Dreaded Molar Pregnancy that every pregnant woman fears: TICK

What next, Second or Third Trimester Miscarriage? A positive test result in relation to a terrible syndrome which can wreck your beautiful future child’s chance at a *traditional life? Near death experience, resulting in the removal of your womb? Still born? Cot death?

I do know that I am being overly dramatic but I feel fucking shitty right now. I know that on the grand scheme of things life and death can be a whole lot worse and at least I found out relatively early and didn’t go on thinking for the rest of my first trimester (five weeks) that everything was blissful to discover at 12 weeks that it was a clusterfuck of cells masquerading as a foetus.

I do know that it is just the luck of the draw and we had no luck this time round. I joked with Rowan in regards to our odds for a traditional pregnancy next time round: We’ve been part of the 1 in 4 miscarriage brigade, now we're part of the 1 in 600 Molar Cell Calculation Fuck Ups. However, bearing in mind that Rowan’s odds for getting MS after having Cholera, Meningitis and a rare tropical disease (that the London Hospital of Tropical Diseases hadn’t seen for a hundred years) were pretty low, it also highlights the fact that next time round something even more fucked up may strike and that all of the worry and panic I felt when I first found out about this pregnancy were for nothing; if you are going to miscarry or have something crap happen, that will continue to occur regardless of sleep, work, what you eat and drink, or how you live your life.

Pregnancy is a very strange creature. It can take months, years and decades to conceive to have it cock up. The whole process is one of chance and the potential outcome is also one of chance, yes age and health will go against you or in your favour, but so will walking down the street instead of catching a bus or wearing red instead of green. My point is that when it is right and you end up with a healthy baby for the foreseeable future, it is truly a gift, a remarkable beautiful gift of every bit of chance working in your favour.

I am someone who panics when in limbo, however as soon as I have facts and answers, all is good. So in answer to everyone who wants to talk and ensure me that they care (and yes, I do know you care and you mean the best, and I do really appreciate that, even though I am coming off as an angry, senseless, selfish bitch from hell) but there is really nothing to talk about, the facts have been discussed with the specialist, the consent forms have been signed and the procedure has been booked:

Yes, it is shit.

Yes, I know that it doesn’t mean that we’ll continue to struggle in the future.
Yes, I know this is just circumstantial, a setback, if you will.

Yes, of course there are various other options out there, if my body does decide that creating life is not it’s cup of tea.

Yes, I’m aware that someone’s cousin’s sister-in-law-once-removed also had one and they’ve now got 40 children of every colour and religion, having their first pregnancy at the grand young age of 62.

Yes, Rowan is being extremely supportive and perhaps you could also extend a kind word in his direction, as this is happening to him also. He is also going through this with me, he is also hurting at the loss of our potential child and future that is now delayed, once again.

And Yes, I know that next time it may work out, however I also know that it may not and that it isn’t a reflection on me, or Rowan, and it isn’t a bad thing. However it is a shitty thing but shitty things happen daily in this world and I am at peace with that.

*I have purposefully not used the word ‘normal’, as when it comes to creation, birth and life: normal isn’t a "thing", it doesn’t exist.