Pregnancy Has Traumatised Me

There I said it. Pregnancy has traumatised me, and the very thought of going through it again has me in sobs of tears and clutches of hysterical breathing. How can the thought of something do this to me? Both pregnancies have left me fearing it so much that I don’t know if I can attempt it again. It will be the days where I look at what the previous two have given me and knowing that every pregnancy can be different where it will happen. Not because I’m giving it the free for all and trying to make it happen. Just several months ago I wrote this about thinking about that third baby, and it’s still very much there. Those thoughts that want and the fear.

The fact that every pregnancy can be different has me reeling in total & fear, just what if a third one happened to be even worse then the previous two? One gave me days of excruciating pain which turned out to be gallstones and then the next has me wondering how I managed not to get locked up in the loony-bin or become a size zero to no fault of my own.

I’ll go days with being ok about it and not given pregnancy a thought and then something will remind me and the lip will start wobbling and then I can’t help but to mourn that time I had and the time I will have in the future that might just not go to plan. I was chatting about Breastfeeding the other day, and someone said how they had to give up feeding their child because of the Hyperemesis Gravidarum they were suffering from and how they were so dehydrated. The word ‘Hyperemesis’ was enough to instantly wretch these emotions from me. I understood, and there would be no way I could continue to feed the Baby if I was ever to get HG on that scale again.

There are then the ones announcing new pregnancies and babies that natural broodiness I feel as a mother and someone who knows her family isn’t complete yet. The jealousy you get to see them enjoying pregnancy the way it should, enjoying the excitement of growing a baby inside of you and the planning of names, nursery decor and baby shopping. I never really had that, it was only towards the end with the last that I was able even to start giving that a thought and by then I was still experiencing problems that it was never really enjoyed how it should have been.

It’s wanting to scream at people who say they’re suffering sickness that they really don’t know what sickness is until you’re running into A+E at 11 pm to beg to put on a drip. When your husband loses his job because he has to look after you because you’re so sick to look after yourself, your first child and to look after the house you live in. When you’re going through the drugs trying each one like a lab rat and not finding something that works. A dear friend of mine suggested she would probably find relief from the nausea if she were just sick. No, just no you wouldn’t. That’s how mine started and how I spent the time wishing I was sick. Oh, how I shouldn’t have wished that to be true.

Would have done anything to of exchanged the sickness back for the nausea, the need to not have to take a sick bowl everywhere with you and that’s when you found the energy actually to move from anywhere but the bed. Begging people to take it away from you, actually begging them with all the energy you have left to stop you from being turned inside out with every bit of you that comes out of your body. Being so dehydrated that you struggle to cry, your lips become so cracked you wonder if they will ever look normal again. Wondering if it was possible to die from being sick so much. Having the most horrendous thoughts about getting rid of this baby you wanted to much to be healthy again despite being so against such an act. Just wanting to spend a normal day at the park with your son, not being bed bound by something you made happen.

Experiencing the hormones in pregnancy, the way they changed you overnight with conception, the way you suddenly felt the lowest of low. Looking in mirrors and not liking what you saw, feeling so low about yourself that you never want to step outside the house again let alone go to work. The job I enjoyed so much was left while I dealt with these new emotions and the illness which followed. Remember that low day you had in the kitchen as you looked towards to the knives and wondered if you were feeling suicidal? The doctor diagnosed me with pre-natal depression; I refused medication because I wasn’t given a straight answer to if they could harm my unborn child or not.

I briefly wrote about pre-natal depression not long after speaking to the doctor about it back in October 2011. Reading back through it, I explain how I didn’t want to go into detail. My head would have been a mess, no wonder I didn’t know quite what to say or how to explain it in words in a  blog post. It’s only now a year on after that pregnancy that I can reflect on it with a straight head and try to examine what actually went wrong and if there is actually a way I can prevent it from happening in any future pregnancies.

It really was one thing after another, even after the HG has settled to a manageable condition I then went on to have something different chucked at me what seemed like every week while being pregnant. Guess the next scary thing I endured was the SVT that creeped out of nowhere, one minute I’m sat on the sofa, and the next minute I’m sat at the bottom of the stairs clutching my heart waiting for the emergency ambulance the Man had just called. It just felt like my body didn’t want me to be pregnant anymore. I wonder if my body can even cope with pregnancy? Could something worse happen next time?

The one thing that kept me going was knowing that through it all, through everything I and we endured as a family that this baby I was growing inside of me was healthy. He continued to be healthy right up until he was born, we had a smooth homebirth that went to plan. The only reason he was taking to hospital for a week of antibiotics was that he went and pooed in my waters and gave himself an infection. I know the man is excited at the thought of a third and final child, I guess he’s already forgotten what I put him through.

Guess I’ve taken the right steps towards a third pregnancy, I’ve joined HG support groups and I talk through my fears and what’s eating me up inside. I have been advised that before I even start trying for another baby that I should visit my GP to tell her of my wishes and I guess to get a plan of action in place in case my pregnancy takes a turn for the worse. What kind of situation is that when I have to go to the doctor and let them know I want another baby? Like asking for permission. Shouldn’t it at first be a private wanting between the Man and me? I just want to experience pregnancy for the beautiful thing it is; I don’t want to have to mourn another 9 months of my life that didn’t go to plan.

Could being pregnant again be the most spiteful thing to do to my family? Should I just be happy with the two amazing boys I’ve been blessed with and stop here with my family? Despite the fact I carry healthy happy babies? I guess I can’t even think about a third until I can happily answer these questions for myself.

 

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