Just got word that yet another friend is pregnant... again. Yippee.
The first thing I feel when I hear the news (and I hear it a lot) is anger. I'm totally jealous and resentful because my body is this piece of junk that is so defective it made me kill my own child. I can't have more children, because my illness would terrify my son and because I'd be on complete bedrest for 28 weeks like I was with my living child. I'd be in bed prison because severe hyperemesis gravidarum (HG) would keep me there for the first 15 weeks, and my incompetent cervix does not offer early release for good behavior. I have an incompetent cervix because I aborted my first child in the second trimester and the abortionist ripped my insides out.
Even though cerclage has not been proven effective, my doctor says it's mandatory in my case because severe HG and an incompetent cervix don't mix. The force of my projectile vomiting could literally send the baby shooting out of me onto the bathroom floor where my horrified preschooler and I could watch him/her die helplessly. Not really my idea of a family Kodak moment. With such a possibility, I may as well have had a hysterectomy.
I feel like Salieri, because God gave me an incredible yearning but very little ability to fulfill it. All of the desire and yet improper plumbing (and a financial statement that doesn't support the idea of adoption). What ever shall I do?
I shall force out a smile and say "congratulations" even though the news punches me in the stomach with a fifty pound fist and ruins me emotionally for the rest of the day. I shall persevere when I don't understand or like who I've become. And I shall survive when others have to stretch to find compassion for me though they really feel I deserve every nasty thing that could possibly come my way because of what they think they know about the SICLE cell.