Everything can change so quickly in this game.
One minute you’re watching your baby’s heart beat on the ultrasound monitor and marveling at how perfect they look.
Next thing, you’re gushing red blood all over the floor of the doctors office, passing disgustingly humungus clots that closely resemble chunks of human flesh, and having a nurse stab your thigh with an anti-d injection right there in the scan room because you are rhesus negative and they can’t risk your baby’s blood mixing with yours as it leaves your body.
And because it’s all happening so quickly the nurse is rough, and leaves blood gushing down your leg where she has pulled out the needle. And you’re crying hysterically and your husband has gone all pale, and the nurse makes some feeble comment like “This injection will stop the bleeding!” and you want to scream at her “No lady! Don’t try to lie to me because you pity me!” but instead you say nothing because you’re so emotional that the words fade away before they can even form in your mouth.
Just like that, people. Just like that.
And then all you can think is…why can’t I go too? Why can’t this baby take me too? Why do all my babies leave me behind here, so miserable and alone?
Then you’re supposed to be resting in bed until they can scan you again tomorrow, but instead you’re in the bathroom collecting the huge chunks that fall out of yourself and putting them in a tupperware jar. Even though you don’t have any idea why you’re doing this.
Maybe because there’s nothing else for you to do now. You have lost all other purpose.
Eight cycles of IVF. Another dead baby. Another crushed dream.