This morning, my coworker Robin came by my desk. The usual “Hi/Good morning/How are you” commenced. He responded with “*Sigh* I’m tired.”
Robin is the father to a three year old. He could be tired for a number of reasons. I didn’t pry, and continued eating my Cheerios.
But he lingered and we made a little chit chat until Pea came over (His daughter has been in and out of the doctor’s office with, it turns out, mono. Babies get mono. Who knew?)
Pea made an off hand remark about how things were with Robin.
“We lost it.”
At my desk. At 9:20 in the morning. My coworker is openly talking about how his wife miscarried this week at 8 weeks. As you may recall, Robin and his wife suffered a miscarriage late in their last pregnancy. They are facing it again, and my heart breaks for them. There was a part of me that wanted to scream “Good god, man… GO HOME!” But we all have our ways to dealing with grief. I told him that if he ever wanted to grab a cup of tea, just ask.
(Aside: This lead to a very odd series of comments from Pea about how this is okay, good things are coming, etc. I wanted to push him, because this is NOT okay, good things aren’t always coming along, and sometimes things are just fucking miserable. Pea, of course, comes with his own set of losses so he knows this sting. I suppose this is just my way of pointing out that people who experience pregnancy loss can still be emotionally tone deaf.)
With my recent CD1, the idea has cropped up that Mr. O and I might try for another baby. You see, we have one on ice. Just one. I realize the chances that this one will thaw and become an actual human baby aren’t terribly high. But hope is there, somewhere in cryogenic deep freeze. The other day, I was looking at Chick and Mr. O playing together and thought “There is a 70%* likelihood that this is it for us. This is my family.” And you know what? I am okay with that.
Until this morning, I hadn’t also applied this statistic to the other side of the coin: There is high probability that my hypothetical pregnancy could fail. I’ve fortunately never experienced a miscarriage, but I don’t know that I could handle it– especially if I lost the only embryo we have left.
I don’t know what my point is exactly… Maybe just to say that these are wounds that never really heal.
*Based off the statistic that only 20-35% of IVF cycles result in a live birth. I rounded a little to a 70/30 split. Sad sack stats, but thems the breaks for us infertiles.