After A had left for the hospital with severe abdominal pain, I made my way back upstairs and crawled into bed. I wasn’t really sure what to do, how to feel. I was dazed and confused more than anything. My mind raced and I thought about how A was in the hospital a mere 3 months ago. I’ve known A for 10 years. In that entire time, he had never been admitted to the hospital, never visited the ER. Not once. He’s been so fortunate. I’ve been fortunate. And suddenly, in a 3 month period, one hospital admission and one trip to the ER. Being pregnant during both hospital visits was especially hard. Pregnancy fatigue and extreme emotions added to an already stressful situation. In those early morning hours, as I waited for word, I thought to myself, “This is my last pregnancy. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t handle any more health scares. I can’t raise children by myself. What if these illnesses are just the beginning stages of more serious chronic health issues? This should be my last baby.” Perhaps a bit dramatic and my thoughts were definitely the result of fears and utter exhaustion. But when A isn’t feeling well, I am essentially a single parent. We do have help from our families – lots of help in fact. But preparing dinner alone, giving baths alone, playing with W alone, getting W ready for bed alone, makes me feel so… ALONE. It’s a very isolating, overwhelming, consuming state.
Perhaps I’ll change my mind, but right now, the message seems loud and clear. I’m not sure that we would’ve wanted to try for more children (after all, we do only have 2 embryos) and we’re thrilled with the family we have. But it is very disheartening when you feel like such an important decision was made for you.