My child became sick inside my womb. She had no chromosomal deviations or other disorders that tend to manifest hand in hand with Hydrocephalus. She was a perfectly healthy, beautiful little girl, growing safely inside my womb. Then one day, the little tube in the brain that drains and recycles the fluids stopped working, for no obvious reason. The accumulation of fluids created a pressure so high, that they damaged her developing brain to an extent that it could no longer function. Bad luck is what they called it. Her condition, comparable with the same unlikely course of events that lead a person to be hit by a car when he walks out the front door of his house when going to work. Bad luck.
After researching both Frank’s and my DNA, and also the amniotic fluid Sahar was growing in, we were assured that we have a perfect shot at having healthy, living babies, just like any other healthy couple would. What happened to Sahar wasn’t a consequence of any genetic incompatibility or disorder. It just happened, there’s no reason, no explanation. Knowing this, didn’t reassure me. I was still left with doubts, questions and above all: fear. The odds of this ever happening again are close to zero, but when looking at the chance of Sahar having this condition, statistics offer little comfort.
Generally, when considering getting pregnant again, and surviving another pregnancy, hopefully with a happy outcome, I can’t help but think about the worst thing happening. It would be so crushing, that I feel I can’t just ignore it. The body tries to protect itself by avoiding a situation in which you could be hurt so terribly again, it’s a human reaction. The problem is, that this situation can’t be avoided at all. I can’t even express how much I would love to have a healthy, living child in my arms. It’s simple. From the moment you try to conceive, you expose yourself for that terrible hurt, all over again. You have no control over it at all. Odds might be near to nonexistent, but they still do exist.
My therapist confronted me with a question during my last session: What if you never have a living child? My heart just broke at the very thought of this. Never having a living child? That is like the greatest, most treasured and cherished dream of them all!!! Without realizing it, I jumped in my self-defense seat, and started to sum up a whole set of reasons why this could never happen:
I still cannot believe that I rattled off that list in less than one breath! Honestly, it was an eye-opener for me. I spend so much time thinking of the reasons why something could go wrong, and this innocent little question proved that there is still confidence, that there is still faith and a lot of hope inside my mind and soul. Hope for someday reaching that positive outcome we dream about and hold a healthy little sibling of Sahar, safely in my arms. I finished off my rambling with saying that if that should ever be the case, and we would not be able to have another child of our own ever, that I would deal with that when and if the situation presents itself. Just dealing with the thought of something like that happening was and still is too much to handle for me.
I learned a valuable lesson that day, just by saying all these words. Reflecting on what I said, served as proof that my heart holds a boatload of hope. It served as proof that I will not give up on our dream of further extending our family. It served as proof that there’s no need for running through all those tragical outcomes in my mind before hand, because they might all prove to be wasted energy. It served as proof that I still believe.
This is by far a silver bullet. These thoughts and reflections didn’t make all the fear and doubts disappear, but they did prove that apart from that, there are a lot of positive, good thoughts buried in my soul too. I know fear and uncertainty will creep up on me again and take over all my thoughts and emotions. I realize they will come knocking on my door when I feel the weakest and most vulnerable. When that time comes, I have this post, these reflections and these thoughts to come back to. Hopefully, I will find trust and comfort in them again when I need them the most. I hope you too find something in here to hold on to.