Mother's Day

The bleeding stopped almost as quickly as it had started.

It was Sunday. Mother’s Day.

Our Pregnancy had been confirmed just four days earlier after a fertility clinic blood test. My hcg reading was well over 300, meaning it had more than doubled since the sneaky blood test performed at my GP’s two days earlier.

The clinic had issued congratulations and sent us a slip for our seven week ultrasound and our due date. On nurse advice we made an obstetrician appointment to avoid problems due to a local shortage of doctors.

We were on our way!Yet we had felt a strange flatness mixed in with the elation. Disbelief played a big part of my emotions. While it might sound ludicrous after our many and varied attempts to get pregnant, it was very hard to believe it had actually happened. Adding to this curious blend of emotions was the unmistakable nausea that had begun on Thursday, the day after clinic confirmation of our pregnancy. It would start in the morning leading to vomiting in the afternoon. I had a feeling of a motion type sickness, and felt dizzy.

I had been instructed to keep taking the oral and twice daily pessaries for progesterone. These were backed up by patches. I associated the weeks of medicines with my increasingly hotter flushes. Everyday started to feel like the hottest summer day with little relief. I was bloated, really bloated. My breasts and stomach had grown seemingly within a matter of days. The rate of change was alarming.

The realisation that our preoccupation with conceiving had distracted us from learning anything about pregnancy soon hit. I felt ill-prepared, but told myself there was plenty of time to learn. It was becoming a heady mix of excitement and fear.

My online problems continued. Once I announced my pregnancy these problems exploded. The emails were abusive. The situation had become seriously worrisome. I made a feeble effort to defend myself only to exacerbate things even worse. The lovely and usually comforting online world became one of fear. I was distressed. Very distressed. Wobbles begged me to stay offline. I was completely defenceless in my newly pregnant state, and felt so very protective of my fledgling embryo. This combined with the largest ever clinic-based disaster the week before was beginning to feel like the final straw. I was nauseous, over-heated with a feeling I couldn’t get anything right.

Slowly, a surprising response to our news was disappointing. I was to hear it several times; “It’s early days yet!” We’d gone straight from a precarious infertility position only to emerge directly into a precarious pregnancy. I wasn’t sure why people seemed honour bound to remind us many many things could go wrong.

Meanwhile Wobbles was mostly exuberant outside of his concern for my own state. His joy was evident in his every word and thought. His spirit was light and joyous. His anticipation was there for all to see.

In those few days somewhere we made a decision to snatch the situation back from circumstances, that we would celebrate the happy news the best we could. We told our mothers that they would be grandmothers again; both were delighted – my mother in particular and shared every step of this often perilous journey. We were determined that unlike our time with infertility our pregnancy would be normal, and not treated as anything less due to our age, the clinic’s performance, the views of others and more.

Wobbles sweetly announced that he wanted us to go away over night to celebrate. I could have done without travel in my heated and nauseous state, but I felt unable to disappoint him. He had booked us into a luxury hotel in the Melbourne CBD and the plan was to have dinner at a restaurant, see a movie and visit favourite bookstores.

Ahead of leaving for our night away Wobbles came home and found me in bed wondering how I was going to manage the long car journey in my nauseated state. Hands behind his back he said; “I have a present! It’s not very romantic!” Any present from this man who fears present buying is always gratefully received. It was a new steam iron. My complaints about the old iron with the dangerously frayed cord and suddenly sunk in after several years. This was my Mother’s Day present and I loved it! Wobbles had also taken it upon himself to acknowledge my mould allergy and clean a bathroom ceiling. He was a new man, looking for new ways to show thoughtfulness and love. It was truly something special to see.

We headed off to Melbourne and promptly got caught in a traffic snarl of a major sports event on a Friday night variety. A short trip off the freeway that should have been minutes took two hours. My temperature, bladder and nausea all threatened to explode at any moment. I was hot and very sweaty. We decided to head straight for a high-rise car park rather than drive around in anymore circles while looking for a street park. Out on the street on foot, Wobbles led me along a popular restaurant strip to the venue of our booking. It had to be some blocks away from the car park, and so we walked past what looked like a dozen or so perfectly good other restaurants. Hot, nauseous, over full bladder and being rained upon. Still feeling stressed and wanting hard to enjoy our happy news, once out of the toilets and seated at our table I started to feel a little more human.

Unusually, we ordered an entrée that we eventually realised was topped with a soft cheese. A protective Wobbles scrapped off all traces of the cheese. We started to contemplate all the many things we didn’t know about pregnancy. Feeling less sick and over-heated I was led to a favourite bookstore after a lovely dinner. We had our usual long browse and sometime we met up in the children’s book section and bought Baby Wobbles his first book. It seemed natural that in our shared world of books our first purchase for our baby would be a book; a monochromatic picture book without words. A perfect first book for Baby. Our Baby. We decided that the purchase of a straightforward book about pregnancy was sorely needed, and opted for the new revised Australian edition of What to Expect When Your Expecting. While waiting for Wobbles to pay for our purchases I stood over by the door and took a closer look at the window display. I turned to look for Wobbles, watching him for a moment I contemplated his soaring happiness and decided to try and let go of my fears and stresses in order to share some of his joy. Across the store I caught his eye, and we had a wonderful and intimate moment of sharing our secret joy.

The hotel was a surprise. The no star accommodation that budget conscious Wobbles tends to favour was put aside for one night. For this occasion, it was valet parking and 5-star luxury high above the city. We laid on the comfortable bed while my second progesterone pessarie for the day did its work, we read up on many of our questions about pregnancy. It was a lovely time of contemplating the months to come.

In the morning we made our way to a café for breakfast and then onto the National Gallery of Victoria to see an exhibition of one of my favourite Australian artists, Rupert Bunny. Wobbles was beginning to understand how easily tired and how frequently nauseous I was becoming, so I managed to cut the itinerary right back to a more manageable level. Feeling sick and tired while far from home is not one of my favourite conditions. We enjoyed the exhibition and on seeing a mother and young child discussing one of the seaside scenes on canvas, Wobbles and I smiled at each other. We were certain that we would be repeating this visit many times over with Baby Wobbles in tow. Another look at books and we were on our way, back to the hotel to collect the car. On queue, the afternoon nausea set in and Wobbles had the job of driving us home.

Back home it was still early enough to have a session at the pool. Warned by Dr Loverley avoid infection by staying out of a public pool during the 11-day wait, I had resumed my back strengthening water walking on Thursday – the day after official clinic confirmation of our positive result. Improved fitness now seemed even more of an imperative than ever. Back home, I looked forward to settling in for the night. Out of the city, warm and dry, and not quite as nauseous. I still had Sunday to enjoy our news with my Wobbles.

The bleeding started just after 9.30 pm on Sunday. I had left the pool before 7 and felt a sharp twinge in my lower back as I walked to the car. I had dismissed it as being due to the cold. Driving home, I silently hoped my back would see me through the pregnancy.

The bleeding came as a total surprise. I shouted to Wobbles and he came to the toilet to see. After some stressed talk we decided we should lay down. We decided to phone my favourite source of medical information; my mother. It had stopped, but I was afraid to move or to go to the toilet.

An hour later I was bleeding again. This was heavier and just as short-lived.

Around 1.30 am the third bleed started. It was heavy. I was bleeding large clots. I was in no doubt I was losing the baby.

Wobbles called to me, he seemed frozen infear lying on the bed. I opened the ensuite door to tell him the bleeding had returned and was very heavy. He started to sob. All at once I was certain I’d never felt more helpless. I was losing the baby. Maybe I would lose Wobbles too.

Eventually, I went back to bed in a reflex reaction, like nothing much had taken place. As usual, I was mindful that Wobbles had an early start for work and deserved a good night’s sleep. I was restless and in a lot of pain. I got up and paced about, eventually found a sofa and sat there the rest of the night. The longest night I could recall; a night of contemplation, loss and the certainty that things could never be the same again.

I can’t recall much of what was said that morning, other than Wobbles’ words of continued love and support. We phoned the clinic and we were advised to come in for a blood test. For what seemed like the kazillionth time, I heard the same clinic nurse utter what seemed to be her preferred line: “It’s not good.” We’d have to wait until the results came in to know more. I sent Wobbles on his way to work.

At home alone and still feeling restless, I decided to go in search of diversion. At my favourite local source of books – a nearby charity store – one of the staff wanted to tell me all about her wonderful Mother’s Day, and the surprises her grown children had created for her. Then it was my turn. She wanted to know about my Mother’s Day.

“Are you a mother?” She asked innocently.

No harm had been intended.

I almost was. I answered silently. I almost was.