The ability to honestly and quietly reflect on one’s life is one of the most powerful tools for personal growth.
So many clinical terms have surrounded me in the past 9 months.
Intrauterine growth restriction
Small for gestational age
Fetal thrombotic vasculopathy
Supervision of high-risk pregnancy
Fetal demise (again)
The words are splattered all over my chart. In order to see test results or after visit summaries, I have to wade through all of those words.
I will be older than when everything began. I was 31 when I was pregnant with Nelle. 32 when I was pregnant with Iris. 33 never seemed old, but now as I look at the spectrum of fertility, it suddenly feels ancient. Like I do not have enough factors working against me.
As I sat beneath the tree after spreading Iris’s ashes, I felt like I could not do this again. I could not add another set of ashes. I cannot add another inscription to the ring that I wear with my girls’ names. I look at the other rings, with the initials of my boys and feel that I will never add a third.
But I have to try. We are part of a continuum and I do not know where it ends.