I realized today that if you count my pregnancy with C, combined with the more-than-five-but-fewer-than-ten miscarriages I’ve endured, I have been pregnant for at least half of the time since I got married. . Like an elephant.
Sheesh.
As an adjunct to this, I also realized this week that my current evening medication regimen looks rather like the pill intake of a very elderly woman suffering from numerous and serious chronic diseases. It’s THAT many pills and supplements. And then there is all the drawing of blood and ultrasounding of innards and karyotyping of chromosomes that comes with this experience. It’s something, let me tell you.
I feel rather like a slightly freakish, walking-talking science experiment these days. But one way or another, we are nearing the end game on all of this, which is reassuring. I am in now absolute awe of women who stoically plough ahead through this stuff for years and years.
I think I will look back on this relatively brief period of reproductive purgatory as one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I don’t think I will have any regrets, though. And that’s a good thing.
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