The politically incorrect thoughts of a BLM...

Let me say that consciously I absolutely would never, ever, ever wish the pain of baby or child loss on anyone.  Not my worst enemy.  From the bottom of my heart.  It hurts.  It's unbearable.  It's never to be recovered from.  It's a pain I wish could be banished from the world.

But, I'm sure that there is not one of us, who has entertained fleeting moments of wondering why it happened to me, and not them.  Why it is that I have to suffer and be misunderstood.  Why is it that everyone else goes off to hospital, survives whatever complications they might have, and brings home a baby.  That even though they say 'oh yes, we almost lost blah blah blah', there are few, if any, in our immediate circle of people we know, who can sit there in a conversation with us and discuss dead babies.  Nod along, so to speak, as we do in our blogging world.  Companionably.

Just to tangent off for a moment.  Even that word, companionably, is politically incorrect when it comes to dead babies, isn't it?  I mean, you have to be kidding.  Consciously, I do not want to be companionable with parents of dead babies. 

Oh?  You have a dead baby?  Let's do coffee!

Politically incorrect, I'm sure.

Unconsciously though, we have to face that it's a different matter.  We need each other.


But back to my thoughts.

::::

So, I was laying there this morning, in my half still snoozing state.  Thinking about babies, about dead ones, and in between ones (the ones who survive after a stint of touch and go).  Somehow I got thinking about a cousin, who has recently announced they are expecting twins.

Yippee.  Yahoo. 

Yes, that's the extent of my excitement.

I haven't really thought about them much since I heard, to be honest.  I have no reason to.  We are not "friends" as such.  I don't "see" them often, as such.  It affects my world in only the teensiest, tiniest corner.  Something like having a storage closet closed off at the back of the house.

And them popping into my thoughts this morning was very random.  Unimportant even.  But then I had a pang of jealousy.  Fuck that.  Who likes the feeling of the old green eyed?  Let alone when it's wasted on something that is honestly unrecognizably important.

My rambly, green eyed, half sleepy thoughts travelled through the facts.  They are young.  Fertile.  Their first was born somewhere around Toby, I think.  It's timely for them to have another pregnancy.  And twins?  The third set in my cousin's family (both of his brother's wives have also birthed twins).  I mean... a high risk pregnancy to have two, right?  You "qualify" to have the best in OBs if you so wish.  But these "lucky" people would still just be celebrating the "exciting yet daunting" world of getting twins in the family.  Run of the mill for them.  Everyone does it, in their family.  Not even a major complication.

Interruption.  Even as I type, I feel guilty.  Like I am wishing bad.

I say again... never, ever, ever.  I certainly am not.  I am simply trying to put into words where the deep, dark of the unconscious wanders.  And if I'm alone, be sure to bring me down.

Back to being envious.

So.  Twins.  A "ready made" family.  Numbers two and three.  No need to go back and try again.  No need to experience the sadness of secondary infertility.  Or to feel the biological clock ticking. 

My cousin's family is a large one, so maybe they will.  But seriously, a nuclear family kind of seems to negate the urge and desperation to me.  Surely trying for number four LIVING child wouldn't hurt as much as trying to get any living child?  Or even the ?slightly? less hurtful of trying to get a second living child through secondary infertility?

But then my deep, dark unconscious wondered if they would heed the Geneticist's warning that we have passed on to the rest of my extended family, in writing.  That all pregnancies are to be treated as potential risks for genetic airway problems.  That all pregnancies should be treated with respect, through an obstetrician, and recommended testing such as fetal MRI's and diagnostic US.  Whereby an OB and NICU team are on standby for birth, ready to perform immediate tracheostomies.

I bet they don't heed those warnings.

Because to them, I'm sure the danger just isn't real.  If they think about it at all, then they probably think of it as "removed".  I mean, sure, their cousin's baby died of it.  Their other cousin's baby survived though, because the doctor's "fixed" him.  Musta had better doctor's, hey?  Well, thankfully, it's never happened to our family, so we'll be right.

General non babylost way of thinking, right?

But then I thought.  I wonder if it will happen to them?  I wonder if their baby will die? 

(no need to repeat my sincere prayer that it doesn't!)

But then I had a hit of.... what is that?  More jealousy?  Because on the one hand I was thinking that thought, and thinking well, then at least they would know what it feels like then.  Except that then I might be dealing with something worse... that they would somehow take the stage of being more important in the family babyloss world.  You know?  Because, my own loss happened... heck, almost four years ago now, you know?  She's had a rainbow baby.  She's over it now.  ThankGAWD.

In truth, though, besides the political correctness of not wanting anyone else to feel the pain, I also feel the political incorrectness that I don't want anyone else stealing my OR CIARAN'S thunder.

And I don't want their baby to have a survivable milder form of webbing either, because I don't want a reminder that someone else's baby (in my extended family) was spared not like poor Bir.

So, I'm damned if I do, and damned if I don't.

I'm just going to chalk the whole lot of related feelings up to being "babylost Bir".

We're all still individual, and walking in different shoes, no matter how much our experiences tie us together, and so I hope that my words somehow make sense and don't offend, because their is no intention here.

:::

But I also want to add a side note to the words "jealousy" and "envy".

Two words.

Tarago envy.

I came across it the other day, unexpectedly.  I had to smile at myself, because really, I'm thankful and it's ridiculous.

Let me make up some kind of dictionary meaning for you...

Tarago envy is a kind of envy for something you realise that you can never have.  A family big enough to require a Tarago, or some kind of people mover.  The end of a dream, or the end of the possibility of the dream.  Even the end of the control over choosing the dream.

It hit me as I watched a Bret.hr.en family climb out of their wagon at the supermarket.  Ouch.

:::

The funny thing about my Tarago envy?  We have just bought a new car, and it's actually a seven seater, so should by some miracle I birth four more living babies, we're right.