I am one of many who are pregnant right now, in my little social circle. Friends and family are all going through pregnancy as well, some at much different stages to me and others similar. And I’m the one who struggles.
When I say struggles I mean I am really struggling. I’m getting false labours regularly with contractions so strong they’ve made me vomit. I’ve been rushed into hospital by ambulance because professionals have believed I’m in labour due to the strength and timing of the contractions, each time to be told no you’re not. I’m getting stuck on the toilet or in the car because my muscles as spasming so hard when I try to stand that I literally cannot move, and having to get my boyfriend to drag me up whilst I scream and cry from the pain. Sometimes she stretches out so far it literally feels like my skin and flesh is being ripped apart and I cry. I get sharp muscles spasms in my groin so badly from the muscle damage I suffered a few weeks ago that even sitting up is too painful and I have to lie down. I am hardly getting any sleep because the pains stop me. I cannot look after my child properly, I cannot look after my home properly, and I can’t look after myself properly. I am struggling.
I am the only one in this much of a mess. Other people are getting braxton hicks contractions and just carrying on. Other people are tired and just getting through it. Everyone is experiencing the highs and lows of pregnancy like I am, but I am the one who struggles.
I’ve been told repeatedly that everyone experiences pregnancy differently, everyone gets different pains, and everybody copes differently. It’s not that I’m weaker than everyone else it’s that I’m having a different pregnancy. But I feel like I’m weak. But, also, I am pretty sure if other people were having these pains to this degree they’d be struggling too… yet I give myself a hard time for it.
On Tuesday I was pleased, I’d had a relatively pain free morning. I went out for lunch with my mum and friends. And the contractions started. Sporadically at first and I coped, I just gritted my teeth and let it fade. Then I started getting stabbing pains in my cervix so strong I couldn’t sit down properly because it hurt too much. Then the contractions got stronger. Then they got closer. By the time lunch was over they were 5 minutes apart and so bad I could hardly breathe. Our dear friend Neil helped support me back to the car, let me grip his arm so tightly I nearly drew blood, and kept a close watch on the times. By the time we got home they were down to three minutes apart and between them I felt like I was ruined and could hardly move my body between them. Back to hospital. Still not in labour. They wanted to keep me in overnight AGAIN but with painkillers and rest they started to slow down again and they agreed to me going home.
Last week I was in for three days because the contractions didn’t stop, but I still wasn’t in labour. Professionals have read the monitors, touched my stomach, and been certain I’m in labour, then on further investigations I’m not. It’s “just Braxton Hicks.”
Just Braxton Hicks.
Those annoying fake contractions that most pregnant women don’t even notice. That some feel but are just a bit sore and annoying. That you can carry on functioning with and just try to put them behind you, maybe take a paracetamol or two.
They are ruining me. I’m getting to the point where I don’t know how long I can cope for. I’m fed up. I’m hurting. I’m tired. I’m struggling.
I miss my life.
I miss being able to clean my own house. I’m relying on other people to do it because I physically can’t. I don’t know where my clothes are being put and have to hunt for them. I don’t know where things are being put away in my kitchen. I’m looking at things not being cleaned or not being put away and when I try to do it I end up completely broken. I’m so incredibly grateful for the help, and I would never not feel anything but grateful for it believe me because without it everything would be so much worse, but this is my home. I should be able to look after it. I should be able to stack my plates how I like them, put my clothes where I want them, and vacuum my floor when it needs doing. I should be able to mow my own lawn… our front lawn is so long I’m pretty sure you could lose a small child in it and for some inexplicable reason I appear to be growing barley.
I miss being able to look after my children properly. I can’t take Miss Rose to school anymore because I can’t walk far and I can’t drive. I can’t cook her meals very often because I can’t stand up long enough to do it and sometimes get dizzy when I try and it’s not safe. I can’t pick her up because I’ve got muscle damage that screams in agony when I try and lift heavy things and will just get worse if I push it. I can’t have her clambering on me and cuddling me because when she’s accidentally bodged me in the belly I’ve felt so sick I can’t breathe.
When my sister in law tells me how hard pregnancy is because she can’t run as fast on her evening jogs. Or my friends tell me they have Braxton Hicks too but just get through it. When I see women out walking with baby bumps as big as mine, carrying shopping and with their children running round their feet. I hate myself. I hate that I’m the one who’s struggling.
I hate how much pain I’m in. I hate how useless I feel. I hate that I am the weak one. I hate that I’m the one who’s struggling. I hate it.
I know it’s not much longer. I’m 35 weeks pregnant now and I’m being told repeatedly that it’s this strong because she’s shaping up to come early. I see a consultant regularly and he thinks they may well induce me in a couple of weeks, but that brings with it it’s own complications I’m not sure I want either. But equally so I don’t know how much more of this pregnancy I can cope with!
I promised recently that I would stop moaning. I am so grateful for this baby, I love her, and I love that she brings our family together so nicely. I love her. I wouldn’t not be with her. I wouldn’t go back in time and stop this pregnancy. I don’t regret it for a minute. She’s my daughter and I want her to exist with all my heart. But I don’t think I can ever do this to myself again. I don’t think I could physically or psychologically cope with this again.
Not long now. Not long then she’ll be here in the world and my body can start the healing process to get back to normal. Then I can finally stop being such a hard to be around grumpy cow!!