Do Over

As some of you know, I will be starting grad school in August, part time, since I am still a full time school employee.  I decided it may be prudent of me to apply for scholarships.  Since medical bills ate my whole savings account, every little bit of extra money helps.  The scholarship journey is interesting.  There are not too many scholarships (that I have found) for just grad students.  So I am competing against high school seniors. Ha. As if any of their life experiences can beat mine.  My uber competitiveness kicks in and I am now applying for every scholarship I can because I am SOOO much better than high school students, of course.  Which really isn't the case; I've taught many students who write far better than I do, but I try to push that thought away in favor of winning. 

One of the essay prompts was: if you could choose one thing in your life to "do over," what would it be?  I wrote this:

December 2, 2011. There was no heartbeat on the screen, no blip to reveal that there was still life inside of me. How could I have been so naïve, so innocent as to believe that everything would be easy after the first few weeks? I hated myself for not realizing the possibilities. I hated that I was one of those women who thought that having a living baby was a fact—get pregnant, have baby. No questions asked. But I believed. I had too much hope, too much naivety. As my husband and I grieved the loss of our unborn child, I realized that I would not change what happened. I am a stronger and more empathetic than I have ever been. We didn’t know at the time that our loss would lead to months of surgeries. Again, I would not change this. I have learned what a precious gift life is.



I would, however, have changed my innocence.


I wish that I could go back to my November self and tell her to guard her feelings cautiously. Don’t be naïve; be a realist. This doesn’t mean to think pessimistically, but simply to realize all possibilities. Hope is a dangerous drug. Too much masks what dangers may lay beneath the surface while too little leaves depression and sadness in its wake. I am no longer the innocent girl that I was. If ignorance is bliss, what is knowledge? Pain, suffering, worry.

What breaks my heart for everyone in the IF world is how true it is that innocence is stolen.  Ultrasounds aren't happy places where baby heartbeats flutter; they have become scary, cold, clinical exams that show empty places where babies should be or should have been.  I see ultrasound photos and think, "my what a perfect uterus she has," not "my, how exciting to have a baby."  Ultimately, is it better to have lost this innocence? Are we now more prepared for life? Does the strength we've been forced to have make us better women, and (hopefully) someday better mothers? 

I have to believe it does.