I should have named her Santosha, because that was the gift that she brought me back to.
“Santosha invites us into contentment by taking refuge in a calm center, opening our hearts in gratitude for what we do have and practicing the paradox of not seeking.”
After my first pregnancy and the birth of my eldest, I foolishly assumed that when it was time for baby number two, we would not have too much difficulty. And as it often goes, long comes an unwanted lesson. And boy was life going to make sure that I really understood this one.
After trying to conceive for a few months, we found ourselves pregnant with baby number two. Our family was growing and we were beyond excited. As the weeks unfolded the nausea ensued and everything was going well. Summer was coming to an end and I was preparing to head back to work as a teacher. This was going to be my first September back at work since having my son and I was excited to know that I was heading back with a secret and joyful news that our second child was on its way.
I was not ready to share my news with people yet as I was just over 11 weeks pregnant and wanted to wait the full three months before sharing. I had spent a week in my classroom, getting set up and getting prepared for the students that I was going to oversee that year. I was excited to be back, excited to see my colleagues, my friends, and to see the students. There was something so energizing about the start of the school year. I was ready. But on the Labour Day weekend, my joy quickly turned to distress. I had started to bleed. Heading to the hospital my husband and I and our son waited for hours at the ER. I tried to stay positive, but I was fearful, I knew exactly what was happening. I was sent for an ultrasound; the technician was kind but quiet, making polite small talk and then sending me back to the room to wait to speak to the doctor. The doctor shared that the baby did not have a heartbeat and would pass naturally when I was at home, that this was very common and it was nothing to feel discouraged about.
Of course, with every pregnancy you are aware that there is a risk, but as the weeks tick by and you start to loosen your grip on the idea of losing the baby, you become more vulnerable to the hurt of what that reality feels like. Truthfully, I had thought that I was already around the corner by the time I lost my first baby. I was devastated. I spent the rest of that weekend crying and I did pass the baby at home, which was horribly traumatic. But then Tuesday rolled around and even though I was not ready and not in a headspace to do so, back to work I went. As a teacher I could not miss the first day of school and I did not want to have to explain to everyone what was happening. It was too painful to keep retelling the story, to hear people tell me how common it was to have a miscarriage. Knowing how often women lose their babies in early pregnancy did not make me feel better. When people respond to my situation with this information it made my grief feel unvalidated.
Being back in school with the children was a good distraction. I found when I was teaching, I was not thinking about my loss or the fact that I was still bleeding. But the moment I would walk the halls, or the children would leave the classroom, the sorrow would creep in and the tears would fall. I was grieving the loss of my baby and I was grieving being blindsided by life. When life blindsides you in this kind of way you start to lose trust in life itself. Or at least that is where I was at that point in time.
As the days went on, time passed and my heart began to heal. My husband and I decided that we were ready to try again. It took us a bit of time to conceive after that first miscarriage, perhaps it was the stress, the emotion, who knows, but we did finally get a positive pregnancy test and while we were excited, I was very nervous this time around. Having felt what it was like to have something you love so much taken away had me fearing that it could happen again. And sure enough, at 9 1/2 weeks pregnant I started to bleed, again. For the second time in a row I was losing a baby. This time round I was able to allow myself to grieve. I let myself cry through my hospital visit, knowing what was happening and this time around, it was not the start of the school year, so I could take some time off work. Losing a second baby made me feel like I no longer knew my own body. I could not wrap my head around the fact that my body was refusing to expand my family when I wanted it so badly. I was deep in grief and I stayed there for a while, living in sadness trying to come to terms with the fact that my plan to have a large family might not be my reality.
Slowly time passed and I started to realize that my longing for a second child was stealing from my appreciation for the child I already had. I realized that while the loss of the life I thought I could have was devastating, I am one of the lucky ones who gets to have a baby at all. Knowing some infertility begins with baby number one where I at least have my first baby. I might not be able to give him a sibling, but I can give him all of me, a happy life, with a present, joyful, loving mother.
It was in that acceptance that I was able to begin to focus on the things in my life that I was grateful for. It did not end the pain that came with the loss and it did not change the fact that I still felt as though my body betrayed me. However, I was able to get to a point of understanding that if this was my path, I was going to do the best job on this journey that I could. Relaxing and finding contentment in the things I could not control seemingly changed everything. In the following months, I was able to get pregnant and carry a baby that was born healthy. And While that pregnancy had difficulties and challenges of its own, it resulted in the birth of my healthy, beautiful daughter. While her name is not Santosha, I often think that maybe it should have been.
Santosha is of the Niyamas, a limb of the Eight Limbs of Yoga. The niyama’s are meant to guide us as a way of living and viewing life, resulting in a life well lived, feeling fulfilled and joyful.
Reference:
Adele D. (2009) The Yamas & Niyamas Exploring Yoga’s Ethical Practice
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