I’m Alive, I Swear

Hi.

I exist.

Mostly.

I have four academic weeks of school left, six total weeks until I’m off for summer break. That’s 21 teaching days. Then regents week, which is actually a week and half, then summer. But who’s keeping track.

Obviously, I never showed up to the Syracuse Half. I wanted to. I did. But I just couldn’t.

After my miscarriage I just could not convince myself to run. I could make it about 3 miles before I fizzled out. For the first time in my 17 years of running, training felt like a chore that I couldn’t talk myself into completing. Even on days when Rob was encouraging me to go out for longer runs, I just didn’t. I had no excuse except that my heart just wasn’t in it at that point anymore.

And despite all of this, I figured I’d still show up to race day and muscle through.

Except then I found out I was pregnant. Again.

And the panic set in.

It was so hard to be happy. I was pregnant three months ago and that baby is gone. Lost. Never to be. And here I was pregnant again. If I could lose one, I could lose a second. Pregnancy, despite how bad I am at it, is still a joyous thing. But all the joy and happiness was sucked right out of it. I called my doctors in a panic and they agreed to track my HCG for a bit to make sure everything was rising appropriately. And they did for about a week. Then they were happy and sent me on my way. I called a few more times in the weeks to come, anxious and scared. Can’t I come in again? Take more blood? Make my ultrasound earlier? Something? Anything? Nothing.

I felt sick to my stomach the day of my dating scan, and not because of morning sickness, of which I have had plenty. But we saw the baby. Saw that little flickering light on the screen; a heart, rapidly beating away. And relief washed over; tears, happiness.

Since then I’ve had a small subchorionic hematoma that has since resolved, a car crash which got me another view of baby, and a clear bill of health via our genetic testing. That genetic testing, another huge sigh of relief after the agony we went through with all that shit with Ellie. I didn’t have it in me to go back to another genetic counselor and MFM. Thankfully we don’t have to.

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I’m now 13+ weeks, still nauseous, but happily running. I have a 5k at the end of the month that I am very much looking forward to. I wish I had run one a few months ago, I was fast enough for a sub-30 minute finish. But pregnancy is already slowing me down and that time is not an option, but being able to do the race is,  so I will.

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I’ve got my Frankenstein treadmill, my nice quiet neighborhood, my bike trainer, and soon to be a summer off. I’m hoping to maintain better running this pregnancy. But whatever happens is fine and however it goes is okay.

Maybe this time when I say I’ll post regularly again I will. I just had no idea how to formulate my thoughts into words after getting pregnant again and missing my race, trying to keep my anxiety at bay while impatiently waiting to pass milestones. But summer is quickly approaching and I’d like to write again. So here’s to hoping.

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