Learning to Live with Fear

Life is cyclical by its very nature when you’re female. Back in the days before we started trying to conceive, the cycle was there but it wasn’t particularly important. I’d probably be annoyed if my period started on holiday, and I definitely had to stock up on painkillers and chocolate at the beginning of every month. But that’s as far as it went. It was part of life, but a relatively small part. As someone with PCOS, my cycles weren’t always regular, which made it easier to forget about it all between periods.

But once you start trying to make babies, the cyclical nature of the process really comes home to you. Every few weeks, there is disappointment, which tends to get more crushing as time passes. After the disappointment, renewed hope. Let it be this month! If your cycle is irregular, or if you’re a few days late, the hope builds and builds… and then it all comes crashing down again.

So far, this is a very familiar cycle to many women. It’s talked about, and lots of people will recognise it. But what is less commonly mentioned is the added dimension that comes into play for mums who have lost a baby, at any stage of pregnancy or after birth. You still have the building hope and crushing disappointment every month, and it’s still exhausting. But now there is something else as well. Something that never, ever goes away.

It’s fear.

It wasn’t too bad after my first miscarriage.  After my first and second chemical pregnancies, it was still relatively easy to push it into the background. But after losing the twins, and then another chemical pregnancy, the fear looms large and it never goes away.

As every day passes and I get closer to the beginning of a new month, the fear gets stronger.

I am afraid that this month, yet again, I won’t be pregnant.

I’m afraid that I will be, but only for a few days.

I’m afraid that I will pass that milestone and see my baby’s heartbeat, but that there will still be bad news a few weeks later.

I’m afraid that if we pass that terrible rite of passage (and yes, facing the stage at which you learned your baby died will always be hard, even when this baby lives), it will be another difficult pregnancy, only this time it will be harder because we already have a small child.

I am afraid that even if we get through all that, we still might not get to take our baby home, because when baby loss is part of your life, you know there are no guarantees.

Every month, all these fears swirl around and build up until I feel as though I am screaming inside my head.

And then another month begins. There is no pregnancy, again. The crushing disappointment is no less painful. It is not less because of the fear that preceded it.

Philippians chapter four, verses 6 and 7 tell us not to fear anything, but to pray about everything. That’s great advice: but unfortunately, although prayer is a wonderful tool and does work to reduce fear, it doesn’t take it away completely, because we are human.

If we do have another child, I will face each of these fears in turn and, hopefully, by grace of God and with my family and friends’ support, I will manage to get through them and come out on the other side.

If you know anyone who lives with the loss of a beloved child, they may be living with fear like this. It’s really hard to talk about, and to write about. But it’s also really helpful to do so.

And if any of my fears come true, I know that with God’s help, and the love of those I love, I will be able to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Because although the fear is always there, every new month brings hope as well. Hope and fear… fear and hope… the hope doesn’t drive out the fear, but the existence of hope makes it possible to live with the fear.