I never heard the term rainbow baby until suddenly being plummeted into the pregnancy loss world nearly two years ago. Today, I’m uncertain that my husband and I ever will be able to experience the beauty and joy of a rainbow after the savage storm.

Last summer, I found out that nine friends all were pregnant and due roughly around the same time early in 2018. Nine!?!? I wanted to yell at the world, “Is everyone getting pregnant without me?” This has to be some cruel joke the universe is playing on me. I was overwhelmed by feelings of anger and jealousy. Deep inside of me, there was this Hulk-like monster struggling to burst free from a cage of envy and resentment.

Related: When Science Links my Pregnancy Losses to my Rainbow Baby

Certainly, I will admit to being more distant, and it’s made me feel like an awful friend, particularly since a good number of these pregnant friends are also loss mommas. They’ve been through similar traumas, filled with the unrelenting pain, guilt, and fear of the unknown. But, I’ve been afraid to let them know my feelings.

Uncertain Rainbow, Uncertain Health

That first-year post-loss, I was lucky. I didn’t have anyone close to me who was expecting. I worked from home so I didn’t have any co-workers to see daily. I could lock myself up within the safety of the home-office each day to protect the safe little bubble that I had created. But, then abruptly seeing all these joyous posts of ultrasounds, gender reveals and baby showers just left me heartbroken. Not so much that I didn’t get the chance to go through those experiences with my son, Emmett, but because I’m not sure I’ll be able to ever have the opportunity to become pregnant again.

In another cruel twist, my body has undergone so many changes after the loss. My doctors say that it’s in this constant state of fight-or-flight and doesn’t realize that the actual physical trauma is over. It’s placing my hormones in a frenzy, resulting in super-high blood pressure numbers. In the last six months, I’ve put on about 15 pounds, seen three specialists, and have been through so many tests that I’m on a first-name basis with the lab techs. Still, we haven’t been able to come to a definitive answer. They’ve gone through every possible diagnosis of Cushing’s Disease to an adrenal or kidney tumor.

Tired and Frustrated

Now, I’m just tired. I’m frustrated. I’m done with all the doctor’s appointments, all the poking, and prodding, plus all the waiting. Waiting for results, waiting for something joyful to happen in my own life.

I know I can’t with a good conscience get pregnant in the physical state that I’m in. But, my biological clock is ticking. My 37th birthday is later this month. Time is running out. My husband also is struggling with his grief right now. He’s so fearful that something is going to happen to me. He wants to protect me from everything because he couldn’t protect me and Emmett from the pain and agony that we endured.

In a discussion with my therapist a few weeks ago about all these emotions and how I’m jealous and envious of the impending joy that my friends are experiencing, she put it to me this way, “Don’t think of it as you have nine people in your lives getting pregnant. Try to think of it that maybe you’ll be number ten.”

Related: Trying Again. Or Not.

I want to believe her. I truly do. But, in all honesty, I don’t know if every storm is meant to have a rainbow at the end.

Photo by: JohnsonGoh/Pixabay