So Close

What is the point of prayer?

Just so you know, I actually love happy clappers (HC’s)*. I think it is wonderful that people have such strong faith and that they are so true to and passionate about their beliefs. Strong, pure faith always moves me, whether you are Jewish, Muslim, Christian or whatever. I think it is wonderful, admirable and it leaves me a tiny bit envious. In fact, this beautiful shining faith is something that I admire hugely in Rose, even if her faith (JW) is one that I don’t personally embrace myself. That faith shone through so strongly in our first interview and is the reason I gave her the job. I really do admire the happy clappers and Lordy types. I just love to tease sister Mel. Her and people like Tess are proof that Lordy types can be fun, funny, witty normal people.

 I am not a happy clapper, but I do believe in God. Being a HC means giving up my sinful, self-indulgent ways and it is that part that puts me off, not matter how much sister Mel tries to convince me that the view from my retirement home in heaven is going to be so much nicer if I do join the fold.

 So, here is a question for the clappers and non-clappers alike:

 How did this prayer thing work?

 I understand the idea behind prayer – you want or need something (something good and nice, not something like a new bicycle or purse), and so you ask God to help grant you that wish. You ask God because you believe he is the all powerful dude. Ok, I get that. And I do think he or she in the various iterations of your belief is the all powerful dude. I think prayer is great which is why I ask you chaps to pray to your various Gods for me.

 But how it all is supposed to work, well, that part I don’t know.

 If you want something (like that this couch surprise turns into a real live baby in 8 months time), then you pray to God to ask that it will happen. But sometimes prayers don’t work. When Ben was born, there were literally thousands of people around the world praying for him, praying that he would survive. And he didn’t. I don’t believe it was because people don’t pray hard enough, or that they didn’t have enough faith etc etc. For whatever reason, that prayer wasn’t answered.

 Which means sometimes, for reasons no one is quite able to convince me of, prayers don’t get answered, or at least, they don’t get answered in the way you want them to be answered. Sometimes, it would appear, an end result is preordained or predestined, inevitable, no matter how much you pray.

 If the result is predestined, if the end has already been decided by God / fate / nature or whatever, what then is the point of prayer?  And I don’t mean that in a horrible way, I am asking sincerely.

 Please help me understand how prayer is supposed to work. In the HC faith and in others.

 

Edited to add: I do understand that prayer is not just about asking for stuff. I know it is about listening and talking and connecting. I should have been more specific. My question is: what is the point of asking for something through prayer if the end result is predestined / preordained anyway.

 * A happy clapper is someone who loves the Lord, goes to church often and tries to lead a Lordy life. They love to sing and clap hands in church. They are also usually really happy people.  Happy.  Clappers.  They also like to say things like hallelujah! and sometimes quote passages from the Bible. They are quite sweet people. Sometimes they can be a little nerdy, but they can also be cool and fun like sister Mel and Tess. They try not to swear. It doesn’t always work. However, they are allowed to drink wine, which is the main selling point. That, and that apparently HC’s are getting the sea view, plush retirement apartments in heaven. Non HC’s might be relegated to the other side of the railway tracks.

Sick is good

Pregnancy is the only time when you actually want to be sick. Or at least, I want to be sick. In the absence of sick, one (me) assumes dead baby.

 I wasn’t sick at all when I was pregnant for the second time. Which worried me endlessly. With good reason it would appear as I lost that pregnancy quite early.

 So, sick is good.

 I feel sick. Which is good. It gives me hope. While there is sick, there is hope*.  However, sick always makes me extremely brain dead and uncreative.

 I feel nauseous, I have rivers of gob in my mouth all the time, and that horrible metallic taste. Which is all good of course. But it does make me wonder how anyone can be pregnant and not know. What do you think it is that is causing you to feel like crap? Menopause?? Don’t be ridiculous! How stupid can one get!

 Apparently some people don’t get sick. But then again, apparently some people only start showing at 18 weeks, and not FIVE MINUTES after hearing they are pregnant.

 Happens every time. Positive pregnancy test and poof! Out pops the poochy tummy. I look 18 weeks pregnant at 18 days past conception.

 My divine, lovely, gorgeous, sweet, kind, BEST brother in the whole world told me tonight that he has bought a present for me, a Doppler! I am so pleased! Every pregnancy up until now, I’ve been too scared to get one. I kept thinking I would jinx things. Well, bugger that. I want one. I need one. And my kind brother (without me ever mentioning it) has bought me one. I am naming this child after him. And the couch. Paul Couch Albertyn.

 Right. That’s it for tonight. Thanks for the support, you guys are amazing. I am very fond of you. Good night.

* Of course, the feeling sick thing could be from left over HCG and the embryo/fetus thing is already dead hence the dropping prog, but we are not going to think like that.  Where there is sick, there is hope.

Make sure you are strapped in, hold on tight and get ready for the ride

Had my progesterone levels retested today. It has dropped from 55 on Thursday to 44 today. Wonderful. 

This either means (a) dead baby – oh well, it was fun while it lasted; or (2) nothing sinister because progesterone levels can vary or (iii) GET YOUR ASS ON PROGESTERONE SUPPOSITORIES IMMEDIATELY.  We’ve decided on option (iii). Interestingly enough, The University of Google tells me that option (2) is a distinct possibility.  I am, of course, paranoid that the real truth is option (a). 

 Am off to the doctor tomorrow to get some progesterone to shove up my vagina and hope it does what it is supposed to do. The vagina and the progesterone.

 There is no way on God’s green earth that I can wait for two weeks for another scan. I can’t walk around for two weeks with dead baby thoughts. Even a week is going to kill me. I am going back next week for another scan. Need to see that heartbeat again.

 It’s never simple, is it? Never simple with me. 

 I have to tell you, I have no idea how I am going to do this all again. I was brave for five years. For five years, I got back on that fucking horse which nearly killed me so many times, again and again. For five years I gritted my teeth, held on tight and fought the war. Every day, every step, every pass or fail point, I got back up and did it again. I’m not sure I have it in me to do The Fear all over again. And it’s funny how, in less than a week, I am right back in that place again. That fucking horse called infertility. What a shitty ride.

Don’t want it mama

I asked Adam and Kate whether they would like a brother or sister and their response was “don’t want it mama”.

 Apparently they are not as excited as I am.

 Although, that reply could have been influenced by the fact that it was supper time and I think they thought I was offering them something to eat.  The standard response to anything at supper time is “don’t want it”.

 (I obviously won’t be telling them anything until much, much closer to the time.)

 Someone came to buy one high chair and one car seat today. I had to keep one of each back. Do you have any idea how weird that feels?

 Marko is still in shock. He was walking around the house last night, mumbling to himself. He came up to me and said “don’t sell any of the toys, ok”.

 Ok then. I wasn’t going to sell any of the toys, but ok. Men worry about such strange things.

 Rose is delighted. She is thrilled. She loves newborns and little babies and is so excited to have another little one around. If we get that far of course.

 If we do get that far, at least I know Adam and Kate won’t want to eat the baby. ‘Don’t want it mama’. Unless it is covered in Bolognese sauce.  Then I might have to watch out.

 Surreal dudes, surreal.  

February 10th. The couch.

Ok, so we know when it happened and where it happened. We still have no clue as to how it happened. 

 1x live baby with beating heart. Sized at approx 6w3d. 

 Best news I could have hoped for. V v happy. Nauseous and dizzy; but happy.

 Can you believe it! I still can’t. Every thing feels very surreal. Next scan in two weeks. Here we go again.

 Thanks for all the good wishes and kind words, most appreciated. It is still very early days, a long way to go, but for now ….I am pregnant.