Outed. And If....

So I have a friend here on my side of the office building who is strictly gluten free as a result of suffering from Celiac's disease.  We talk a lot about food - I'm not Gluten Free, but avoiding Folic Acid as I do, I can somewhat relate to her frustrations with the industrial food chain.  Well, last week we were in a conversation with another friend here, about doctors, and how fucking useless they are.  And I outed myself.

You read that right.  Without going into many of the gory details, I explained that I had lost five babies since coming to work here, babies that were lost during our specific highlights of social justice campaigns we run.  I noted for example, that a group picture sitting on a bookshelf behind us, taken at a fancy office party celebrating a victory, actually features me 11 weeks pregnant.

I think I was mostly stunned at how stunned they were.  I am not sure why, but I always assumed more people knew.  Granted, these chicks happen to be younger, and have never been pregnant, but I guess I always imagine that everyone else's spidey-sense when it comes to pregnancy is as attuned as mine is.  I've been schooled now.  No justonemore, you really aren't a walking freak.  It really is a hidden pain, and you have hidden it well.

(Conversations are often a two-way street, by the way.  I learned that one of these women suffers from epilepsy- all to show that I'm not alone, our hidden lives are truly hidden).

But even with my comfort with these friends, I have a game plan if I find myself knocked up again.  (Notice I used IF - my period is arriving today, I haven't been knocked up in three cycles.  Maybe this is the end?)

The main feature of the plan is to hide.  And that means not confiding in anyone here.  Not PBFAW.  Not the lovely ladies who now know my sad history.  Not even L, the incredible woman who saved my life when I needed her most.  

When (ok, fine, IF) I lose another pregnancy, I know from experience I have people to turn to, and that is a huge consolation.  But having been down this road before, I think I need to live the potential stress of a potential future pregnancy in complete and total real life isolation. I think that the only way I can make another pregnancy work at all is to keep it from work.  Entirely.

On a related note, I am training a new policy analyst we hired.  She is nice, and she is also an AMA mother to a young daughter.  And we attended a conference a few weeks ago, shared a room, and I couldn't help but notice one of her pill cases.  Which greatly resembled mine. And there was a large pill in there that sure as fuck looked like a fish oil capsule.  Sigh.  When I interviewed her I got the sense that she might have been seeking a job change for the same reasons I sought my own job change nearly four year years ago.... So, yeah, I am also steeling myself for the possibility of working side by side with another woman seeking to get knocked up in a few months.

Nothing but fun times ahead.