23 weeks: A little bird gives the bird to incompetent cervix

When I was a freshman in high school, I had this piano teacher that decided to stick me in a competition. Never having competed before, I had no idea what to expect – certainly not kids my own age who were light years ahead of me in their instruction.  Seriously! These people probably had pianos waiting for them in the delivery room when they were born. Pretty sure they just shot right out of those vaginas ready to tackle some Mozart while the doctor worked on cutting their cord.

I’d been playing for several years by that point, but didn’t have a teacher who really pushed my technique to lofty heights. I was painfully and pitifully average (and lazy).

The day of the competition, I warmed up in one of the practice rooms while listening to the flurry of notes coming from beyond the surrounding walls. To say that a cold peach pit of dread fell into place where my bowels once were is an understatement. I wanted to run away, hide, set fire to the building or myself – anything so I wouldn’t have to play my baby piece in front of anyone.

After profusely sweating through the first 5 prodigies and executing what is perhaps the world’s longest single held kegel, it was finally my turn to play my song, which essentially could be described as “Chopsticks”. I adjusted the bench for approximately 2 minutes trying to stall for time. Finally, I flexed my fat fingers to play and proceeded to stumble my way through a piece that any of those students could’ve played during naptime at 0-6 months old.

Looking back, I wish I had owned that piece that day. Just said “fuck it” and played my heart out no matter how easy it was in comparison to everyone else. Maybe even finished it off with a curtsy while giving everyone the bird or something. I wish I’d just ignored one of the other kids’ teachers who pulled out a mystery novel and started to read. But no – I let it all get to me and I failed miserably, completely losing my focus and stopping more than midway through. I’m fairly certain I even started making up my own shit somewhere along the way. Mozart would not have approved. The judges’ comments were pretty sad:

“That was nice.”

“Keep improving.”

“You must practice.”

It was pathetic! I vowed never to be put in that position again.

We found another teacher soon after – one who saw that I could be pushed and molded into a Terminator of sorts. She scared the hell out of me, but she brought out the best in me. Within a few years I was almost playing at the level of those I had first competed against. That’s what 6 hours of practice a day - almost every day - will get you.

Once I felt confident enough to compete again, I started winning. In my most memorable experience, I recognized the teacher who read her book while I was playing, and the very same judges from that first competition. I took home 3rd place that day. The judges’ comments were far different than the first time we’d met. I know they didn’t remember me, but I wish they had.

And then I quit shortly after because vengeance was mine -  like Sansa Stark in last night’s episode of Game of Thrones!!! Ok, no. Because…boys became a new obsession. Well, A boy, who at the time thought I was a stalker, but later went on to marry me and father my children. That's what 6 hours of drawing pictures and writing notes to someone a day - almost every day - will label and eventually get you.

Anyway, I approached this pregnancy in the same way, vowing that I would never go into another one unprepared. This was possible because we knew what the root cause was. I was so, so, so unlucky in that it happened, but fortunate to learn that there was a way to prevent it for next time.  Many people who have suffered losses late in their pregnancies don’t always have an answer.  

So, by opting for a surgical procedure that most OB’s don’t recommend because it’s “too extreme”, we fixed the biggest and baddest obstacle that took us down with Ligaya. Because seriously, losing 1, 2, 3 babies - as many women with incompetent cervixes have -  is what I find to be “too extreme”, damn it. 

The TAC (transabdominal cerclage) keeps my cervix from opening and so far it’s doing its job at 23 weeks. At this point 4 years ago, we were nearing the end of our journey with Ligaya because I had barely any cervix left. The circumstances are different now, although anxiety continues to be an issue, especially since we are coming up on the week of our first loss.

It is a herculean effort, but I’m doing my best not to give in to the mental demons that threaten to cut my courage down with every ache and growing pain. I have to keep practicing to keep a positive outlook and stay calm in order to keep my body in optimal condition. The doctors have already ordered me off my feet for most of the day, which gives me ample time to train my mind as I once trained my fingers to tackle some of the hardest, but most beautiful music of all time. It was worth it then, and it will be more than worth it now. I may stumble (A LOT) in life, but on this particular journey - I’m going to finish the song.

 Play on, playa.

Take that, incompetent cervix! God, I love this girl.