Comparison is the Creator of Joy

“Comparison is the Thief of Joy.” This is a phrase that is thrown around a lot, and usually attributed to President Theodore Roosevelt, although that is likely a misattribution according to the internet. The point of the phrase is, if you compare yourself to others, you will likely be disappointed and it will make you feel like shit.

Going through baby loss, I can say 100% yes, this can be true. I spent a lot of my time in 2023 comparing myself to everyone else, and feeling like a complete failure, that the world was sh*t, that I couldn’t get myself the literal one thing I’ve always wanted in my entire life, and that everyone else just seemed to have it better. Then, I realized I was doing this toxic comparison stuff, and I felt like sh*t even more because, as the saying goes, I was “robbing myself” of joy. Comparison, however, is an extremely normal thing for humans to do. In fact, according to research in Psychology Today, more than 10% of daily thoughts involve making a comparison of some kind.

Recently, I’ve found myself comparing me to ME, though, and I have to tell you, it’s the opposite of a thief of joy, it’s almost the only thing that can CREATE joy for me now.

You may remember a few days ago, I talked about how my only experience with pregnancy resulted in horrific trauma and loss. Therefore, it’s only natural that I compare my current pregnancy with my previous one, since it’s my only point of reference. But every time something goes well that did NOT go well last time, I feel extreme joy and relief. Comparing my own personal past experiences to my present ones is the only thing that seems to bring this reaction.

In November 2022, I had an appointment for a 12-week scan. This is the first scan where they do an abdominal ultrasound, so they advise you to have a full bladder. What they did NOT advise me, was that they were running 2.5 hours late. Without going into the details, I will just say, it did not end well. Holding my bladder eventually shifted my organs so that I could no longer go to the bathroom. I ended up leaving the hospital without the scan because they closed for the evening, and then I ended up back in the hospital on the emergency triage labor and delivery floor later that night to try and empty and re-shift my organs back into place. It was traumatic, to say the least. The next morning, I was BACK at the hospital to try to have them perform the scan again. Again, I was greeted by a new receptionist who told me to have a full bladder, to which I just laughed, then I eventually did get the scan by an ultrasound tech I had never seen, in a dark room where she did not speak. I was terrified the whole time that the events from the night before had killed my baby, and I just waited and waited while she didn’t say anything to me until I finally asked, “is everything ok?” And it was. Then the attending doctor, who I had also never seen, came in and said “everything looks good” with no acknowledgement of the previous day and night, and they sent me on my way.

Four weeks later, I was scheduled for another scan. This time, I had to go to a different ultrasound facility I had never been to, again with strangers, for an early anatomy scan. I was told an early anatomy scan was necessary because I was ANCIENT, aka 35 years old. Again, I was laid down on a bed in a dark, silent room with an ultrasound technician, and this time, she was having trouble getting the pictures she needed. She kept shifting the bed up, down, angle up, angle down, asking me to shift to one side, lift my legs, do all sorts of things. Eventually, she told me to get up and walk around. This was also when she scolded me for not eating enough breakfast, which you may remember from my post about body image. I was terrified. What was she trying to see that she couldn’t see? I thought some crucial part of my baby was MIA. Again, it turned out everything was fine. But since this scan was done at a different facility, those scan images weren’t in my chart online. When, two weeks later, I had an additional scare that my baby might have spina bifida (she didn’t), my doctor wanted to see the photos from the scan, but didn’t have them. All I could say was that the tech had told me, “everything looked normal.”

When I think about my pregnancy with Maliyah, I usually say it was, “uneventful… until it was NOT.” But then I think about those two scans and I realize, it was kind of eventful. Those stories are just background to say, even before Maliyah died, things were not smooth sailing.

While of course, I wish my pregnancy with Maliyah had been nothing but great memories with rainbows and unicorns, it isn’t true. That also means that every single time something goes smoothly or easily with pregnancy #2, I am floored, and I am overjoyed.  

Last week, I had my 12-week nuchal translucency scan for pregnancy #2, the same infamous bladder-uterus-shifting scan from 2022. I was terrified, but I was mentally prepared. To make matters even more complicated, it was the very first time I was to go back to the hospital where Maliyah died. The last time I checked myself in on those screens, I was pregnant. Then, six days later, I left very NOT pregnant. I was nervous about entering the hospital and having this scan for weeks.

I arrived, and the receptionist confirmed if I had a full bladder. I didn’t of course, because ONLY FOOLS MAKE THAT MISTAKE TWICE. But I lied, and kind of chuckled, and I said, sort of. She said, “ok good, because they’re about to call you.” Now, in my previous pregnancy, I had 4 scans on that same floor and they had NEVER been less than an hour behind, so that comment actually elicited a true laugh from me. I said, “oh yea? What does ‘about to’ mean?” And she said, “you’re next, maybe five minutes?” I went to find a seat with Chris, away from all of the other visibly pregnant people, and I said to Chris, “do you think five minutes means like 30 minutes? Or two hours?” We didn’t believe it for a second. Chris took out his iPad, and I took out my Kindle, ready for the inevitable long wait.

The second nurse who came out to call someone said “Emily!” I didn’t even believe it at first, I actually said it back to her to double check. Sure enough, it was me. We walked back to the room, one I had never been in before and had no traumatic experiences in, and she started the scan. Immediately she found our baby, she talked out loud the whole time to us. “There’s your baby! See baby dancing around?” Immediately she shifted to show us the tiny heart beating away. She took all of the necessary photos, while explaining aloud the whole time what she was doing, she even answered a question of mine. Then, she said everything looked good, but my doctor was going to come in and confirm. Within five minutes, my actual doctor walked in (a familiar face! Gasp!) and she knew my name, she knew I had seen my other doctor the week prior, she answered my questions, and she even knew the next time I was going to see her. We left the appointment feeling happy and relieved, and we were HOME within one hour and fifteen minutes of our appointment time, even taking the cross-town bus.

Later that night, Chris asked me how I felt. He was there with me at the scan, so of course he knew we had gotten good news, but he wasn’t just asking about the baby, he was asking about ME. It was only then that I reflected on why I felt so great. It wasn’t just the baby, it was the experience. It was a full 180 from our last experience at that same scan. There was no wait. There were no unanswered questions. The tech was kind and immediately showed us our baby and heartbeat without prompting. She was friendly. Then we got to have face time with our actual doctor. I must admit that it was just a happy coincidence that my doctor was on call there that day, but it made a world of difference. Dealing with a brand-new person every appointment who doesn’t understand the baggage and trauma I am carrying to every appointment is emotionally taxing. To see a familiar face, for the doctor to know the next time I would see her, it felt like I was actually being cared for. It felt like, if I had concerns, I had someone I could call. It felt so much less lonely than last time, when I had checked myself into the triage unit later that night without ever talking to my doctor.

When I reflected this back to Chris, I said how I wouldn’t even have known how amazing that experience was, if I hadn’t seen the polar opposite in my previous pregnancy. While comparison is sometimes the thief of joy, this time, a regular old scan, in comparison to the experience I had last time, was the creator of such an abundance of joy. I left feeling supported, feeling like I had a team, and feeling like maybe, just MAYBE things would go differently this time around.

While I think it’s still unhealthy to compare myself to others regularly, comparing myself to my own experiences can sometimes be a good thing. It’s not just about the results of a test or scan (although those matter a heck of a lot, too), it’s also about how I feel, who is around me, and those pieces of mental health are sometimes just as important. While I don’t love thinking about my previous pregnancy as “bad” and comparing it to the one now as “good,” sometimes when I look objectively, I can see major differences and that’s ok. It doesn’t mean Maliyah means less to me, it doesn’t mean I love her less, it just means I now have a great care team, and that gives me reassurance and an inkling of hope.

(Written at: 12 weeks, 6 days)