Our blog has always been an open page on our journey as our world. So naturally and by common agreement which I will attempt the difficult story of the end of our trip.
We had a desire, we turned into the project: our world tour. Many people told us we were lucky. Many people think that everything we succeeded. And there are many times when I suffered this belief, let alone because after all she is doing well, everything is working. But that's another story. Lucky that we had, we are the created. And so, yes, we enjoyed some luck, because before everything, we had the means to achieve it.
We also had a dream that we wanted to turn into reality, that of bringing our travel beyond the beautiful memories we want to offer our surroundings or among whom we live, the project of a lifetime, a new journey ... a baby.
I stopped the pill in Argentina, Brazil I was crying at not being pregnant, fear of the specter of infertility. And Bolivia, after our journey by jeep in the beautiful region of Uyuni, we learned that the fruit of our love and our desire was being formed in me. What delight, what joy in which there was submerged, moved by what has become our secret ...
to Tunupa Yet, our ascent to 5400m, I had bleeding. While in La Paz, we consult the gynecologist who prescribed a week of rest, while Matthew will make his Rahan in the mountains.
The weeks pass and engages with them count, rather than the number of months elapsed travel or the number of weeks we left to travel, but the number of weeks of pregnancy. The specter of a miscarriage, however, waving a sword of Damocles as traces of blood dotted the advance in the calendar, clouding the outlook and asks us to keep our entire measure. You never know. And
Vinales, we do share a bike ride that I consider too long, well qu’elle ait été déconseillée par Matthieu au départ. Mais une femme enceinte n’est pas une femme en sucre, non?
Et puis quelques jours plus tard, après la plongée, les traces deviennent sang. On attend, moi les pieds en hauteur sur les barreaux du lit, Matthieu à mon chevet tentant d’exploser le score au solitaire.
On attend et l’attente devient moisissure à mesure que les petits saignements augmentent. Accompagnés par Amelys, ma maman Cubaine, nous partons donc à l’hôpital du coin pour la consultation gynécologique la plus improbable de tout le voyage, à l’heure où j’en ai le plus besoin, et dans LE pays de la santé de entire American continent. Lying on a metal plate that pops warped hamper my communication with the executioner who serves me as a nurse, with health coverage for a piece of cardboard caught carelessly on the shelf next to a decrepit, the lady in white coats plunge no frills instrument gynecological preferred women, out with the gloves (but not for equipment hygiene, gloves ...), its cardboard packaging these gloves before continuing the examination without further precautions. The verdict is dry and sent to Amely: rest, and a pregnant woman does not travel. Clearly, y 'is one that has missed its vocation butcher ...
diagnosis, if dictated by a summary review and incompetent, does not reassure me, and it is with resignation that I found my room with the only difference with cell is the loving care of his mother and Amely. I must say that since I'm pregnant, I always enjoyed the natural benevolence and enthusiasm of the whole South America, starting with the gift suerte (good luck) and Stéphane Tanya (a magnificent whole baby), to tender congratulations to all the people Latino. It is also thanks to my pregnancy we had the best contacts with the Cubans, pineapple offered to pregnant women in Vinales, to test for sex of the baby which I paid 2 times, always claiming they had never heard before to enjoy once more this time of collusion between single women of the world and myself.
But in our room at Playa Larga, not collusion, which is the rendezvous but empathy in sadness and fear.
More blood, more blood. We can not stay like that. And if the trip to Havana triggered the miscarriage? It is difficult de savoir que faire dans ces moments.
Nous partons pour La Havane le lendemain matin, refusant “l’offre” de Félix de nous y faire conduire en taxi (pour 50-55 CUC contre 27 CUC réellement payés avec le bus. Félix serait-il comme tous les Cubains à vouloir faire de l’argent jusque dans ces moments-là??).
Demander une voiture particulière jusqu’à l’autoroute.
Attendre sur l’autoroute le passage du bus.
Prendre le bus. Retenir ses larmes pendant le trajet et ses secousses.
A La Havane, on attend le contact médecin de Félix qui ne vient pas. Je me sens faible, j’ai des sensations de règles dans le bas du ventre : stop. On file en taxi à la clinique des touristes.
Un examen gynécologique ; l’utérus est trop petit pour contenir 9 semaines de grossesse. Un test de grossesse positif ouvre les portes de l’écho mais…
Mais l’œuf est trop petit et irrégulier. Avortement spontané. Le monde se coupe en deux et s’effondre.
Une fausse couche pendant le voyage, subir un curetage loin des miens, avoir peur de ne plus pouvoir avoir d’enfant après, voila ce que je redoutais le plus, le numéro 1 de mes angoisses.
Les idées se débattent ; nous partons tant bien que mal de la clinique qui refusait de nous laisser partir et nous demandait de payer une somme impossible (120 euros l’échographie à titre informatif) : sommes-nous les meilleurs clients de la semaine? Les Cubains ne peuvent-ils pas s’empêcher à une occasion aussi grave de chercher le profit? Nous sommes perdus et préférons prendre l’avis de l’assurance pour savoir si un rapatriement est possible.
- C’est une urgence Mademoiselle, vous ne pouvez pas risquer de faire une hémorragie dans l’avion.
Opérée à Cuba. Je suis fatiguée, vidée. Et bien allons-y maintenant s’il faut le faire.
Souvenirs de mes larmes incontrôlables et de mes tremblements d’émotion quand les infirmier et anesthésiste sanglent me and prepare me for the operation.
- Do not worry, everything will be okay.
But I lost our desires, our baby-world tour, our joy and malice to imagine how we were going to announce my pregnancy on our return. When we toast when we return, we could say ... so fantasized images floating in your head, but the dream is dead in me three weeks ago. Fall asleep, I want to close my mind in these pictures too happy that the Grim Reaper removes all hope of reality.
I open my eyes on a body sore and tired. The thought comes to me and with her tears. It done. I'm not pregnant. We will not have babies around the world to start a new journey. 2h
In a taxi picks us up for repatriation, fortunately possible and masterfully orchestrated by Matthew and insurance in France. Finally, being a series of numbers, it is good sometimes. 5h
In our plane takes off. It is seven days before the date of our return. It is also an eternity after the end of our trip.
world tour is over.
Another trip will start later, goodbye to the embryo that was with us in recent weeks. Thank you my love to allow my grief speak without betting on my strength and alleged to be as attentive and caring. Aude
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