Theresa's Story: Finding out years later that her abnormal periods were actually miscarriages

Thank you so much Theresa for sharing your story with us. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to hear your news, and then have all that grief fresh again. Sending love, Rachel

Thank you so much for your story. I have always been pro-life and have always been against abortion. I realize that so many women in this world believe that abortion is an option, but in my personal world it is not an option and never will be. There are so many women in this world that would love to have children and are unable to have them.

I come from a large family. I am the sixth child out of seven and the first girl. I always assumed that I would be able to have children quite easily even though I had very horrible periods. I was never regular and would pass very large clots so at around age 17, I was put on the pill to try to establish regularity and in hopes that it would help me conceive easily once married. 

I did everything the way I thought I should. I saved myself for my husband. I naturally assumed I would be very fertile like my mother, however this did not seem to be the case. I married the man of my dreams at the age of 27 and turned 28 later that year. We decided since I was a bit older that we would wait 2 years before trying to get pregnant. 

We began trying and within about 6 months I was late and just knew I was pregnant. I felt it in my soul, but at about 10 weeks I passed what was a huge clot and then my period began. I knew then I was wrong; I wasn’t pregnant. What I felt had all been in my mind. 

My husband and I were completely devastated. This happened 2 more times and then we began the normal testing processes to see if either of us had a fertility problem. I naturally assumed I was the reason we weren't pregnant, but come to find it was neither one of us. This happened again 2 more times within the next 3 years and by that time my periods were just getting worse and worse. We made the decision that I start the pill once again so that I could tolerate my periods. 

In my mid 30’s I began having more health issues. My husband and I decided that it was up to GOD if I were to have children.  It got to the point that I was facing a hysterectomy, but my doctor suggested I try the depo shot first. I knew if I had the surgery there would be NO way to physically ever have a baby. I was still holding on to hope. 

It was not meant to be. I had to have major back surgery and was told at that point that with my age and the work that would be done on my back, getting pregnant would not be ideal.  I would have to be on bed rest. But, inevitably, we knew it was not meant to be.

One month ago I started seeing a new doctor for Rheumatoid Arthritis. In some routine blood work my doctor noticed that one of the tests came back abnormal. The problem with the test is it can be done wrong quite often so she needed to repeat the test, but I had to wait 12 weeks for the redo. She asked me if I had ever been pregnant. I told her no but that I thought I had been 5 times yet it was a false alarm each time. She asked me why I thought they were false alarms so I explained to her that each time I was late, I really felt different, even sick (morning sickness), with 3 of the 5 episodes, but at about 10 to 16 weeks I would pass big clots followed by a very horrible period. 

She told me that the blood test that had been performed was for a clotting disorder. The disorder causes spontaneous abortions (miscarriages) and those 5 times I had probably lost my babies. 

I am 48 years old and was hearing this for the first time. I had no idea. Each of those 5 incidents broke my heart years ago. I believe my soul knew that I had conceived a baby and I grieved each of those times.  I felt I had to grieve privately because no one would have understood what I was feeling. 

When she explained the clotting disorder to me, I felt like I had been slammed into a brick wall. If only I would have known. When she explained everything to me it brought back all of the old hurt and sadness. I am grieving all over again.

This is my story. I apologize for the wordiness of it, but I just thought the situation needed to be explained. I have heard my whole married life that it just wasn’t meant to be, it wasn’t God’s will, and all those things people say. But I have begun telling them, "Well, that may be, but that is not what I want to hear from you." 

When people try to say things meant to be encouraging, it does not make it better; it makes it worse. I tell them to just listen, tell me they feel my pain, or that they are sorry. Every woman who has lost a child or who has ever wanted a child does not want to hear "it just wasn’t meant to be" or "it was God’s will." Or Heaven forbid when they tell a woman who has miscarried that "It was a blessing because something might have been wrong with IT!!!" I always stop them and say don’t say IT!!! IT was a BABY not an IT!!!

I am so sorry for the pain you have suffered from the loss of your babies and I am sorry for the pain and hurt that you still carry with you. I now know I have always been affected by my inability to conceive but now I grieve again because I believe that I was right all along. I lost 5 precious babies.

Microblog Monday: My holy grail

Last night I had another dream.

This time, in my dream, I peed on a stick and it turned positive. I was pregnant. In the course of my dream, my belly grew. And grew. And grew. 

A swollen, laden, precious belly. 

I don't wish every day to be pregnant anymore. 

But there are days. 

Days when I think ahead to not having a baby in my arms once Z leaves. 

Days when someone announces a pregnancy. 

And days when I just dreamed all night long about being pregnant. 

The truth is, I don't really remember anymore what that feels like. Being REALLY pregnant. 

Not the pregnant where you actually have a live baby with a heartbeat, and your stomach swells. Not the kind where you get to do a registery, and people throw you showers, and everyone wants to feel the baby move.

I remember that there was a lot I didn't like about being pregnant.

So I wonder why it is so much my holy grail these days?

One couple's story: Miscarriage after IVF, and knowing you can never go back

 

Dear anonymous, 

I'm so sorry for your loss and your pain. I wish I could sit with you and cry with you. Sending some love and hugs your way.

Rachel


After aggressively trying to have baby number 2 for over a year, we went to a fertility clinic. After all, it took almost 2 years to have our first, and something had to be wrong. Something, hopefully, that could be fixed with a pill and we could be on our way to continue growing our family. Let me say that several months before, my regular OB did a laparoscopy and found lots of endometriosis. So after getting "cleaned out," he said we should be pregnant right away. 

Fast forward 6 months and still no pregnancy.

So we went to the best fertility doctor in town and we were so excited to get some answers. Simple ones, we hoped. After all of the tests came back on my husband and I, we sat down with the doc and he laid it out for us....we would need to go through IVF. My husband's motility was low and we just recently learned that my eggs suck for a 32-year-old healthy woman. We were shocked. Floored. Scared. Saddened. 

What happened to taking a little drug to make me ovulate and that be it?  How were we going to take on this enormous financial burden? Were we ready for this?

Well, the answer was yes. Without even figuring out logistics, we wanted to start right away. And we did. That first appointment was on October 23, 3 days after my 32nd birthday. We paid the money, attended the IVF education class and received an absurd amount of drugs in the mail. We were set.

I began taking all of the medications and hormone injections and we were trucking along. Then 2 days before egg retrieval, I got a phone call from the clinic ... my estrogen levels had plummeted overnight and they were canceling my cycle. Devastation.

I cried, my husband comforted me, I cried some more. But then I put my mind on the next cycle and was sure it would work this time. And so on we went. Making it to egg retrieval this time felt like a feat in itself. The following day the embryologist posted the results on my portal ...4 eggs retrieved; 2 did not fertilize, 1 fertilized abnormally.....and then there was 1.

Not great news. 

We had to wait 3  days before the transfer and we were on pins and needles. What if all of this was for nothing? If baby Embry doesn't make it, we have to start all over again. $16,000 over again for that small chance.

Well my baby Embry grew like a champ and was graded a 4 (the highest) the day of transfer. It had already divided into an 8-cell. It was looking hopeful. And so our little embryo was put in as I watched it travel at the speed of light across the screen. It. Was. Amazing.

Then the 2WW occurred. (That's IVF lingo for the 2- week wait.) The longest part of this process. And let me tell you, it is all a waiting game when you're in it. And so we waited. I held off on buying pregnancy tests because he warned me that they would probably show up negative until my scheduled blood test on Monday, February 11. I held off that is, until a few days before that.

I took 3 pregnancy tests on Friday and positive, positive, positive. Elation. Shock. Elation again. We did it! We really did it! 

We had the odds stacked against us and we did it. Meant to be. This baby was our miracle. I mean, only 1 embryo and it took!!! Life was utter perfection. I went in that Monday to hear that yes, it was true and my numbers were at a high of 128. That was great! Anything over 60 was good for them. So, technically, our miracle baby was ahead of the game!  I even called a friend and asked her to make a Big Brother shirt for our 3-year-old.

Then Friday, Valentine’s day I might add, I had to go back to get my hCG levels checked. Standard procedure. No question anything could go wrong. But, I got a call that afternoon from the nurse saying my numbers were a measly 267. They usually double every 2 days; and it had been 4. Panic. Defeat. Tears. And more tears. 

I called my husband and could barely get anything out. They wanted me back on Monday, to see if my levels were rising. It didn't mean it wasn't possible. I mean, I could be in the 10-15% of women who have slow rising hCG levels and go on to have a healthy pregnancy. It was possible. But I was heartbroken. I felt it. It didn't feel right to me. My husband kept saying everything would be fine...

And so, after that horrific weekend wait, wondering if our baby was going to survive, I got more blood taken. My numbers were a wimpy 504. They hadn't even doubled. But she said the only way to tell would be by ultrasound on Wednesday. I asked her if it seemed like a normal pregnancy and she said it didn't, but it didn't mean it wouldn't be. So again we waited. 2 excruciatingly long days.

As I lay on the table and the ultrasound began, you could've heard a pin drop in that room. And then he said, "do you see that? That's the sac and everything looks good". What? Really? Is life gonna be okay now?  He said it looked small but it didn't mean the baby couldn't/wouldn't grow. So we went with that. We got the first pics of our baby. Our Baby!!!!!!!! All we had to do was go in on Monday for another ultrasound to make sure we were on track. He did say to go home and light a candle and stay hydrated.

 So I did. I actually went with one of my BFF's that same day and bought a prayer candle and a prayer card for unborn babies. I prayed. We celebrated. We were happy. This baby was a fighter and was proving, yet again, that he was going to be ours.

Well come Saturday there was a little bleeding. Then on Sunday it was bad. And I mean bad. And tissue in there too. I knew in my heart it couldn't be good, I even cried. But my sweet husband said it would be okay and we knew only the doctor could tell us.

So 3 days ago, we went back. I was scared. I could probably speak for my husband in saying he was scared. The doctor started the ultrasound and paused when he got to the uterus. Nothing. Empty. Our baby was gone. Again, devastation.

They all left us alone in the room to grieve. I cried.  He tried not to. We were both feeling the rug being pulled from under our feet. What was God doing to us? Why does this have to be so hard? I was already in love. Deep love. The baby name book had surfaced. I had my favorites already. Maternity clothes were pulled out so I could get my closet organized. I wanted to be ready when I finally popped!!!!

I think Monday was shock. I knew deep down it was happening, but I chose to believe it wasn't. I cried a lot that day but felt hopeful that we only have to wait until April to go again. But now, on Wednesday, I'm back to devastated. It's getting worse. It's overwhelming. I feel defeated and helpless. A grave sense of sorrow. 

And then I moved on to the "what ifs, next time." What if it doesn't work again? What, if any, will our options be if we don't succeed? 

I have 17 voicemails on my phone that I can't even check. I don't want to talk. I want to sit in a dark room and indulge my feelings. I never knew it would hurt so badly. I never knew that this would feel so lonely and hopeless. I am struggling between being grateful for my son I already have and mourning the one we should be having. Between seeing those close to me with babies on the way and wanting to be happy for them and then also feeling anger and jealousy for not still having that myself.

 My baby Embry was going to be born 1 day before my birthday. Now he's not. He was going to have a name that meant "fighter", because that's was he was.  He was going to melt our hearts and now he won't.

And I feel for my husband too. I know he's hurting. He's trying to be strong for me, but I want to be strong for him. After all, we are the only 2 people in this entire world who know what the other is going through.  His hell can't be much cooler than mine. His loss can't feel much less, if any, than mine. His fears and tears are not unlike mine. I can see he is desperate to make the pain go away for me. He doesn't know I just as much want the same for him.

I don't know how long this will last. The bleeding. The cramping. The raw emotions. I do know I will never forget the baby we lost on Sunday. Whatever the future holds, that baby will be in our hearts. We will never quite be the same as we were on Saturday. And the fear of miscarriage will haunt me through future pregnancies.

Mary's Story: Recurrent loss and postpartum depression

Thanks, Mary, for sharing your story. I hope it provides hope and healing for others.

Rachel

When I was 17, I was diagnosed with endometriosis. I was told from early on that it would be hard for me to get pregnant. At the age of 20, a doctor gave me the option to have a hysterectomy. I told him no way because I wanted to at least have one child. 

When I was 22, my doctor found that my left tube was blocked and needing repairing. 

At 23 I became very close with a friend of mine and her boyfriend. We all shared an apartment together. She shared her story with me about how she had an abortion and how she mentally suffered from it. I'm not saying I agreed with what she did, but as a Christian I am a firm believer not to judge others because that is for God to do. I was a good friend and supported her emotionally. 

A couple months later I was pregnant. I think my friend was mad at me for being pregnant. I could tell something wasn't right, though, and I delivered my 6-week-old tiny tiny baby in the toilet. 

Before I lost the baby, I had a dream of a beautiful baby boy with blond hair and blue eyes. I still see this image as of today. I believe the image was a gift from God. 

That time was so hard for me. I cried all the time and was so depressed. The doctor gave me Valium, but that didn't even touch the hurt and pain I was feeling. My friend wouldn't talk to me or acknowledge me after the loss. I needed a friend and she wasn't there for me. The depression got so bad I gave up and tried to overdose on my medicine. 

Well, God wasn't ready for me yet. I ended up in a mental facility for about a week. I had postpartum from the miscarriage. 

To heal from the grief, I got a tattoo of a word in Chinese that meant child. Well at least that's what the tattoo guy told me. My doctor at the time (who was Chinese) said my tattoo read "Son." I looked at him kinda puzzled and said, "What?"  He said, "Your tattoo reads Son." 

I was in shock.  It was truly the perfect tattoo for me. When I was 26, I got pregnant again. Again, I could tell something wasn't right. 

I ended up in the emergency room. I had a tubal pregnancy in my right tube and they had to do an emergency surgery due to my tube bursting. 

The second time was a lot easier for me since I had the love and support of the father, but the relationship did not last.  

At that point, I had one tube that was reconstructed and severe endometriosis.

When I was 30, I met a man I fell madly in love with. He wasn't from this country and meeting him must have been fate.  I told him all about my history and how I felt regarding me not being able to have children. He had three all in different countries. 

We got engaged and spoke about adopting. We were together for a year and a half and never used protection. At the end of the relationship he started to get abusive. We were living in New Zealand at the time. I knew it was time for me to go back to the States. 

When I was waiting at the airport I felt like I was possibly pregnant but brushed it off due to the fact that I was convinced I would not be able to get pregnant. 

3 days after returning home, and I decided to take a pregnancy test. It was positive. I was in shock. 

I had a very healthy pregnancy and God blessed me with a beautiful baby girl -- 8 lbs 9 ounces.  Her name is Mazey Grace. I named her after my favorite hymn Amazing Grace, because I was once lost and now I am found. 

She is 6 years old now and every day with her is a true blessing. 

A year after she was born I had a hysterectomy.  I may not be able to have any more children, but I am OK with that.  God taught me that when it is his time to answer prayers he will answer them. 

This is one of my favorite quotes I have found. "God doesn't give us the people we want, He gives you the people you need. To help you, to hurt you, to leave you, to love you and make you the person you were meant to be."

Thank you for listening my story.

Mary

SAS's Story: Four pregnancies and one child.

 

 

 

 

 

Dear SweatAndStilletos . . .

 

Thanks so much for sharing your story. As I was reading parts of your story, friends came to mind who I know could relate. I know there are others who will be touched by your babies' lives, no matter how brief.

 

Your thoughts on failure so relate with me. I felt as though I could have been writing those words.

 

Thank you again for sharing.

 

Rachel

 

 

I’ve been wanting to write this for awhile but haven’t been able to put pen to paper, or fingers to keyboard as the case may be.

 

I’ve written about my last two miscarriages but in a different way. I’ve written more from the perspective of how I felt in the moment, the physical pain and the shock I was experiencing. Today, I’m going to write about my journey through infertility, loss and coping with the cards I’ve been dealt.

 

I never imagined I would have difficulty getting pregnant. I was more concerned about getting pregnant before I was ready. I also never thought having a miscarriage was possible. That’s not exactly a fair statement. I never even gave infertility or miscarrying consideration. It wasn’t something on my radar at all. Perhaps it should’ve been given some family history, but it wasn’t.

 

I was living blissfully in the land of "I’ll start a family when I’m ready and I’ll have two kids. Husband wants 4 but I want 2.  He'll have to figure out how to give birth to the other 2 himself."

 

Now I’ve had three miscarriages. Three. Four pregnancies and three miscarriages. I’ve been told I cannot have more children. Well, actually, I can have more children but it would be a huge health risk and it could cause irreparable issues. How’s that for crappy?

 

I do have the option of doing more costly fertility treatments. Actually having the egg fertilized in a petri dish and then planting it in my uterus. Sounds romantic, doesn't it? Even with that, there is a very slim chance my body would actually accept the egg and carry to term.

 

I’m often asked when we will have more children or some variation of that. It’s an innocent question and typical for society. The other day was the first time I answered with, “We can’t.”

 

I felt a little bad for the person asking as I could tell she felt bad and apologized. For me it was a stepping stone. I was finally able to verbally admit that I can’t.

 

Failure is something hard for me. It’s easy to say this isn’t failure. There’s a gazillion reasons why you would be right. But for me it is failure. My body won’t do what I want it to.  It doesn't matter what pills, exercise, food, wishing or demanding I do, my body just will not cooperate.

 

It's difficult when my son asks why he can't have a little brother or sister.  He's so good with younger kids and he's asked for a sibling since he could talk. He's so loving and helpful and they all look up to him. How do you explain to a 10-year-old that "it just can't happen, that I'm truly sorry and it breaks my heart each time you ask." 

 

You can't. I have to recognize his feelings and try to put it in 10-year-old terms that it's just not something Mommy can do and that adoption isn't something I'm ready for. 

 

I never wanted him to be an only child. I am an only child and I long for the connection I see between siblings. It is truly something special. I didn't want him to ever have to navigate life alone. His Dad and I will not always be here. Hopefully it is many, many years before we leave him, but someday, we will. 

 

When my husband first wanted to try infertility treatments, I fought him on it. I always believed that if we were meant to have more kids, it would happen. That God would make it happen. We had many conversations on why we should do it and I listened to his many reasons and I agreed. 

 

Though I agreed, I still believed that when the time was right, it would just happen. After many tears and devastating months of negative tests, I finally agreed to give it a try. It was not easy, it was a commitment, it was uncomfortable and my body still wasn't cooperating. It didn't produce enough even with the drugs, and neither treatment resulted in a positive result. I was continually reminded of my inabilities.

 

It's so hard to let myself and my partner down month after month. It's devastating to read a negative result on a pregnancy test month after month for years. It got to where I didn't even want to have sex because if I wasn't, there was no possibility of getting pregnant which meant I couldn't let myself or my partner down. (I do not recommend this way of thinking.)  

 

After my first miscarriage, I was destroyed. I chose not to lean on anyone and only told those that knew I was pregnant. I didn't share much with friends and didn't talk about my feelings. I tried to grieve alone.

 

I now see that as a mistake. I should have let someone be there for me. I should have let them hold me up because I could not hold myself.   was broken. I buried my feeling and pulled myself up by my bootstraps and tried to not think about it. I got very depressed but kept stuffing it down. Eventually I stuffed it far enough down that it wasn't constantly there yelling at me. It still affected me by leading to depression and other issues, but it wasn't in my face anymore. It was behind the scenes pulling the strings.

 

It wasn't until my second miscarriage that I realized how much the first had affected me. By this time, I had a couple of friends I told and tried to lean on. Neither of them had been through one and couldn't relate. They tried to be there for me but didn't know how. Who does? I've been through it and I still don't know what to say or do except to admit it sucks and it hurts and you will get through it.  You'll never be the same, but you will survive. 

 

After each time, I didn't know how I would have the strength to try again. Not that we were actively trying to prevent pregnancy, but in my mind we weren't trying to get pregnant either. I had no emotional strength left. I couldn't keep doing this. 

 

At some point I gave up. I don't know when exactly it was but it happened. I fell into an acceptance that this was my life and I could be ok with it.  I write more about this and my ectopic pregnancy here.

 

I still get emails from a site I joined when I was pregnant with my son. I updated it when I was pregnant the second time and the third time. It kindly sends me updates on my child's birthday and information on their developmental stage. I'd go and delete my information from the site, but I just can't bring myself to go to it. So, I just delete the emails, take a moment to reflect on my experiences and move on. 

 

I still get a pain in my heart when I see a pregnant woman, a friend greets me with her exciting news, or a small child is near.  I recognize it but don't dwell on it. It doesn't mean I am any less happy for them. It just means it affects me on multiple levels. 

 

I'm still healing from my three losses and I am forever changed. I'm stronger, smarter, braver and so much more than I ever believed I could be. I'll forever hold those three babies in my heart. I will never have a daughter to plan a wedding with, get a pedicure, and discuss her first love. What I do have is a son that lights up my world, gives the best hugs, whose laugh is contagious and is too smart for his (and my) own good.    

 

So to you reading this, that either is or knows someone going through this type of loss, I urge you to let them know you are there. 

 

Make them a meal, take them a coffee or cookies or anything. Be an ear or a shoulder or just a person that is there. Hand them a Kleenex and make them feel comfortable being a crying mess. They may not feel like talking or even having anyone around but knowing you are willing is huge. 

 

You don't have to have "the right words" just be present. Be that person that says "This sucks and I'm here for you."

Blog link: 25 worst expressions to say to an infertile friend

I saw this blog post on Stirrup Queens, and loved it! Plus this blogger is a regular reader here ... And this list is worth reading. And sharing!

(so .... Do share. Cause even if you aren't infertile, I guarantee someone you know is.)

Oh, and I'm curious what your favorite number is. Mine is #8. It made me laugh outloud.

"25 Worst Expressions to Say to an Infertile Friend"

Blog list on pregnancy loss

I just wanted to pass a link along to my readers!

I know that for me, reading other blogs has been very helpful in my journey, but it can be hard to find such blogs.

So, I'm super excited to find a great list of pregnancy loss blogs. Here is is:

http://www.stirrup-queens.com/a-whole-lot-of-blogging-brought-to-you-sorted-and-filed/loss-room/

www.stirrup-queens.com also has a blog list for other issues such as infertility, adoption, diagnostics and more. And her articles are great too!

Just wanted to pass along this great resource I recently stumbled upon.

Happy blog reading!

Guest Blogger: Response to "Letter to friends with infertility"

I'm so thankful for this precious woman who has chosen to share her story, and delve more into the difficulties in infertility. If you choose to comment, please keep your comments full of love!  -- Rachel

Oh Rachel, thank you. You get infertility as much as you can. And because of that, I come away feeling validated. Validated that my pain is real. Validated that people’s words hurt me even though usually unintentionally. Validated that others could be more careful. 

I would want anyone who has ever questioned my reality to read your letter. It gives good insight about some of what I’m going through. Maybe others wouldn’t judge my actions and reactions as they do if they had any sympathy of the situation. I definitely feel like others dismiss my pain. I have to be guarded now in who I open up to because there are very callous responses from people who don’t understand. 

Just ONE of the crazy things about infertility is that while I am currently dealing with the loss of motherhood, if I ever give birth or adopt, then that loss becomes extinct. Unless a couple is actually told, “You will never have children,” they join the rest of us as we live in this in-between state. We don’t have children but we may have children. In life, we often want definites. Infertility is most certainly a shade of gray, not black or white. 

After being told we had unexplained infertility, the doctor said, “That is actually a good place to be. Because it doesn’t mean you can’t have children.”

Maybe if I were just told I would never have kids, I could just move on. I would know to grieve over never being pregnant, and then pursue other options. But instead, I live in a waiting game . . . Four years and counting. 

Another issue is how to deal with others' comments. I’ve developed a system of avoidance of painful situations like baby showers and such, but you cannot possibly plan for when someone outright asks you questions or makes comments.

After one rather traumatic interaction, I replayed the whole scenario over and over until I came up with my plan for any future issues. If the person is merely an acquaintance or is not someone I want to open up to, I will say something like, “That is a personal topic and I would not like to discuss it with you.” If they persist, I would reiterate that. If the person is closer, I might say something like, “Well, I would be willing to share with you on that if you want to get coffee sometime.” The latter will be an indication that I do not intend to discuss anything at that time or in an open setting. 

I would like to share that traumatic experience because it was so hurtful, I just need to get it out.

We were at a large gathering on a Sunday afternoon to celebrate the finalization of a baby's adoption. I was fine being there because the couple is older than us and cannot have children. I was holding the baby, when this middle-aged woman I’ll call Rosa came and sat next to me.

Rosa is from Spain, and I knew her from previous employment. She was all smiles and said something like, “When are you having a baby?” 

Because of the language barrier, I couldn’t understand if she was asking when I am due or telling me that I should get started having a family. I am a plus-sized woman, so the former would be an insulting comment regardless of my situation. (It just adds insult to injury to look pregnant because of excess weight and not be). 

I just responded, “No.” She kept asking and commenting for several more minutes, and I just kept saying, “No.” If I had been prepared, I would have told her that is a private matter and I did not want to discuss it with her.

I left that afternoon with all kinds of emotions. I was rather shocked that she continued to press the issue. I tried to tell my husband afterward that I don’t want to be around that person again, and that I was making eyes at him to come rescue me. But he had no clue.

I do try to be merciful when others make hurtful comments, as I am sure that I made many unknowingly harmful comments before I experienced infertility myself. I now find myself SO grateful when meeting new people who DON’T make comments or ask questions.  If you can see that we have no children around us and we haven’t made comments about a babysitter, then it is logical to assume we have no children. I know I will never ask someone about their family status again. I know all too well what it does. 

I do envision what a child with my husband’s and my DNA would look like. But I think, even more than that, I live in fear all the time that one of our parents will pass away without ever meeting our children, or at least one child. 

The more years that pass, the scarier and more real this fear becomes. It is very important to me. My dad’s mother died before I was a year old and I treasure the very few photos there are of her holding me. Even though I never knew her, it means a lot that she met me. I want that for my children. And every woman knows that she needs her mother more than ever when she’s pregnant. Your mom is your best comfort at that time. I would hate to not have my mom around if I ever get to experience pregnancy. 

Infertility is absolutely consuming. I can’t seem to ever shut my brain off. I’m always aware of where I am at in my cycle, when we need to try, what symptoms I’m feeling, and the many whens: when to take medicine, when to get bloodwork, and when the doctor appointments are. 

Any women that ever says they were miserably sick for nine months does not understand that I would LOVE to be miserably sick for nine months knowing that I would have a child. 

I constantly question what God wants from me. What am I doing wrong? What am I supposed to learn? Hasn’t this season lasted long enough? 

I hate this season and I don’t handle it gracefully. The longer I remain here the MORE I sin. Is God waiting for me to have no more jealousy, bitterness, faithlessness, distrust, anger, resentment,self-pity, and lack of joy before he will give me children?  If he’s waiting for that, I know I’ll never have kids. Because every day, I learn of someone else being pregnant, fight with my husband when he’s not compassionate, fear losing my parents, or question God’s best.

I also feel like I have to justify adoption. I want to adopt children. I am strongly convicted as a born-again Christian that I should care for orphans and train them to love God. I want to have a home that more and more children are added to it all the time. I look forward to a large family.

When asked why I don’t adopt right now, my answer is that it would be much easier for my husband and me to learn how to be parents from conception on. If given the opportunity, I want to take advantage of God’s design in the nine months of preparation and the growths tages of a baby.  There’s a slow transformation that takes place in natural parenting. Once we experience that, then it will be so much easier to add more and more children. I never want to have a stigma that we adopted because “we had no other choice.” I want to adopt because I want to adopt. 

I know that you will struggle with key dates having lost your baby. I struggle with dates, too. Especially my birthday.

Last year, several weeks before my birthday, whenever I thought about it, I would burst into tears, because I wanted to have several children by this age!  I am grieving that I will never have children in my 20s. The 30s are scary when it comes to fertility. Time is counting down.

And some holidays are hard, too. Family getting together at Christmas, and it’s another year passed without any grandkids. While on my husband's side, there are now four grandkids, none of whom were around when my husband and I got married. 

I do wish that every pregnant woman would realize that her pregnancy is a source of pain to others. A reminder of what they don't have. A source of jealousy about wanting to be in your place.  And bitterness when you complain about your situation.

I am a very outspoken person, and my infertility has made me understand that everything out of my mouth, on facebook, in a blog, etc., has the potential of hurting others. I HAVE learned this lesson to be careful about my joys or hurts being a stumbling block for someone else. 


If you would like to share your story of pregnancy loss or infertility, please email me your story at renyeart@gmail.com. I can post your story anonymously if you would like. I do reserve the right to edit your post for clarity.

Brittany's Story: Struggles after loss, infertility and a miracle baby.

 Your blog about infertility brought up a lot of emotions in me. I wanted to share my experience and feelings, but they don’t stop at infertility and so I didn’t think it prudent to share in the comments section.

I feel like when we talk or hear about infertility or pregnancy loss, it stops there. However, my experience seems to have continued into how to handle my child. The pain, agony and guilt haven’t gone away from having my miracle baby girl or even from getting pregnant again.

I didn’t know about my fertility before, but I knew that I never had regular periods. It didn’t matter, though, because I was young!

When it took Michael and me 3 years to conceive Madelyn, my whole perspective changed. I charted my cycle, used fertility monitors, had tons of blood work done, had ultrasounds, saw several different doctors, and was finally diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome. Not the worst diagnosis, but certainly not a good one!

This whole time all my friends, family and acquaintances kept announcing their pregnancies. EVERY single thing you mentioned about infertility in your blog was my experience. We finally decided to try a round of Clomid, but if it didn’t work, we were going to take a break. The stress and emotions for both of us were all-consuming and we didn’t enjoy each other, the process or life in general. I was a wreck!

Well, the Clomid didn’t work, so we threw in the towel. I started to feel better, put my energy into dance, school and work. Lo and behold, when I finally stopped thinking about it, I became pregnant! This was our miracle baby!

Then, like you, Rachel, it seemed like my body tried to get rid of the baby the whole time and I was terrified something awful would happen. I was incredibly sick, on bed rest, in pain, started to develop pre-eclampsia, and was induced . . . TWICE! I had a horrible labor, but then had my perfect baby girl!

But that wasn’t the happy ending I thought it would be. She had jaundice the first 2 weeks of her life. I had to take her in for bloodwork every day, she had the bili lights at home.

Then we had feeding trouble. For almost the first year of her life, she screamed 24/7, wouldn’t eat and wouldn’t sleep. I was the only one who could hold her. We finally found out she had silent reflux. We got her on meds and it helped, but I think her path was paved at that point.

Now she has screaming fits, completely unprovoked, sleeping and eating are still major problems. Her system doesn’t work properly. She has teeth problems from her reflux and prolonged medication usage.

There have been so many times where I have wondered what we did to deserve this? No one else has even the slightest clue what we are going through. People offer well-meaning advice, but it isn’t helpful. We’ve felt like God is punishing us in some way. All I ever wanted was to be a mother, but not like this.

I have shed so many tears and felt so defeated. We have no answers and have so much guilt over being at our wits' end with our dear child! We love her so much and it breaks our hearts to watch her struggle and be in pain and not know how to help her. We struggle with guilt and shame over our responses to her when we just can’t stand the screaming any longer! This is not how things should work out!

I had a miscarriage about a year and a half ago. It wasn’t medically confirmed, but I know for a fact what it was! I couldn’t even allow myself to truly admit what happened or grieve over it. We were trying to avoid pregnancy at the time!

Now, I am pregnant again and things are going much better than with Maddy, but it has been a long, hard 24 weeks so far. The first 15 weeks I wasn’t truly happy about it and then I felt so guilty over feeling that way!

Anyway, all this to say that I feel like the journey, the pain, the frustration never stops! I’m not really sure what to do with all of it. It feels better to be honest with someone about it all. I appreciate you reading.

A note from Rachel: Madelyn's doctors have just discovered what could be a serious medical issue causing some of Madelyn's behavior. Please pray for Brittany, Michael and Madelyn -- pray for wisdom, peace and for Madelyn's health!

A letter to my friends with infertility

Dear friend,


If you are reading this letter, and you struggle with infertility -- I just want to let you know how sorry I am. I know that your pain often goes unnoticed. Your grief invalidated. And your loss trivialized.


I also want to say, "Welcome." My blog is about pregnacy loss -- and for those of you who are struggling with infertility, you might not be dealing with the loss of your baby -- but you are dealing with the loss of motherhood. And that is a very valid pregnancy loss indeed.


I want you to know that I don't totally understand infertility, and all that it brings to life.


 I do not know the ups and downs each month of trying, waiting, being devastated, then mustering up the strength to try one more time.


I do not understand what it's like to have insensitive, ignorant (but well-meaning) people ask when it will be "my turn." I have not had people tell me to adopt, just so I could get pregnant. I have not had acquaintances tell me I'm trying too hard or wanting it too much. No one has ever told me just to "relax and it will happen."


I have not had to deal with years of struggling with friends' pregnancy announcements, birth announcements, subsequent pregnancy announcements, and on and on.


I do not know what it's like to have an empty nursery in my house.


I do not understand what it feels like to wonder if you will ever be a mother. I have not had to look infertility straight in the eye, and just give in because no amount of fighting would ever win me a victory . . . the victory of a sweet baby in my arms.


I have not had to give myself shots, undergo surgery, or face years of tests without a baby to show for it.


I have not had to face the guilt of not being able to provide a son or daughter for my husband . . . or a grandchild for my parents.


I do not know what it's like to face a suffering that is so silent, while at the same time, so consuming.


I have not faced the deep, deep loneliness of dealing with infertility.


As much as I cannot relate, I also feel that there are shadows of your suffering that I have been given just glimpses of . . .


I have felt distrust in my body, and anger when I felt it did not -- or could not -- support a healthy pregnancy.


With Madelyn, I felt as though my body worked against me -- and against her. In many ways, I felt like it did all it could to reject my baby.


At 12 weeks, I hemorrhaged. It was my birthday, and Father's Day. We were sent home from the E.R. with a 50/50 chance that we would lose her. She hung on.


Starting at 28 weeks, I had threatened premature labor and was put on bed rest several times throughout my pregnancy.


Beginning pretty much from the moment of conception (at least that's what it felt like), I had "all-day sickness." It was like having a case of the flu for 9 full months. Taking vitamins made me sicker. I couldn't ever focus on eating well for two. I could only focus on "What can I ingest that won't immediately come back up?"


And in the end, I had preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome -- both of which could have resulted in either mine, or Madelyn's, deaths. During my labor, her heart rate dropped for 8 minutes. After that, we had a c-section.


Two years later, I believed I was pregnant, but refused to take a test. I was still too traumatized from my experience with Madelyn to even think about getting pregnant. Right about the time I thought, "well, I should take a test" -- I began what I dubbed "the period from hell." I really believe we lost a baby then, but there is no medical way for me to know for sure.


I went to counseling following that "miscarriage." I felt a lot of depression and anxiety stemming in part from distrust in my body.


After gaining back some confidence -- believing that my next pregnancy truly would be different -- we had an ectopic pregnancy. There is no medical explanation for why this happened to us. Losing Olivia has made me doubt whether my body was ever really meant for pregnancy. And I have felt much guilt that I could not provide a safe place for her to grow.


Deciding to try again is a very hard decision for us to make. (Although, I know that many of you would give all four limbs just to be able to make that choice for yourself. So I know our situation is not the same.)


I know what it's like to desperately want to be pregnant with your baby -- but not be pregnant.


Some of you have lost babies -- others haven't yet conceived. But I know at least for me how desperate I felt once we lost the baby to be pregnant again.


We have to wait on my body to heal. And we have to wait to pay for Olivia and save up before we can think of trying again.


My wait is short-term. And I know that that is different than what you might be facing. But I do know what it feels like to want something SO MUCH -- only for God to say, "No. Not this time."


I know what it's like to feel like adoption might be the only choice you have to expand your family.


Ryan and I are now licensed for foster care. We still have not received a call for a child. But I often wonder if I'm even ready anymore.


Many people think adoption is easy: "This baby wasn't wanted. You want a baby. Put the two and two together -- and BAM! You have a family!"


It's not that easy. Foster care isn't easy. Adoption isn't easy. Nothing about creating a family is easy. I'm not saying it's not worth it -- or that we still won't pursue adoption. I just know what it's like to face foster care/adoption and think it's your only alternative. And grieve because it's not the same as having your own child.


I know, in part, what it's like to struggle to be on Facebook, to be jealous of others, to struggle to trust God's plan, to struggle to be around other pregnant women/babies, and to wish desperately that my situation were different.


Some days, I actually accept my loss. And then I attend an event where the talk is about babies. Or I see a pregnant woman. Or I watch a commercial with a newborn baby. Or I hear the announcement from a friend that she is expecting. Or . . Or . . . Or.


There seems to be a billion reminders out there about what we don't have. And that's hard to deal with, plain and simple. And when you do deal with your pain, sometimes there's collateral damage. Sometimes a friend is hurt when you aren't able to attend her shower. Perhaps another friend can't understand why you grow silent when your girlfriends get together and the subject of babies arises. Maybe you feel people are tired of you "raining" on their parade.


I know I'm relatively new to this experience, but I can say that it is a constant struggle. I struggle to face those reminders, and chose over and over again to praise God, and say, "Your will be done."

I know what it's like to pay for a baby you don't bring home. And having finances play a part in holding you back from expanding your family.


There are few things more frustrating than feeling like finances are holding you back -- but at the same time, you are so overcome with grief and hurt it is difficult to work harder, or start a business, or move your finances forward.



I have had people say all the wrong things that hurts so much. I know what it's like to sometimes just want to hole up to protect yourself.



I have to admit that, at one time, I was the pregnant person that people dealing with loss kind of hate. If not hate, at least resent. Or maybe, just feel jealous toward.


I got pregnant quickly, without really trying. Without WANTING to be pregnant. And I did spend quite a bit of the next 9 months complaining -- often loudly -- about my struggles in pregnancy. I did not know that my pregnancy really had any effect on others. I did not know that my complaints might have caused pain for anyone.


Most of my complaints were valid. I was miserable for 9 months. But -- if I had known that they caused pain, I think I would have chosen more carefully who I complained to.


I also was the person to say all the wrong things to someone struggling with infertility. They were spoken with the right heart -- but were still all the wrong words.


On behalf of those of us who do not know your pain, please forgive us for our ignorance. For the times we say the wrong things at the wrong time. For dismissing your pain.


And please have grace with us, even as our situations might look so much different than what you are going through.


I hope that on this blog, you will feel welcome to share about your loss, your pain and your story.



From a fellow friend on this devastating journey,


Rachel

Breaking 11 years of silence: A story of miscarriage at 13 weeks

I am honored today to share the story of a friend who suffered a miscarriage at 13 weeks. She went through her unplanned pregnancy and miscarriage alone. Completely alone. After 11 years, she is breaking the silence and is now talking about her precious baby and the loss that rocked her world.

We all have such different experiences in our loss. Her story shows the side that is so often overlooked. What happens when a pregnancy isn't planned, and lost? What does life look life after a loss when you suffer alone?

I want to be sure to protect this momma's heart -- so if you want to comment, please keep your comments full of love.

-- Rachel

When I moved to a new state at the beginning of my junior year of high school, I fell in love with a boy. For years, I hoped he would notice me. When he finally did . . . I knew he was the one. I was young, unmarried and thought I was invincible; the thought of getting pregnant never crossed my mind.

I actually got pregnant on the night that I lost my virginity. I was on birth control, but had strep throat and was on antibiotics, thus rendering my birth control inactive. It took me quite a while to realize I was pregnant. I just wasn't paying attention to the fact that I had missed a period or two, and because I was taking birth control, I never thought I would get pregnant.

Once I realized what was happening and took a pregnancy test, I was getting ready to go back to college for my junior year. I went to the doctor and it was confirmed, but the doctor said that I might have done some damage by continuing to take my birth control while pregnant. I immediately stopped and knew that, no matter what, I was going to keep the baby. I already loved that little one growing inside of me.

I went back to college and didn't tell anyone. Not my family, not my friends and not the father. I was just going to travel home for my doctor’s appointments and figure out how to tell my family after I started really showing.

Around 13 weeks, I started cramping really bad. I went to the health center at my school and they recommended an OB/GYN in Charlotte. I went and they did an ultrasound, but the baby's heartbeat was slightly slower than normal. They said there could be many contributing factors. They scheduled me for another ultrasound a few days later to check the heartbeat and everything again.

Two days later, I woke up cramping and bleeding heavily. I had never felt/seen anything like it. I didn't want to tell my suite-mate, so I got dressed and walked (very slowly) across campus. By the time I got to the health center, I was in bad shape. They called an ambulance and they took me to the ER.

When I got there, they did an ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. They sedated me, and did another ultrasound a few hours later. The doctor confirmed that there wasn't any hope, but that I needed to have a D&C procedure.

I had surgery and was released the next day. I remember being “foggy.” I’m not sure that I truly understood what was going on. I had just lost my precious baby. But because I hadn’t told anyone, I had to go on with my life as if nothing had happened.

I was pretty sick for the week or two after . . . I had a lot of bleeding and cramping and felt so empty, but I just couldn't bring myself to talk about it with anyone. It was almost surreal. I felt like I was walking through a life that wasn’t my own. I just didn’t tell anyone. In fact, I didn't tell anyone for many years.

I just started opening up about it over the last year, but still don't talk about it much. I went through it completely alone and felt like I had no one to turn to. I lied to so many people for so many years! People were concerned about me and couldn't understand why I cried all the time, so I tried to put on a brave front and go on with my life.

It has been almost 11 years and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t think about my child. There are times that I dream about her. While I have lived a good life since that day, I can’t say that the emptiness has ever gone away. Maybe it won’t ever go away. Someday, I hope to blessed with children, but for now, I know that she is looking down on me. Mommy Loves You!

A word to others:
To those who have a friend who has lost a baby, let them talk about it as much or as little as they need to. There are days that I long to talk about her and days that I don't.

Thank you so much, friend, for being so brave in sharing your story. Thank you for sharing your precious baby's story -- I know you miss her so much.



I feel like every pregnancy loss story is so important and deserves to be told. If you would like to share your story, please email me at renyeart@gmail.com. We can post your story anonymously.


My goal in sharing stories on this blog is:


1) To honor our beloved babies and keep their memory alive.
2) To validate and honor the grief of the moms who have lost their little one.
3) To be a resource to women who are hoping to find someone, somewhere out there, who can relate to their feelings of loss. I hope this blog will be that resource.