Ali's Story: Abuse results in a miscarriage and a grief gap with her husband

Ali, I just can't imagine at all what you have been through. I'm so so so sorry. I am thankful that Ryan's story has helped you understand your husband better. That grief gap is so very hard. Much love, Rachel




I recently read your wife's story when a friend posted it on Facebook. I related to it so much that words cannot really explain. At the end of her blog, there was a link to your story. I then read it. It connected to my heart like nothing I've ever read before. 

My husband and I suffered a miscarriage in the very beginning of our marriage. I was very young, 17 years old, in fact. He was 21, and in his first year of enlistment in the Marine Corps. We had gotten married on his 10-day leave after boot camp. And we were IN LOVE! I had never had much of a strong family. But once I took him into my heart fully and completely, I felt like I had finally found that family I had been longing for my whole life. 

He left to M.O.S. school (job training for the Marine Corps.). He was only allowed to come home for a short period during Christmas of 2004. I had originally thought that was the time that we conceived our first child. However, it must have been on our wedding night. ;) I found out I was expecting on New Year's Day (January 1st, 2005). 

I felt so terribly guilty after a night of partying to find out that I had a little life growing inside of me... I was also afraid to tell my new husband. Because we had never discussed having children. We knew we both wanted them one day. But this seemed a bit early in our young marriage for this to be happening. I knew I didn't have much of a choice though. He had left to go back to M.O.S. school already, so I had to tell him over the phone. His initial reaction was "OH S#$&!"... Which didn't offer much comfort to me at that time! (I was eventually able to laugh about it.) 

Over the next few weeks, he grew used to the fact that we were going to have a child. He even seemed to be becoming excited. Everything was going great, all most too great. I wasn't sick, felt great... I even had more energy than I usually did. I went to the doctor, who figured I was somewhere between 8-12 weeks along....(I figured about 9, because I know when my husband had been home!) a few more weeks past with no incident... I forgot to mention that I was still living with my Mother and Step-Father, (both of who were involved in drugs at the time and weren't very stable) but I didn't have much of a choice. I was only staying there until my husband got stationed somewhere and we could get an apartment to move into. 

One day, I came home to my parents in an argument.. A pretty heated one at that. I slipped into my room at the back of the house. A few moments after I shut my door, my mother burst in, crying uncontrollably. She told me to pack a bag that my Step-Father no longer wanted me in the house. The way he seen it, I was a married adult and I did not belong at home with my mother. I had been paying rent, working a full-time job as a carhop at Sonic... All while I was finishing my senior year of high school. This was absolutely and totally unexpected. I was blind-sighted by this. I had no place to go... I had no clue what I was going to do. 

So I left my room to try to reason with my Step-Father about this. I was going to try to get another month to stay in their home. I would have been leaving Oklahoma to go to North Carolina within the next month and a half. So I figured if I could squeeze a month out of him. I'd be able to figure the last 2 weeks out. My Step-Father was obviously not his normal self. He was visible shaking, angry does not even begin to describe it. I should have known better than to approach him while he was in this kind of mood. But hindsight is 20/20.... 

What I thought would be a civil conversation turned into a screaming match between the two of us. I told him I would leave, quickly packed a small bag of clothes, toiletries, etc... I grabbed the keys to my car and headed out the door. (Let me say this before I tell you what happened next) my parents had bought my car for me on my 16th birthday. But only under the agreement that I paid them back... Which I did.. And in full. This was the reason I was working a full time job on top of school. I had just put new tires on my car also. But the car was in my parent's names because I was still under the age of 18. When my Step-Father noticed that I was leaving...in a car that was in his name. He immediately got even more upset. He stood in the door way, not allowing me to pass through to the outside unless I handed over the keys...I felt trapped.

 I didn't know what to do. No place to live, no car, no family around to help me figure this situation out... I was scared. And when a teenager is scared, they freak out. And freak out I did. I screamed and yelled and tried to shove my way through the door with keys in hand. He was not going to allow this. The way he seen things, this was his car, it was in his name, and they could sell it to make money... (Most likely for their drug of choice, Meth).... So in an attempt to get the keys from me, he shoved me down the front steps of our house. Which was about 5-6 steps, if I remember correctly... It could have been more. 

I landed face down in the yard. That also meant I had landed on my stomach. I immediately felt a sharp pain in my abdomen. Which made me cry out for my Mother. My Step-Father, who was obviously high on something, seen my Mother rushing to my side, and he apparently did not like that she was taking my side (at least that's how he viewed her actions)... He shoved my Mother out of the way, hauled his leg back, and kicked me right in my stomach. All I can remember is the Steel Toed Boot that he wore making contact with my body. I didn't feel much pain, everything went blurry... I'm still not sure how long I laid on the ground in my parents from yard, bawling uncontrollably.... Once my Mother could get to me without causing my Step-Father to become anymore angry or upset, she came and laid down beside me. I couldn't move. I could feel a wetness on my legs,back, and lower stomach... I had started to bleed. And it was a lot of blood.... 

By this time, my Step-Father had gone. But before he left, he disconnected the batteries and some other parts of the cars in the drive. My Mother called one of her friends to come get us so we could go to the hospital. Once I got to the ER, they immediately got me to the back to see the doctor... They took blood... But I didn't need a blood test to know. To know that I had lost a child that I had not yet had the joy of holding, the joy of seeing for the first time on an ultra-sound. I had heard the precious heart beat. But only once... I wasn't sure how I was going to tell my husband... I was scared... I decided to wait until the doctors could confirm what I already knew in my heart. I made the decision to not tell my husband right away due to the fact that he was already under a huge amount of stress from the military job and training... 

I returned to the hospital 3 days later to have more blood taken... The results revealed what I already knew. I had lost my sweet child. All at the hands of another person. A person that was supposed to protect me as his own. A person that to this day has still not apologized (10 years later)... That night when my husband called, I broke the news to him. He didn't say much, that he was sorry that I had lost the baby..I remember so clearly what he said..."I'm sorry you had to go through that...but at least you weren't very far along... We can have another."

 He was very angry about how my parents had treated me. But it didn't seem like losing the baby was the biggest loss in the situation to him. We hung up after a very short conversation. About a week and a half later I flew to Fort Knox to celebrate the first Valentine's Day as husband and wife.... I was met at the airport by a taxi service that my husband had arranged for me. After the 45-minute drive to the Base where I would see him for the first time since it happened, our eyes met, I immediately felt better... But it was short-lived. He looked different, worn down and tired. But seemed his normal self all at the same time. His attitude and demeanor seemed to be the same as always. He was loving and kind. And had a lovely, romantic weekend planned for us... I tried my hardest to enjoy it. 

But in the back of my mind, I was angry! No... I was outraged! Outraged that he didn't seem to even remember that we had just lost our first child. Outraged that he didn't offer any condolences for what I had just gone through... The last night I was with him that weekend, we laid in bed talking about the future... And how he thought we should start to try for another baby. This made me even more furious! How could he just get over it so quickly? Did it bother him at all? How could he want to have another child so soon? It felt like the life I was still mourning, didn't have any meaning to him at all.... I never said anything about how angry it made me or how badly it hurt my feelings.... 

The next year we were blessed with a daughter. A perfect, beautiful, and healthy little miracle.. She was what pulled me out of my funk. A funk that I feared would never go away. I am not saying that she took the place of the child that I had lost only a short time before. But she definitely filled a void. And I was grateful. Our family had begun. 

But I never understood how my husband could be so cold about my miscarriage.? He never talked about it on his own. And when I brought it up, he would cut the conversation off as soon as he could.... 10 years have passed since that terrible day. The day I lost a child, a part of me that will never be replaced or healed. Its a scar on my heart that will forever remain. My husband left the Marine Corps., we had our second child (third in my eyes), our son, who is more wild and wonderful then I could have ever dreamed him to be! 

He and I started our careers, bought 2 houses, started a business... we have continued to live our lives as we planned... I never understood why my husband could have been so rash about my miscarriage. But after reading your story Ryan, I began to understand why he may have been so withdrawn. And now I see. He was mourning the loss of our child too. It was just in a different way than I did....

Losing a child is never an easy thing. Whether it be a miscarriage or abortion before the child is physically on this earth, or if a child is lost many years too early. I am glad to share my story with the world. Maybe my experience will help someone else as you and your wife's story helped me. It helped me to understand a man I have know for 12 years and married for 10. I thought I know everything about him. But men are as much of a mystery as anything I guess.

Thanks for offering a safe haven for people to share stories like this one. It means more to me than words could ever express.

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.

Brandy's Story: Finding peace in God through the loss of 7 children

Brandy, you are right. How does one possibly respond to the deaths of 7 children. Much of your story resonates with mine. Except my number is 4. Not 7.  Thank you for sharing not only your losses, but also your healing and hope. I pray that it will help someone else.

Love, Rachel

I am a blessed mother of 8 beautiful babies.  7 babies of whom I have never been able to see smile, laugh or hear them speak.  One day, I will.  Most people are speechless when they hear my story.  How does one respond?   

For those of you who are faced with loved ones grieving the loss of miscarriage -- in my honest opinion -- there is no right way to respond -- because in my experience, most mothers don't know how to grieve.  Just do what seems natural to you -- I am sure it will be received in love by the grieving family. 

Our story started all the way back in 2005.  Seems like a lifetime ago.  Newly married, we were excited to tell everyone and anyone about our news.  At the first ultrasound, the tech was silent.  She didn't say anything.  She left quietly to get our doctor.  That is when the doctor broke the news that the baby would not survive.  We were devastated.  We lost child number 1 just weeks later.

About 9 months later, we were pregnant again.  I was so scared.  We didn't tell anyone.  Through the whole pregnancy I just trusted God that it was his choice and I was going to let him decide.  I remember hearing the heartbeat at the first ultrasound, I started crying. Not just a couple of tears, but full-fledged weeping.  Even up to the day they decided to take her early, I still let it rest in God's hands on whether or not we would be blessed with a child.  I fully trusted him.  It wasn't easy -- but necessary.  She was born in June of 2007, a perfectly healthy beautiful baby girl. 

Since then, I have had 6 more miscarriages.  My doctor has tried many things to try to help, but in the end, my babies all left before or close to the end of my first trimester.  My most recent experience has scarred me the most.  It was a week after Christmas in 2013, that we discovered it.  I called my doctor but being that it was their Christmas break, it was difficult waiting for their office to open back up.  Then it was the New Year’s holiday, so more waiting for them to open to get my test results. 

I was so excited; I instantly called one of my close friends who had been praying for me for the past 6 months about this very thing.  She broke down in tears because she and her husband had just found out they were expecting number 4.  Could it be that God was going to bless us both by allowing us to go through this journey together?  We knew it had to be a sign.  We prayed all the time, praying that my body would be strong enough.  I posted my walls with even more Bible verses than normal.  I clung to all of the morning sickness, thankful for it, praying it was helping my body to do what it was supposed to do.  My doctor continued to do blood tests to monitor my progress.   

 Then one morning, the nurse called with the devastating news.  Of course, it wasn't devastating to her because I am sure she makes that call all the time.  But I hit rock bottom, right there.  My hormone levels were decreasing.  My body was once again not strong enough to carry the little one with whom I was blessed. 

Sitting here 2 months later, I wish I could tell you I know why God has allowed this to happen in my life.  I absolutely love children and know that I am a great mom.  However, I know that it is not a reflection of who I am as a person or what I do.  I know that it is not due to God overlooking me because I am sure that He was up there crying more than I at having to take yet another child from my womb.  I have learned not to ask why or why not.

I have learned to step back and look at life a little differently.  It is possible that my gracious most Heavenly Father is protecting me.  I know that it doesn't sound like it after experiencing so much pain, but it is very, very possible. 

I know historically many women die in childbirth.  My body did not carry my daughter very well in 2007.  It fought me every step of the way.  I came down with preeclampsia so they had to take Janelle early and then they struggled with getting my blood pressure to a stable state.  I have never had problems with my blood pressure, but they could not get it to go down and were afraid that I was going to have a stroke.  They were of course very cautious with how much detail they went into as to not raise my stress level higher. 

However, it is very possible, that my loving God gave me Janelle to fill my heart’s desire.  To say, "Brandy, I know this is what you have wanted your entire life."  It is very possible, that on that day, in June of 2007, that He wrapped His loving arms around me and held me tight and kept me here on Earth to experience all that He has for me.  I have come to the realization that there is a good chance my body is not capable of carrying a child -- but I was blessed and protected through carrying one. 

Most people do not understand the pain of losing 7 children or even losing 1.  But our Heavenly Father does.  He gave His only Son for us.  And I know that He is my ultimate comforter.  When I think that no one else understands my pain, I know that He does.  And the greatest thing is that I don't even have to be able to put it into words.  He knows, He sees, and He feels right along with me.  I encourage others to turn to Him for their peace when they go through life's trials.  He is the ultimate peace and through Him, you will find comfort and joy again. 

Rachael's Story: Empty arms, empty womb and hurting heart

Rachael, I know you're pain all to well. I know what it's like to watch others move forward and to experience the blessings (the ultrasounds, the flutters, the bulging belly) and all the firsts of a baby that we were robbed of. 

I hope and pray that somehow, someday, you'll find contentment again. Until then, know that whatever you need to feel is OK. And that others are right here, grieving with you.

Much love,

Rachel

My name is Rachael. I have always wanted to be a mother. I watched both of my siblings have kids right away without a single problem. I grew up confident that I would be the same. Unfortunately, I have not been so lucky.

Six months after getting married, I unexpectedly but very happily became pregnant. My joy was short-lived because I miscarried at 5 1/2 weeks. It was heartbreaking, but I quickly learned how common losing the first is. I felt peace in the knowledge that I can get pregnant and hoped that my body just needed a push into motherhood.

It took 6 months before I got pregnant again. I had faith that I was more physically prepared and that this one would work. I passed the scary 6-week mark. My intense morning sickness comforted me. I felt my stomach begin to grow. I went to the doctor at 9 weeks and got talked out of doing an ultrasound. I was measuring in the 8-10 week range so I had faith that everything was ok and I could wait until next time. 

After that, my nausea subsided. At 10 weeks, I started to bleed. It was very light and only lasted an hour. I called my doctor who said it sounded normal. I tried not to worry. At 11 weeks, the bleeding started again and this time lasted the whole weekend. I wasn't in pain and it still didn't seem very heavy, so I waited until I could see my doctor on Monday. On Monday morning, I got up to use the bathroom and was faced with the reality that I was miscarrying. I sobbed. I got mad. I was heartbroken, again. 

I went to the doctor and received an ultrasound. My baby had died at 8 weeks. If only I had insisted on an ultrasound before. I got a D&C that night and wished I could just stay asleep forever. I didn't want to start all over. How many months will it take this time? Will I ever get to keep one?

It has been over 14 months now and I still haven't gotten pregnant since. I cry all the time. I scream and get mad. In the last 14 months, all 8 of my best friends have had babies. All of my siblings and husband's siblings have had babies. I am constantly reminded of what I don't have. I feel completely alone and incompetent. Each month that goes by makes me more and more angry. A month is a long time. 

The only thing I know is that I have a baby. I feel like my first miscarriage was a failed attempt. There wasn't even a heart. The second miscarriage, however, was my sweet Eliza May. I always felt like I would have a girl first and I feel very strongly that she came and went in the way she needed to. She's watching over me and I will have her again. My heart aches for her and for the babies waiting to come.

It has almost been 2 years since the first time I got pregnant and I pray every day that this wait will end. I grieve the things that were taken from me...the sound of a heartbeat, the flutter of movement inside of me, the growth of a belly and use of maternity clothes, the experience of birth, and the feeling of holding my baby. I want all of these things so badly that my entire body hurts.  Will I ever be happy again?

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."

Corin's Story: Do miracles still happen?

Corin wanted to share her story of her miscarriages, and blighted ovum at 10 weeks.

There's a part in her story I could so relate with -- waiting for the God of miracles to act and receive glory. Except it's not the kind of glory she was counting on. I'll let her tell the rest . . .

Rachel

Do Miracles Still Happen?

by Corin Hughs

Originally published at Corin Hughs.

Reprinted with permission.

My ultrasound image was of my uterus, but the empty black hole better reflected my heart.

A “blighted ovum” my doctor diagnosed.

While this is the reason of 50% of all first-trimester miscarriages, it only happens one time in most women. It’s when an egg is fertilized, the fertilized egg attaches to the uterine wall, but an embryo (baby) never forms. Research concludes this is likely the result of chromosomal abnormalities. There’s no specific, conclusive answer for this. There’s nothing you can do to prevent it. It just happens.

My doctor leaned on the counter, arms folded, brow creased. He commented on my three healthy pregnancies, my two other miscarriages and then this. He was perplexed. He instructed the nurse to order blood work.

I sat numb.

Confused.

Uncertain.

I robotically called my husband to tell him there was no baby.

Yes, I am pregnant, 10 weeks, in fact. My hormone levels indicate pregnancy. The embryonic sac indicates pregnancy. I’m just not pregnant with…a baby.

Huh!?!?

I’ve had a natural vaginal delivery, an emergency C-section for a breech baby who turned during labor and a scheduled C-section for a breech baby. I’ve had an early natural miscarriage, two healthy, problem-free pregnancies, an eleven week ultrasound to reveal a baby with no heartbeat (and eventual miscarriage), a healthy pregnancy and, now, an empty embryonic sac.

Motherhood is emotional! From the very start!

While I can’t help but ask God, why, I also have an indescribable, unique peace over this situation. I do not feel an urgency to have closure to this. I feel like this story is very much still happening and I feel thankful that God chose me for this. As I sit in confusion, knowing I have zero control, I feel ok with that. I know God is fully in control. He knows what He’s doing. I am excited to learn how this story will continue. I’m curious why God chose this situation for me. What does He want me to learn from this? I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t to show Himself as the God of Miracles that I know He is. Yes, He is!

My husband took comfort in the story of the Faithful Centurion who believed Jesus could heal his son. Jesus, astonished by this man’s faith, said, because you believed, your son is now healed.
Is God gifting my husband and me with this mind-boggling situation to increase our belief in Him that He can heal our – His – child?

This all took place on Tuesday, January 14, 2014 (and I wrote all of the above on that same day). At the time, I had few answers. In fact, I really had no answers! Just a bunch of confusing, conflicting information.

And, for once in my life, I felt ok with that.

I had assured hope that God would perform a miracle and that miracle would be a growing baby, of course! I’d go back for another ultrasound the following week and we’d see a perfect, healthy, beautiful peanut. The doctors would be astonished at how science had been defied. I would sit back and smile, telling them God has plans for this child.

Scouring the web, I read story after story of women in a similar situations and everything turned out fine. Most often, they were not as far along in their pregnancy as they thought, so a week or two later, an ultrasound revealed a healthy baby. There were a few stories of women who were indeed ten weeks along and went back the following week for an ultrasound that revealed a healthy 11 week baby. Miraculous! Unexplainable! Yes, that’s what would happen to me!

I grew more and more excited at the thought of sharing this miraculous story. I envisioned myself holding the miracle baby in my arms. I could feel her soft skin against mine. Yes, I had also decided she was a girl. My daughter would have a sister. She would be delighted. I would be delighted.
I would gleam with humble, thankful pride over the four children that I’m getting to raise.

I mean, what better way for God to show his great power, His miraculous ways than for this to be “my story?”

I prayed. I prayed for a miracle. I asked others to pray the same. They did.

Three days later, my hormone levels had dropped and our precious baby – who, by scientific terms, never was – became another miscarriage.

What was God doing?


To finish reading Corin's Story, click here.