I hate feeling jealous. I have three super-tight girlfriends. Two of them had their first babies within the last year. The other one is due any day now. Our relationships are strained. I try to be a good friend, but it's painful every time we talk. One new mom constantly tells me to enjoy my life without kids while I can. Thanks for the insightful advice. I am missing my close friendships and feeling rather lonely.
Kate Middleton just had the royal baby!!! Everyone in my office is participating in a pool to guess what his name will be. I'm royally jealous! Not because she's beautiful. Not because she's royalty. I'm jealous because she's a regular woman who had a baby.
It's been over a year since the first miscarriage and almost a year since the second miscarriage. We're still using condoms. I'm terrified of becoming pregnant again. I've been undergoing accupuncture for four months but still insist on condoms. I started up smoking again just so I have an excuse not to get pregnant. How crazy is that?
My husband insists that we just had bad luck. He won't discuss adoption. I don't want to go through the terrible pain again. It's weird, because I've never been scared of anything. I'm adventurous and I take risks.
Am I the only one who is terrified to try again? How did you get the strength to try again?
A Journey Through Recurrent Pregnancy Loss
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Seven months after my Second Miscarriage
It's been seven months since my second miscarriage. I think I'm subconsciously waging war with my body, treating it as poorly as possible. I have not made a healthy choice in seven months.
I saw a specialist at UIC hospital where they are getting a recurrent pregnancy loss clinic up and running. I had all of the tests done. They all came back, "normal." I was told to get back on the horse and my next pregnancy will involve progesterone supplements.
I'm not physically or emotionally ready to try again, but the clock is a tickin...
I got a puppy and she brings me joy, but there is still a nagging emptiness.
I think I've only got one more try in me. I hear stories about people who have had four, five, six miscarriages. I don't know how they did it. I don't think I'm that strong.
I need to prepare my body for round three, and in the meantime, try to live a fulfilling life without a child. I have a rafting trip in the Grand Canyon coming up.
I am going to use this blog to keep myself accountable to making healthy choices so that I may physically and emotionally heal from this experience. No more spiraling into oblivion. Whether my future holds a baby in my arms or not, I need to heal and love this vessel of a body, even if it can't carry a child.
The first step will be a healthy dinner tonight and some mild exercise. I wrote it so I have to do it. I hope this works.
I saw a specialist at UIC hospital where they are getting a recurrent pregnancy loss clinic up and running. I had all of the tests done. They all came back, "normal." I was told to get back on the horse and my next pregnancy will involve progesterone supplements.
I'm not physically or emotionally ready to try again, but the clock is a tickin...
I got a puppy and she brings me joy, but there is still a nagging emptiness.
I think I've only got one more try in me. I hear stories about people who have had four, five, six miscarriages. I don't know how they did it. I don't think I'm that strong.
I need to prepare my body for round three, and in the meantime, try to live a fulfilling life without a child. I have a rafting trip in the Grand Canyon coming up.
I am going to use this blog to keep myself accountable to making healthy choices so that I may physically and emotionally heal from this experience. No more spiraling into oblivion. Whether my future holds a baby in my arms or not, I need to heal and love this vessel of a body, even if it can't carry a child.
The first step will be a healthy dinner tonight and some mild exercise. I wrote it so I have to do it. I hope this works.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Am I the only one who fantasizes about breaking things?
I want to throw my shoes at every happy mother-and-child that I see. Is this strange? I would throw anything, really, but I always fantasize about my shoes. Perhaps because there would be no mess to clean up after I throw them.
It's been about two months since my second miscarriage. Time is helping to heal the wounds, I'm feeling better but I'm not close to being healed. I miss feeling happy. I am afraid that I am missing a great opportunity to find meaning from this mourning. People refer to digging themselves out of a whole, but I'm not in a whole where I can see the sunlight and know which direction to dig. Right now, I feel like I'm in a series of underground tunnels and I don't know where I'm going or how to decide which turns to take.
It's been about two months since my second miscarriage. Time is helping to heal the wounds, I'm feeling better but I'm not close to being healed. I miss feeling happy. I am afraid that I am missing a great opportunity to find meaning from this mourning. People refer to digging themselves out of a whole, but I'm not in a whole where I can see the sunlight and know which direction to dig. Right now, I feel like I'm in a series of underground tunnels and I don't know where I'm going or how to decide which turns to take.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Musing of a crazy lady
I walked by Baby Gap. I
pictured myself holding hands with one of the mannequins in the window. But I knew I should really be pushing a
stroller, not holding hands. And then I
walked a few blocks, trying to clear my thoughts from my mind. I noticed my left foot took me home. My right foot reluctantly followed. I looked for meaning in this. I look for meaning in everything.
When pregnant women walk by, I feel like nature is
assaulting me. And it seems like they
walk by all the time. Like a bully on
the playground, Mother Earth is singing, “nan na nan na nah nah” with her
thumbs to her temples and her hands wide open.
“That’s what you get, bitch, when you put bad energy into the
world. You could have been better and
you chose not to be.”
I keep hearing, “everything happens for a reason.” I keep thinking about the reason. It must mean something horrific is coming –
it has to be something that I would not have been able to manage while pregnant
or with a young child. Maybe I have
brain cancer. Maybe I only have six
months to live. Maybe a loved one is
going to get gravely sick. Or maybe I am
going to do something that will have such a profound impact on the world, that I
would have not otherwise done with a child.
I hope things don’t always happen for a reason. I hope that sometimes life just fucking
sucks.
Sometimes you just have to find a little humor in it
all. After all, what other explanation
could there be that many smart, loving, responsible people like me are infertile and other women have crack babies? Mother Nature must want to laugh. Maybe I’ll sign up for improv classes.
I argue with myself whether I even lost anything. I lost an idea. I lost a dream. I didn’t lose a baby (or two). But all of our interactions with people are really
are just ideas. How I see your face
results from my eyes observing and
telling my brain what your face looks like.
And your words and tone of voice too.
And your touch. And taste and
smell. My senses tell me and I believe. I didn’t see my unborn children and I never
heard them cry. I didn’t touch
them. But I felt them, I sensed them. I talked to them. When
you lose ideas that are just thoughts, you merely forget, you don’t bleed them
out. They don’t have to be surgically
removed.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Two Precious Losses
8.21.12
Two lost children in 40 weeks.
Two lost children in 40 weeks.
The water is silent, it engulfs every part of you, it makes
you feel weightless, powerless, small and one with the world. Looking around underwater, you will see
beautiful hues of blue and green with
wild dances of light fluttering about, a window into heaven. The magnificence of the water is at its greatest
near a coral reef. The beauty of it, the
mystery of it, consumes every part of your being. I decided I was going to scuba dive and after
that, I would be ready to start a family.
Husband was apprehensive but eventually he jumped on board
with my desire to dive. We had no idea
the experience would bring us so close.
We are not exactly the Mountain-Dew commercial types. We wear bike helmets at all times, so the
dangers of scuba diving were very real to us.
We discussed our plans, over and over, in the event something would go
wrong. We would hold hands at all times,
so we could communicate quickly with a simple squeeze of the hand. I put my trust and life in his hands and he
did the same. And together we shared the
awe, wonder, beauty and thrill of breathing underwater, swimming over a ship
wreck, seeing a moray eel and watching a sea turtle swim up to us with the
curiosity of an excited dog.
After that, we agreed that we would no longer use birth
control. When curious friends and family
asked whether we were going to have kids soon, we said we weren’t trying, but
we weren’t “not trying”. We didn’t want
to be one of those couples consumed with ovulation dates and basal temperatures
(at the time, I didn’t even know what a basal temperature was but I knew women
took their temperatures). We would live
our lives, have fun, and it was meant to be, God would bless us with a
child. We were madly in love and
innocent from loss.
Well, ten months passed and we still weren’t pregnant. My doctor off handedly suggested fertility
testing. I was in shock. We had not even tried – shouldn’t we at least
TRY before I see a specialist? I
shrugged off the suggestion, but within a few days I was determined that I
needed to know – could we make a baby if we tried?
And so the nutty wife went home and told her husband that
she wanted to try to have a baby. This
would mean a strict schedule of intimacy and of course, he was up to the
challenge. The first month of trying was
fun and after a few weeks, when my period was late, I peed on a stick. It was morning, and I was brushing my teeth
as I saw the test stop flashing and “pregnant” read on the screen of the
test. I could not withhold this information
from Husband for a second, so I picked up the test, with a toothbrush in my
mouth, and ran out to the kitchen to show Husband our news. Husband said, “holy shit!” He was thrilled and terrified at the same
time. Holy shit was right.
I went into work and shared the news with my best friend,
who was also pregnant at the same time.
How exciting – we were going to have kids together! She was about eight weeks ahead of me, and
she knew everything my body was about to go through. We discussed how we were feeling every
morning. We talked about how excited we
were, and how scared we were, everyday at lunch.
I bought magazines, books and ready about pregnancy morning,
noon and night. I even read, “The
History of Birth,” which summarized the last 500 years of midwifery, obstetrics,
superstitious and cultural trends. I read a lot about giving birth in water, and
was leaning towards a more homeopathic approach, but at the same time, I was
seeing a board certified obstetrician.
He told me it was too early to choose a birth plan.
I started planning the nursery. I wanted an underwater theme. Surprise surprise. That would be the first time I transferred my
dreams and desires onto my child. I
looked up stencils of coral reefs and had decided on an elaborate stencil that
would cost over $400.00. No décor was
too pricey for my baby to be.
We started talking about names. I wanted an unusual name because we have such
a common last name. I liked Elizabelle
for a girl, and Liam for a boy. I knew
Liam was common, but I liked it. Husband
liked Elizabelle, but we were not settled on a boy’s name.
It wasn’t all superficial.
I felt like a different person. I
felt like an alien had invaded my body.
But I also tenderly felt like a mom.
I had a child in me and it completely changed my point of view. I started to picture my husband as a
father. I imagined him with a baby
strapped across his chest, walking around like the proud daddy I knew he was
going to be. I saw him throwing a
toddler in the air, to show me how strong he is, how well he can catch, and to
make our child giggle, while I gave him a stern panicked look and told him to
stop right now! I saw him waking up in
the middle of the night and telling me not to worry, he would get up this time,
because that’s the way Husband is – always cheerful. We talked about the kind of parents we
wanted to be – picking and choosing our parent’s techniques and analyzing what
we thought it meant to be a good parent.
We were suddenly more than we were before.
We took a walk in the cold winter after a blizzard. I put on layers and layers of clothes –
including Husband’s new ski pants. We
walked around for hours – hand in hand, elated that we were going to be
three.
We planned special elaborate ways to tell our family and
friends. We videotaped everyone’s
reactions. We would show our child how
excited our family was when they found out it was going to come into their
world. Husband liked to joke, “I wish I
would have had a few more months of trying!” and all of the men would
hardy-har-har.
I selfishly welcomed the attention. Everyone wanted to know everything about me
and eagerly asked questions with an excited smile. How was I feeling? Everything I did was cute and funny. Aw, I fell asleep at 7:00 again. Oops – you were three hours late- ha ha! I was being inducted into a new club. I was more important. I was beautiful because a miracle was
happening in my body. And everyone
wanted to share in that joy.
Husband had a business trip to New York. It was over the anniversary of when we first
met. I sent him an email wishing him a
happy anniversary and also, happy eight weeks!
He told me that he was touched when he received the email and could not
believe how far our relationship had come.
He was so happy to have met me and was so happy we were having a family.
At ten weeks, we went into the doctor. He told us that sometimes you can hear a
heartbeat and sometimes you cannot. Did
we want to try to hear it? It could be
upsetting if we didn’t hear it. Well, we
didn’t hear the heartbeat. The doctor
told us to come back in a week for an ultrasound. He wrote a script and put it in my
hands. The reason for ultrasound
ultrasound simply said “viability.”
That week, I made a lot of bargains with God that I knew I
wouldn’t be able to keep.
I went to a pre-natal yoga class. I was the earliest along – only at ten
weeks. The other ladies had
bellies. At the end of class, we were
supposed to meditate with the baby.
“Imagine a light connecting your heart to the baby’s heart.” I couldn’t imagine the light.
At 11 weeks, we went in for an ultrasound. First, she put jelly on my belly. After a second she told me to get dressed and
empty out my bladder. When I came back
in, she had a scary vaginal probe, wrapped up in a condom with a lot of goop on
it. She explained that she would see
more with a vaginal ultrasound. My
mortification that my husband was sitting next to me as this probe was inserted
into me quickly dissipated when she said, “I’m sorry there’s nothing there,”
and my world came crumbling down around me.
I felt a tremendous wave of sorrow and pain that flooded out of me
through tears and wimpers with my feet up in stirrups and my bottom wrapped in
a paper gown.
I was whisked into a doctor’s office and told that it wasn’t
my fault. It was nothing that I
did. This is common and I would go on to
have a normal pregnancy. They wanted to
take some blood tests and while I was feeling such profound sorrow, strangers
were poking at my veins and sticking needles into my arm when all I wanted was
to be in my husband’s arms.
Husband and I got on the train home. We had to stand. I leaned into him and cried the whole way
home. When we got home, he broke down
too. We layed in the bed in the future nursery,
crying and thinking about everything we had lost.
We broke the news to our friends and families. Grandparents and aunts were crushed. Cousins were sad. Friends got teary eyed.
I spent an entire afternoon with my dad. Normally he’s the first to leave the room at
the mention of a tampon. But this time,
he spent hours talking with me as I decided whether to have a natural
miscarriage or medical intervention. He
listened to me ask the spiritual questions. He assured me that my baby was in heaven. He
listened to me talk about how I wished I would just start bleeding. He was there for me and while it wasn’t the
best of circumstances, it was the closest I’d been with him in a while.
I spent another afternoon with my mom. She cried when I cried. She fell asleep – it was emotionally too much
for her.
My brother sent me a sign that he had met my child in
heaven.
I was at a Vietnamese restaurant with friends, in a dingy
part of town when I started to bleed. I
came back to the table and whispered to Husband. We ordered food and drank wine and pretended
to be merry.
I decided to go with the recommended surgery – a D&C. It was the first time I would have a medical
surgery and I was terrified. Our nurse
reminded Husband of his grandma, and he said he thought she was sent to us from
heaven. I had to decide what to do with
the baby’s remains. I did not expect
this and a wave of sorrow overcame me and I saw tears drop down onto the
paperwork. The nurse gave me a lot of
hugs and even kisses. She told Husband
and I that we have to stick together through this and be understanding of each
other’s grief. The IV was terrifying,
but they got it in. I could not wait to
have that damn IV out. Each person that
encountered me in the pre-surgical room had to confirm with me that I was
having a D&C. I had to sign several
waivers because it was a religious hospital.
Each person inquired about my miscarriage as I sat uncomfortably naked
with an IV in my hand – and all these strangers reassured me that the next time
would be a success.
I was feeling good after the surgery. I felt good the day after surgery. But on the third day, I was not feeling so
good. In the middle of the night, I was
writhing with pain in bed. I got up to
go to the bathroom and felt blood rushing out of me like water out of a
faucet. I screamed and Husband woke up
in a panic. We called the doctor and got
medication to stop the hemmoraging. We
stayed awake all night, monitoring my bloodflow, terrified of the possible
complications of the surgery.
I had to have a second D&C and be hospitalized overnight
on IV antibiotics. Another IV. Another round of strangers reassuring me
everything was going to be okay. A night
alone in a dark hospital. The woman next
to me was struggling for her life. She
just had heart surgery. She had
difficulty breathing. I felt her battle
through the curtain. We never exchanged
words, but pivotal moments in our lives intersected, and the world seemed to
stop at the same time for the both of us.
When I left the hospital, I made promises to myself and Husband
that I was never going to be in a hospital again and neither was Husband for
that matter. We were going to make
lifestyle changes. Instead, we both
gained ten pounds of emotional baggage.
I cried in the shower every morning for weeks. I transitioned into a happy person every day
by the time I got to work. For the
people who knew, a few awkward “I’m sorry”s were exchanged. And then it was back to business. My friend started showing. Everyone fawned over her tiny bump and had
endless questions. I was excited for
her, from the bottom of my heart, but every time she smiled with excitement, I
was reminded of what I had lost.
Another one of my best friends called to tell me she was
pregnant. I was thrilled for her. She had been talking about wanting a baby
since I met her in law school. She told
me that when Husband and I told them we were “not not trying,” they decided to
as well. When I got off the phone, I had
to leave the office. I was hurled over
on the sidewalk trying to get myself together, in bright daylight amongst
businessmen in their fancy suits. I
called a therapist that evening.
We spent a week healing in the British Virgin Islands. We weren’t going to “try” again, but
secretly, I was hoping that ovulation and vacation would overlap. Vacation was heaven. We snorkeled for hours. We drank champagne on the beach. We enjoyed that exact moment, not stuck in
the past nor in the future. We were
going to make it through this. We were
able to smile again.
My period came and I was a little disappointed, but at least
I would not be pregnant at my sister’s wedding.
My cousin had a baby. In June my friend from work had her baby. She sent a picture to me by email. She was so precious. That night, after a Pink Floyd concert that
we could not enjoy, Husband and I cried together in bed. My sister’s wedding came and we had a great
time. Husband and I boogied on the dance
floor and didn’t have a worry in the world.
We were ready to try again. I
thought it would be stressful, but to my surprise, trying again was fun.
My period was a little late and I took a test. Not pregnant.
A few days later, I had a light period.
I was bombarded with pregnancies.
An estranged friend from college had a baby and news trickled through
the grapevine. Another cousin was
pregnant. Could I have one FUCKING day
where I’m not reminded of everything I had, even though I only had it for a split
second, not even long enough for it to be acknowledged by others at large, but
long enough to have changed my life forever.
One FUCKING day, please! My
therapist told me that I hide my feelings well don’t know when I’m fragile. I think some know, but many just don’t
listen. I started researching how to
chart my temperature to determine when I was ovulating. I bought three thermometers but found out
that they were not “basal” thermometers.
I searched every pharmacy near work and home and they were all sold out
of basal thermometers. Apparently I was
not the only girl in Chicago who was going to start charting. What if it would take another year to get
pregnant again? My temperature was not
going to be enough. I would also track
my cervical mucus. I didn’t know if I
would have the stomach to do it, but I read everything there was to know about
cervical mucus.
I broke out in hives.
I thought it was work stress. My
buddy was on maternity leave and I was handling twice the caseload. Then my breasts felt sore. A day after my period ended, my breasts were
tender. I took a test. It was positive. I was panicked. A period and hives could not be a good
sign. I realized I was probably going to
have another miscarriage.
I told close family and friends right away. Husband didn’t want to tell anyone, but he
agreed that I needed the people around me to be there for me. I was anxiety ridden. I knew something wasn’t right. Husband and I didn’t get too excited this
time. We talked about names a couple of
times, but not for hours like we did before.
I didn’t buy maternity clothes or look at nursery themes. I didn’t even open a book.
I met my friend’s baby and fell in love with her. My friend said she couldn’t come back to
work. She could not leave her baby and I
didn’t blame her. For the first time
ever, Husband told me that if I wanted to, I could stay at home with our baby
too. We would make it work if that was
what I wanted.
The doctor did not place much weight on the week of bleeding or
the hives. We would just have to wait
and see. Finally, the first ultrasound
came. I was maybe eight weeks, but it
was difficult to know since I had a week of bleeding. Was it a period or wasn’t it? No one knew.
Miracles are mysterious. We saw a
little something on the ultrasound – that was more than we saw before. The doctor said I might be earlier than eight
weeks – maybe only five or six weeks, but she also warned we might be having
another miscarriage. She sent us to a
high risk doctor with a better ultrasound machine. He told us it looked like I was only five or
six weeks along. We would come back in a
week and at that time, the baby would double in size and we should see a heart
beat. Another week of wait and see. We really started to hope. The next week came, and the ultrasound showed
nothing. We had seen it before. We knew before the doctor told us. We scheduled the D&C immediately. We wanted to get this over with so we could move
on. The doctor told us that we are now
“high risk” for recurrent miscarriages.
Two in a row means our odds are increased for a third, a fourth… We start being told about patients who have
had eight or nine miscarriages before a successful pregnancy. We are completely overwhelmed.
We get to the hospital.
We’ve been here before. The same
sweet nurse, the same hugs and kisses, the same sad paperwork. The same IV.
The same assurances that everything is going to be okay. Surgery was on a Friday. The due date for my first baby was
Saturday, the next day. Two lost children in 40 weeks.
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