Infertility Series: Secondary

Infertility is a word I am very familiar with. For as long as I can remember, my mother has shared her own struggles with me. She tried for almost a decade to conceive, which ultimately ended her (already rocky) marriage. A few years later she met my father and they married with the knowledge they wouldn't have children. To their surprise they conceived, and heartbreakingly lost their first daughter at 21 weeks. A year later I was conceived. My mother was 38 and she tried for years after, but was never able to have another child.

Fast forward to my adult life. I married a wonderful man, we bought a house, and began talk of starting a family. I never thought it would be easy.

After all the struggles that my mother faced, I had an underlying fear that I would suffer the same fate. One evening, after a night of (possibly too much) fun with friends, we drunkenly giggled and decided we would no longer use protection. Less than a month later I stood with a positive pregnancy test in my hands. My pregnancy wasn't the easiest, but my son was healthy and we were overjoyed to welcome him into our lives.

After a tough pregnancy and a 30 hour labor, I was in no rush to add another member to our family. Having another baby seemed like a nightmare for my body and I pushed it far down the road.

As the months passed and my body recovered I warmed to the idea of having another child sooner. And when our son was one and a half, we decided to try for another. We planned the exact month we would conceive, assuming it would take no longer than the first time. That first month came and went with a negative test. I was confused. I had done everything right and it had been so easy. I tried to move on, assuming I had made some error. Two more months passed and each negative test brought tears, fear, and shame. My husband would hug me as I cried, telling me that it would happen. I made an appointment with my doctor to have a check up and talk about what to do. He assured me I was doing everything right, and ended the appointment joking about how he would be seeing me soon. He was sure of it.

He was quite right. Two weeks later I got a positive pregnancy test. I cried. I couldn't believe it. My husband and I were so happy! We bought a big brother shirt for our son, told our parents, our bosses, and a couple of close friends. We were thrilled.

Looking back, I realize that I must have known in my soul something wasn't right. This time it felt different. I found myself searching miscarriage rates online, checking for blood when I went to the restroom, and being nervous when I wasn't feeling nauseous. I told myself, and my friends told me, I was being silly. We were in the midst of a slight remodel, painting and flooring our house, but I didn't let pregnancy slow me down. One evening my lower back was so sore. I assumed it was from all the work. No position was comfortable and I finally just rested. The pain faded and we went to bed. I know now it wasn't just a back ache. I woke up in the morning, started to get ready for work and for some reason, decided to run the restroom quickly before I left. There was blood. I already knew it was over. There wasn't much and I even asked a group of moms if they had experienced this, trying to be reassured by their answers. With each passing minute I became more sure in my heart. I just kept saying "why is this happening?" "This can't happen!" "I don't want this to happen!" I was filled with the overwhelming feeling of being helpless. I couldn't stop this. I called the doctor, they said to come in right away.

The ultrasound showed nothing. No sign that there was ever anything in there. For a moment I was hopeful. Maybe I had been wrong, I had never been pregnant and this was just a regular period. After some tests, the doctor sat us down and told us we had miscarried. My husband began to cry, as it was finally sinking in for him. For me, he was just confirming what I had known. An inevitable miscarriage. At just 6 weeks. It happened very painlessly and naturally. I needed nothing but a shot and that was it.

It was over. 

For me, I suppose the hardest part is the loss of the future. In 3 short weeks I had imagined so much about who that baby would be, thought of all the ways our lives would change, what kind of sibling my son would be. Most days I'm fine. I honestly am. I know I will have another child someday. Some days I feel so angry. Life is so unfair. I feel such a strong and ugly jealousy towards people on my Facebook feed who are sharing their announcements or pregnancy woes. That should be me. I should be struggling to button my jeans or worrying about how to fit two car seats in my car. This week, a close friend of mine also suffered the loss of her first pregnancy. The heartbreak and anger, such anger, came rushing to the surface. Life is so unfair. Then, a smile from my son, and I feel like it will all be okay. I already have a child and that's so much more than some can hope for, but this scar will always be on my heart. The what-ifs will always weigh on my mind.

I want nothing more than to be pregnant again, to hold another baby in my arms. I am also more afraid than I have ever been. So here we are. Still picking up the pieces, trying to heal, trying to move on, and trying to grow our family. 

(This blog was submitted anonymously)