We have, unexpectedly, decided to wean. We are taking cues from our girl, & while she’s ready, & I am not. Up until this morning, I had been down to one pump a day when I could stand it. It wasn’t consistent. I’ve tried everything I could possibly think to make even that more tolerable & bearable. This morning, the day after our daughter hit 9 months old, that journey has also ended. I am no longer nursing (she has been so ADD when nursing & showing little to no interest when actually nursing – like spitting it out 😥). Pumping/nursing has been HELL since the beginning of February when my cycle returned & I have been in mental/emotional, & physical agony. And yet I pushed through.
Because getting pregnant was hard & long & not easy.
Because pregnancy was so difficult for me.
Because the birth experience & actual birth was so traumatic & terrible. Nursing/pumping was going great.
It was so damn easy. I was a phenomenal producer; & I was DAMN proud of that. It was like Mother Nature’s (well earned & deserved) gift) to us. If one part of this was going to go easily & well, I was grateful for it to be nursing/pumping. ultimately, I was happy & forcing myself to keep going because it is “what’s best for baby.” & honestly EFF that. Because what about what’s best for Mama? Since stopping nursing on Monday, I am already back to feeling like my old self & NOT trapped in a black hole of depression & intrusive thoughts. I have been miserable & have described what I’ve been going through as being a prisoner in my own mind & body. How is that healthy or okay? Spoiler alert: it’s not. I began to dread nursing sessions when I once looked forward to & savored them & those moments my girl & I had. Just the two of us. That rush of love. I was proud that I could surprise myself & so many others with how well it was all going since I’m so small. But it turned into me having so much anxiety leading up to nursing & pumping & then during. D-MER is real & can present in many ways. Not just anxiety & depression, despondency, or agitation/anger. It, like so many other things in life, is broad, wide-ranging, & on a spectrum. I have been fighting this beast for 9 weeks hoping things would just change/click. I’m back on birth control, & I see my therapist all the time, it feels like, & I’ve become & been a burden to my friends & family, or at least that’s how I’ve felt. This has all brought up my own childhood sexual assault that many don’t even know about & that I don’t speak of openly. Turns out, becoming a parent for the first time tends to bring up old, undealt-with trauma. Fun stuff, right? I am grieving this phase of mamahood being over, but I am DAMN proud of almost 9 months of chestfeeding & 9 months & 1 day of pumping. Tonight, as I sit in & fully feel my feelings, I’m also taking the time to revel in & take solace in the fact that our sweet, little girl will continue to get as much breastmilk as she can with the stash I was able to create that’s in our new, huge freezer downstairs. My goal was a year +. You cannot do IVF while breast/chestfeeding or pumping, & we initially decided to continue on this journey for a year +. Our girl had other plans. This is just the first of many life lessons we need to take from her: her timetable, & what’s best for her.
We’re leaning in, girl.
We’re listening.
What is best for you?
What is best for me?
What is best for WE?
Like an image passing by My love, my life In the mirror of your eyes My love, my life I can see it all so clearly (See it all so clearly) Answer me sincerely (Answer me sincerely) Was it a dream, a lie? Like reflections of your mind My love, my life Are the words you try to find My love, my life But I know I don’t possess you So go away, God bless you You are still my love and my life Still my one and only
“My Love, My Life” by ABBA
~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.
It is December 9th & it is almost 9 months, to the day, since I last put fingers to keys & shared my thoughts with all of you. I am currently sitting on my couch, sipping a nice glass of pinot noir with the glow of our Christmas tree’s colored lights (I am a “WHITE LIGHTS ONLY!” convert) punctuating the peaceful & euphoric ambiance of the season. I am — finally — fully recuperated from my first run-in with c0v!d. My poor husband tested positive today. A full week after me & 6 days after our almost 5-month-old daughter. All of that in & of itself would be enough. He is currently rocking her back to sleep after she woke up from being put down the first time for some inexplicable reason.
I love this time of year; it hugs you like a warm, familiar blanket.
January, 19th 2023
I can’t be sure why I never finished the above entry. I’d like to say we were distracted by the familiar holiday season gatherings, but Christmas, & the holiday season in general, wasn’t what we expected it to be. Our girl was around 5 months old; & barely so. Too young to be protected via flu & c0v!d vaccinations. So, though so much of our lives have changed because of her, this year didn’t, socially, look much different than 2020 or 2021.
We hunkered down as a family of 5 (yes, I’m counting our doggies) in our warm & cozy home. Completely enveloped in a warm, thick down of snow.
For me, the holiday season extends past January 1st. I didn’t make resolutions this year. At least not out loud or publicly. To be honest, I never really do. While many view the new year as a turning of the page, a new leaf to be turned, for those in the depths of despair or infertility & loss, it is often another deep & cavernous yawn of hope & helplessness. ‘What’s the point?’ we, the infertiles, oft find ourselves thinking internally or even aloud. So, I just never really do. The small promises I do make myself are small & very personal. Not “personal,” as in I refuse to share, but “personal” because they are for me. My person. Nothing big, earth-shattering, shocking, or even impactful beyond my reach of, well,…me.
What I did was reflect on the past year & look ahead to what our lives will surely bring to us in the coming years with the breath of fresh air that our miracle girl is to & for us.
Through this reflection, I found myself thinking of our, mine & my husband’s slugging through years of infertility, fertility appointments & treatments, & months of disappointment, loss, & grief. Ultimately, we are just beyond spilling over with happiness, gratitude, & feelings of blessedness by the universe.
What I’d like to do moving forward, & I hope that you all stick with me through this, is chronicle my life as a mother. I have struggled with this point of this blog & my Instagram page because, for so long, it detailed loss, infertility, fertility appointments, & treatment. It was dark & black with grief & despair. Hope & helplessness. I’m not embarrassed & I do not regret what the blog & my Instagram once was. It is a marking of time that is accurate to what we were going through at the time. A mere bookmark, a worn dogear of pages, chapters, & whole sections in the long book of our lives, of our loves, of our trials & tribulations, of all that we had to (chose to) endure to end up here. In heaven. So, why feel shame about any of it? I laid our hearts & feelings, then, out for all of you to keep going & hopefully make at least one person feel less alone. There is a place for that in motherhood. Especially new motherhood. Motherhood following infertility & loss; grief & disappointment,
This blog is about hope & returning to the light. It always has been. I have just been unsure how to move forward after being blessed by the universe & science with our daughter. I didn’t know how to turn towards the warmth of the sun & let the light of it shine down upon me. Upon us. Ironically, I felt like I didn’t have the strength. Truthfully, I felt (& still do sometimes) feel immense guilt for being here. I’m constantly working to remind myself that the light was hope. Is hope. I’m living our wildest dreams inside of our hope, which is our daughter, motherhood, & parenthood. She is why we embarked upon the rugged & murky paths we had to traverse & slog through to be here.
So, welcome to motherdom. I’m glad you’re here.
But you might have to wait in line What’s a girl gonna do? What’s a girl gonna do? I polish up nice Best believe I’m still bejeweled When I walk in the room I can still make the whole place shimmer
“Bejewled” by Taylor Swift.
~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.
It’s December 16, 2022. We should have a 3-year-old, or almost 3-year-old right now.
And, to be quite honest, I’m having a lot of complicated feelings about that this year.
Many people, while in the thick of trying to grow our family, told us that when we had our baby in our arms & lives that it would all make sense. Because it was always supposed to be them.
It was hard to believe that & have hope. I’ll go ahead & speak for Stephen & say we would’ve gladly foregone all the pain, heartbreak, struggle, & loss but…man. It WAS always supposed to be our girl. I didn’t always keep the faith internally, but I guess I did externally with my actions. We never gave up & trusted our doctors, the science, & the process & — as a result — I’m currently rocking our life’s biggest blessing, greatest joy, & most cherished gift to sleep for her late morning nap.
~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.
“So I’ve been hearing this phrase y’all got over here that I ain’t too crazy about. ‘It’s the hope that kills you.’ Y’all know that? I disagree, you know? I think it’s the lack of hope that comes & gets you. See, I believe in hope. I believe in belief.”
“The Hope That Kills You.” Ted Lasso, created by Bill Lawrence, season 1, episode 10. Apple TV+, 2020.
When we found out we were miraculously (scientifically) pregnant, I was ecstatic.
Terrified, but totally elated.
Dec. 9th, when we heard that heartbeat, we rushed home, heads spinning, hearts soaring. We celebrated. We breathed.
The next day, I secretly made an appointment for a blood draw at a local lab to surprise Stephen with the sex of this little miracle-life right along growing inside me.
The dearest of friends (our Fairy Glob Mother) agreed to receive this info. – a hefty weight she bore with ease – & put together a package for us to open up together on Christmas Eve.
Stephen was all-around surprised, but we were both finding out the sex of our baby together. To be honest, I’m shocked I keep this secret. It is one of TWO from the entirety of our near 12 years together that I’ve managed to keep.
It was a magical, albeit scary, moment for us.
I couldn’t have been more excited to learn that we were expecting a little girl. The weight of raising a girl in this complicated & messed up world. The cards seem ever stacked against us (as women, girls). I barely navigate it myself; how am I to instruct & guide a life that is solely dependent upon me to do that same?
Oof. Parenting, in general, I know is quite the Herculean task & feat of everything & for all. That gravity of it is not lost on me. But something about raising a daughter seems extra…important.
I am & have been surrounded by, supported by, protected by, & loved by an army of fierce, soft, generous, compassionate, caring women. These magnificent beings have done nothing short of carry – sometimes drag – me through the horrific storm of infertility & loss. I love you all, there are too many of you to name & to count.
I’d like to specifically take the time to thank two in particular.
To Hannah, the Fairy Glob Mother to our angel girl: you are, have been, & continue to be the most understanding, compassionate, & “I hear, I see you, I validate you, I’ve got you” friend I’ve ever had. I would not have gotten through the many down days & moments with you. I couldn’t imagine a better person, & model of a mother & a friend, to help Stephen & me raise this little girl. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being there. Thank you for being here.
To Lauren, undoubtedly (& hilariously) probably the best friend I’ve ever had that I’ve never met in person (internet friends are the best friends. Don’t @ me) LOL. You’ve listened to me say my meanest, saddest, darkest thoughts. You’ve lifted me up. You’ve helped & guided me. Given me advice; tough advice that I didn’t want to hear when I wasn’t receptive to hearing it but still. It needed to be said & it needed to be heard. And it was by me. Eventually…You did all of this while pregnant TWICE. They aren’t enough ways to say “thank you.” But THANK YOU. I am endlessly grateful for your support & your willingness to hold out hope for 39 long months when I was despondent, in total misery, & despair. I love you eternally. You have found countless signs, of which you know I am deeply connected to & grateful for, that we both believe that the universe has sent to & for us both. When awaiting our first transfer, you laminated three 4 leaf clovers (you have an uncanny affinity to finding these!) & sent them to me. I haven’t said it out loud, but I think three is our number. Three little lives that are meant to be ours earthside. I will never appropriately be able to convey the bond & gratitude that I to & for you. Whatever our souls are made of, they are the same. Kindred spirits.
It is my great privilege to be expecting a little girl. I know it is not only my duty but also my honor to raise her to be the type of girl & woman that I have been blessed to know, be enveloped, & loved by in my life. The weight & heaviness feels a little less hefty with the knowledge that I am not short on endless examples of beauty, strength, perseverance, & badassery.
Happy International Women’s Day. I love you all. We are all warriors.
~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.
Today it’s Thursday, January 27th. But I’ve had this tab open on my MacBook for 48 hours. I have been positively stagnant. Totally blocked up. On how to get started. On what to share. This hasn’t happened to me on this journey. Not since I’ve been sharing for a little over a year. It was, is, a new sensation.
I texted dearest friends (who is one of two people who have really pulled me through these difficult trials and tribulations and without whom I probably wouldn’t be here) that I was sitting down to write. I told her that it had been a long time since I’d done this. Since October after our biochemical pregnancy. In fact, it had been so long, Word Press made me do a two-factor authentication. October 11th was the last time I logged in, sat drown, & wrote. She, compassionately, asked how I was feeling about this, and I told her, in a series & flurry of texts:
“I’m stuck. I want to give people hope. And it’s important to me that I follow MY journey. There’s so much shit out there about infertility and fertility treatments. There has to be some good.”
Ultimately, I decided that I just needed to be honest & say that. So, I have. I have always been unflinchingly honest with you all. No matter what. It’s my north star. My guidepost.
Something I want to share from the get-go is the guilt that I feel sharing this happy news & this new chapter of our lives in a space that was created for infertility & the trying times of fertility treatments. Obviously, the point of fertility treatments is this. To be pregnant, & solidly so. But to omit the fact that I feel like I have imposter syndrome right now would be categorically wrong & untrue. And, honestly, what. the. eff. Something else I had shared with that dear friend is that infertility really does indelibly change you. No matter what. Even though we suffered 39 months of infertility, countless meds, two lossess, a year of fertility treatments, countless meds, three failed back-to-back IUIs, I somehow still feel weird. I’m infertile. I know this. Fertility treatments worked for me. IVF worked for me. Twice. So, I beat infertility to get & stay pregnant, but I’m still infertile. That doesn’t go away. And when we choose to expand our family, we will take the same, or a very similar path & we’ll have to face all of this all. over. again. *cue the anxiety attack*
But, I am one day away from being 16 weeks pregnant. So, I don’t feel firmly in the infertile camp anymore. I also don’t feel firmly in the pregnant camp. Because does anyone after infertility & loss? I’m grateful. I’m happy. But, honestly? That didn’t come until a few weeks ago. From 2 days after I got my first positive (at 4 days past 5 day frozen embryo transfer) to 7w3d (7 weeks, 3 days pregnant) I spotted/bled to varying degrees of…color. People kept telling me: “As long as it’s not bright red, you’re fine.” Sometimes, more often than I was comfortable with, it was bright red. Once, it gushed. So, I called the nurses & we went in to the doctor for an early ultrasound. I was assured we did the right thing & I wasn’t overreacting. Somehw, that helped as much as it didn’t. Then, both my husband & I suffered some intense, internal PTSD & grating waiting because it was too early to see anything, & we flashed back to the first loss with an empty gestational sac. The waiting is the hardest part. No one freaking talks about the waiting after the TWW (the two week wait). Maybe it doesn’t affect people who are lucky enough to have no suffered & endured loss, but my GOD the waiting to make sure everything is eventually “okay” is excruciating. Every single day felt like a week. I’m not exaggerating. It was horrible. Especially for someone with generalized anxiety disorder on top of having dealt w/ infertility & loss. And a loss 4 weeks before this pregnancy! Talk about trauma! Eventually 2, normally scheduled, follow-up ultrasounds assured everyone that things were moving in the right direction. The day before Thanksgiving, we saw the yolk sac that would be our baby. Baby was too small for us to hear the heartbeat (I was definitely disappointed), but we saw the heartbeat flutter. Apparently. Idk. I blacked out after the doctor said “Yes. It’s right there.” My husband says it happened though, LOL. I just nodded & pretended I knew what was going on so that my wonderful, lovely, life-giving doctor didn’t think I was an idiot. I felt like Rachel Green. A few weeks later we want back in at 8w6d (8 weeks, 6 days pregnant) saw a lil peanut shaped bébé & HEARD the heartbeat. My husband was supposed to record but he decided “what a fun time to try new things” & tried to use the volume button to hit record instead of the BIG RED RECORD button & he locked his phone instead. I was too happy to be mad. We graduated that day to my OB & we laughed & chatted gaily w/ my doctor. I made an inappropriate comment to my doctor, because it’s me. He mentioned that, with 6 very well-graded embryos left, many couples at our age & health get their entire families out of one egg retrieval. He said 2, 3, 4 , 5…I said: “That’s the plan! But will you be around?” He’s trying (been trying) to retire. He deserves it, but I’m sad. Because he’s amazing & he got us here to our miracle. True to me, I awkwardly said: “Whatever, it’s fine as long as I can have your son as my doctor. I mean, he clearly knows what he’s doing…becauser here I am.” *gestures awkwardly at stomach*
This was the first time we both felt like we could take a breath & relax a little bit. I didn’t feel like “Okay, this it, we’re good” yet but I knew it was coming. Fun fact: the 12 week safe zone is total bs. Most people say that because that’s around the time when a “normal” pregnant person has seen her OB & heard baby’s heartbeat. If you hear the heartbeat between 8-9, the chance of miscarriage drops to about 3%. Some say it’s even closer to 1.6%. Here’s a quote from: “Signs of Miscarriage: Everything you Need to Know” from thebump.com.
“Here’s the good news: According to a study, after an ultrasound confirms baby’s heartbeat at eight weeks, the risk of miscarriage is about 3 percent. Better yet, research published in Obstetrics & Gynecology indicates that the rate is closer to 1.6 percent for women experiencing no symptoms. What’s more, the risk of miscarriage continues to fall even lower as the weeks progress—so try not to stress.” (https://www.thebump.com/a/miscarriage-symptoms-signs-causes)
The next few weeks were filled w/ me figuring out who I wanted to be my provider, & ultimately switching doctors. Still didn’t feel real.
We had our OB education day with the nurse & get a LOT of information. The appointment was about an hour, my husband could be there with me thank goodness, & she was lovely. Helpful, informative, kind. She sent us home w/ a thick, blue folder full of all of the information I could ever want & need (anxiety craves answerrs, so I was thriving this day). I was sent for bloodwork & was able to get samples drawn to be sent off for genetic testing that day. Truthfully, this is why I swtiched back to this doctor. I was receiving pushback from my previous provider’s office (not the doctor, the doctors & nurses are fabulous) about preauthorizing genetic testing. Even though our fertility clinic requires all IVF couples to get genetic carrier screenings done prior to starting a cycle, we wanted as much information about the health of this little baby as possible. Again, it was one more piece of information & confirmation that things were going to progress as they should & that we will get to meet this little life earthside, screaming & crying in July.
We waited. And waited. And waited. And WAITED for the results. Basically, the company responsible for the testing got my samples, but didn’t have any paperwork attached to it (their fault) so they started processing it without knowing who the samples were for…it took more phone calls from me to my doctor’s office & the company as well as the lovely medical assistant to find out that it was there. But they just didn’t know where…they tried to blame it on my doctor & the office & the angel of an MA tracked down the tracking #, gave it to the very unhelpful, rude, & incompetent customer service rep & they said “Oh…I guess we should go find that.” Apparently, this happens from time-to-time, but not often. So, of course it had to happen to us. The issue was, the day that this all get resolved was the last day my samples would’ve been deemed “okay” for testing. Thankfully, what ended up being delayed was the paperwork, not the testing. *phew* It still took another phone call from me to get my paperwork processed, though.
In short: it was a damn mess; & I’m happy to be done w/ it. I’m even happier to know that baby came back low risk for everything (legally they can’t say no risk) & we got gender confirmed.
Yes, I said confirmed. That’s because the Monday after we heard that heartbeat, I snuck away & did a sneak peek, clinical blood test in a lab to surprise Stephen w/ the gender on Christmas Eve. The aforementioned dearest friend of mine (who will be baby’s Fairy Glob Mother because god is a concept that I’m just “eh” about) offered to have the results sent to her. She put together the sweetest package, & we opened it together on Christmas Eve Day. I knew it was coming, but didn’t know the gender. I filmed it, of course. I lied to Stephen & told him I didn’t know what the package was but that Hannah wanted to see our reaction. I have never in my life kept this big of a secret for this long. I’m notorious for buying or planning something & blurting it out that day. For instance, when I took that HPT (home pregnancy test) at 4dp5dt on November 2nd, I called Stephen at work immediately after crying in the bathroom, clutching my stomach, & praying that this little life stuck around until their due date. It wasn’t cute, or sweet, or a suprirse at all. I just blurted it out as he was headed to a job site w/ a coworker about an hour away. LOL.
So, we’ve known gender since Christmas Eve, but wanted confirmation baby’s gender assigned at birth with the prenatal genetic testing as well confirmation that baby is/was going to be fine before announcing anything. Hold your horses. though. We have a plan. Something sweet this way comes…Valentine’s Day weekend 😉
We also asked for an extra monitoring appointment after our OB Education day (bless medical professionals who listen to & honor patients’ needs!) & got to see all of bébé’s everything! They even moved around & we got a glimpse of a foot, & a hand up by their face! It was so cool! We haven’t decided yet if we’ll do a boutique US place to more images, but we did order a fetal doppler that will be here tomorrow to help w/ anxiety until we feel the little bébé move around!
We finally feel like a “normal” couple experiencing pregnancy, & that feels equally as weird as it does wonderful. But…we were pregnant for 76 before we felt like we fully take a deep inale & exhale fully. So, even though I may have moments where I have imposter syndrome because I am finally pregnant, & that feels…weird?…for some reason? I am steering into enjoying every moment I can. While also keeping it down-to-earth & real because guess what? You can be very grateful to be here, & not love every aspect or second of pregnancy. All this to say…thanks for sticking around & carrying about my story. Carrying about this next chapter in this journey to parenthood for us. Pregnancy, & I’m sure parenting, after infertility & loss is…hard; & complicated. It is my intent to be as open, honest & vulnerable about every piece of this moving forward. The good, the bad, the ugly, the beautiful, the tragic. All of it. Whatever comes. I promise you that.
~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.
The thing about death, grief, pain, hardship, or tragedy is that you have a groundswell of support right away.
Because that’s the RIGHT thing to do.
But after the immediate influx of love, it disappears.
Because the hard part isn’t right away.
No. Not at all.
The hard part comes after the dust of it all settles & gets blown away by the wind.
You live your life.
You survive.
You’re strong.
Stronger than they can even imagine! they say.
Well, yeah, sure.
What else am I supposed to be, exactly? Did I have another choice?
We’re so uncomfortable with the non-mainstream life, anything that’s not the highlight reel of happy, that we shiver & recoil from pain when we see it, are presented with it, or have to face & deal with it.
The pained keep outwardly living the way that it makes you feel comfortable.
Why? I don’t exactly know. But it’s some bullshit.
But what the pained, the only one(s) that matter in this scenario, are left with is isolation & depression.
What I tried to avoid after our last loss simply wasn’t what I thought.
It was staved off for a little while. But it came back. Just for a few days (yes, days).
The support went away in days.
Except for our core people. And you know what? It’s not that many. It’s pretty stark & eye-opening.
So, what was the point in sharing early?
For…celebration?
Support?
Love?
We got the celebration when there was something to celebrate.
That was easy.
That people know how to do.
What’s been lacking is support &, ya know, just being there? Checking in? It’s not that hard…
So, what are we doing next & when? Honestly, I can’t say many (most) of y’all deserve to know. But also, there’s our protection. We opened ourselves up to sharing & truth be told: it unequivocally hasn’t been worth it.
So, for many reasons, respect our wishes moving forward & before you do ask, don’t.
Thanks to everyone who has reached out. I don’t really have much of a capacity to talk & frankly I don’t want to. We’re incredibly disappointed – understatement of the century – & feel let down by the universe & whatever else is up or out there. I believe in the Sun, moon, & stars & that’s it. So, yeah. I’m disappointed in the Sun, the moon, & the stars. We’re unbelievably angry & in unimaginable pain. We truly can’t believe that this is happening to us. Again.
No, this didn’t happen for a reason.
No, it will not all “be okay.”
No, it’s not “all good.” It’s “all suck.”
God’s timing & plan has nothing to do with losing two babies so save it for someone else. Actually, don’t. Don’t save that for anyone else. EVER. Don’t you ever say that to anyone. EVER. “For any reason. For any reason ever. No matter what. No matter where. Or who. Or who you are with. Or where you are going. Or where you’ve been….ever, for any reason whatsoever…” (<— Michael Scott rant quote. Sorry it’s over now.) Period. Because no one wants or deserves hear that. It’s actually unbelievably cruel to say to someone & total & complete fucking bullshit. And, dismissive. We didn’t do anything to deserve this. Twice. And there’s nothing wrong with us. So, don’t even begin to ask what happened. We don’t know & we’re sick with wonder & anger but also knowing that none of this is our fault.
Yes, this is beyond unfair that we have to go through this. Again.
Wanna know the truth of how we’re doing? (Asking how we’re actually doing is a start instead of the “I know this sucks, but: HoW aRe YoU?” You just said you know the question sucks. Why did you go ahead & ask it then??? And honestly, you don’t want to know the truth. Not the glob’s honest one, that is.
Anyway, you asked so here goes. The truth: I don’t know how I get through each day. I really fucking don’t. I just…do. Being awake sucks. Being asleep sucks. It’s all PAIN. And it all sucks & I hate it. Nothing can make this better but time. Don’t tell me I’m strong. I 👏🏾 don’t 👏🏾 have 👏🏾 a 👏🏾 choice 👏🏾 – what else do you propose I do that would not be viewed as strong in your eyes? I guarantee I’ve thought those thoughts & done the shit you deem as “weak.” Just because someone has the appearance of strength & holding & carrying the uimaginable well doesn’t mean for one second the weight & load isn’t heavy as mother fucking HELL.
Also, stop asking what we need, or telling us to reach out to ask if we need anything. We don’t fucking know what we need. Asking this, or putting this on us, puts the onus back on the people in pain to figure it out. Figure it out yourself, ask someone in your life, or don’t reach out. Grief is weird, & hard, & all consuming. We’re barely surviving & getting through as it is. Or better yet just ask: “How can I best support you?” “What do you need?” Grieving people don’t have the capacity to tell you how to take care of us. Again: complete & utter bullshit. Can you bring our babies back? No? Didn’t think so. So you can’t do shit. Thsnks, bye.
So, what do we (or any grieving person(s) for that matter) need? NOT prayers. We don’t want them or have any use for them. They’re not helping. They didn’t help this time, nor did they help in 2019. Now, we just have two dead babies. So, just be angry with us. Next time you feel like you want to pray, for us don’t. Shove that urge down & do this instead: scream, cuss, & cry into the void until you lose your voice & your tears have run dry.
Lastly, don’t ask about next steps or when we can try again. I’m legitimately actively miscarrying so disrespectfully eff all the way off. You have absolutely no idea when someone is starting or going through this horrific process, so instead of taking that risk of asking the most insensitive of questions at the most insensitive of times, SHUT THE HELL UP. My next steps are to cramp horribly & bleed heavily with clumps of tissue being flushed down the toilet. I literally have to, for days, watch my tangible hopes & dreams go down the drain. It’s morbid & grotesque & cruel. Is that what you wanted to hear? Probably not. But it’s true. Maybe this will stop you in your tracks from ever asking a miscarrying person(s) an insensitive & horrifying question that you have absolutely no business asking.
Bottom line: we don’t know next steps. Quite frankly, it’s mean to ask & dismissive of what we’re currently experiencing.
Feeling like a saggy, massive sack of shit (oh shit) /
Big ‘ol motherfucking duffel bag of shit (oh shit)
I don’t have it in me to write much of a blog post. Or do anything but lay in my bed, cry, & stare blankly into the void. I don’t know if this is even coherent. But, here this is anyway.
What a super, duper fun way to kick off Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. Not how I thought we’d be spending this month, that’s for sure.
So. Here goes.
We found out on Friday that we were, miraculously, pregnant after ONE stellar round of IVF. We were shocked but also felt like “Well this is it. Everything went so well, this is to be expected after such smooth sailing!” Ha. The Embebé really said “Hell naw” & yeeted itself at straight back into the blackness of non & never-existence.
We’re devastated & I feel stupid & naïve for getting excited & telling people at all. Because God or the universe wouldn’t take a baby away from people who struggled to conceive in the first place, lost that baby before Mother’s Day, & then endured 28 more months of infertility, RIGHT?!
Yeah. No. Clearly, no one gives a shit. It’s all arbitrary. And to be honest y’all, I’m fucking delirious with anger. Didn’t we learn our lesson last time? I remember texting a friend, terrified, in 2019:
“God wouldn’t take away a baby from someone who struggled to conceive it, right?”
L O L.
As I said. If there’s anything out there (this very much solidifies to me that there ain’t shit), it very clearly doesn’t give a flying or grounded fuck about us. It’s all arbitrary.
I’m furious at my clinic because I sent 2 portal messages before my blood work at 8 am EST yesterday. I shared my concerns that I was having a chemical pregnancy. My tests had been getting lighter since Friday when I took one only after getting the phone call. We even sat down with the nurse after my blood work to talk. My appointment was at 8:00 am EST. We were the only ones there. Theoretically, mine should’ve been the first one processed & I should’ve been the first one called, right? My portal message from before my bloodwork was answered hours later when we were already home & painfully waiting. Both of us attempting to get some work done. We were convinced that sending those messages sharing our very real concerns coupled with talking to the nurse would move us up a list of calls for the day. Not so. We found out at 1:09 pm EST. via EMAIL that I was no longer pregnant because my beta hCG dropped from 91 to 9. I sent ANOTHER message to the portal saying I’d read the results because they were freaking EMAILED to me by the lab. Hour after hour of laying in bed & sobbing with my husband & excruciatingly going back & telling everyone this baby was ALSO not sticking around, no call. No response on the portal. No call.
Eventually, I was fuming mad & furious enough that I’d had enough. I called & left a stern (okay I was a bitch, but they deserved it & still have yet to see the depths of my disgust, disappointment, & wrath tbh) voicemail at 4:00 pm EST for them to finally call me back at 4:30. This is unacceptable & I told the nurse as much. I plan on sharing this with the doctor when we speak Thursday. They made a terrible, no good, very bad day & situation even terribler, not good, very bad. The nurse was kind but she passed the buck.
“The lab never should’ve done that. We like the doctor to review the results before calling & making any recommendations. Or checking to see if he wants a patient to come back for repeat bloodwork. But he was very busy today & it was difficult to get him in between patients.”
Ok. It doesn’t matter what the lab should or should not have done. What about you? YOU didn’t call before they released them, nor did you even respond to me or deign to call me back. Come back for repeat bloodwork? Even I, a mere imbecile patient, could see that there is no way in hell that this was a viable pregnancy. At least I don’t have to go through the torture of repeated blood draws every 2-3 days for the next however many hellacious weeks. But still.
I hope they’re ashamed of themselves & feel like shit. They should be both. This was truthfully unacceptable patient handling. Un. Acc. Ept. Able. Imagine finding out the worst fucking news of your entire life (for the second time, after nearly 40 months of failure, science, & $20,000) in a lab emailed report??? Seriously. I want you to sit there & imagine it. It’s shit, yeah? Sit in that for 5 minutes & maybe you’ll feel an iota of the hell my husband & I get to face.
We’ll be fine. Because we’re strong, & we always are. We’re pretty used to living deep & hard within the despair as the world spins madly on around us & passes us by. It’s par for the course.
And, as I’ve said in previous posts, what is the alternative? What other choice do we have? To be unalive? I don’t want to actively unalive myself. But I don’t want to be in pain. Hell, I don’t even want to feelanything anymore.
I can tell you one thing for sure: we’ve learned our lesson & we will be uber private from here on out with everything & everyone. Having to go back & renege on our good news one by one was excruciatingly painful. It was like ripping off a new scab over & over & over again until there’s nothing but a bloody mess of tissue left raw, exposed, & throbbing. That’s what we are: raw, exposed, & throbbing. Our pain has a palpable energy. A pulse. Again, it feels silly to grieve something that barely ever was. But your life changes when you hear “You’re pregnant!” & then see those two lines. Our hope dwindled with each passing day, & each fading second line. But we still stupidly clung to hope like the fools the world wanted to make us out to be. All for it to be shattered. By an EMAIL. How very 2021 *insert eye roll here*
As always: I’m not asking for advice, or input, or suggestions. And truthfully, I don’t even really want your faith & your prayers right now either. They didn’t work before & they didn’t work last time; even with science on our side. Sheesh what a slap in the face. That’s 4 ticks in the “y’all can’t even conceive with science in your back pocket” column. Neat, neat. neat. So, yeah. Put a lid on tots & pears & shove it.
I can’t say “much love or hope for a return to the light” on this one, guys. I don’t have much left in me. Sorry. I’m out. I’m gonna cuddle & cry into my dogs’ furry necks until they’re matted messes & hate me.
This could be the end of everything. Everything as we know it, that is.
38 months, collectively, of trying (& failing) to conceive. THIRTY. EIGHT. MONTHS. We tried for 9 months before finally getting pregnant. That miracle ended in miscarriage by our first appointment. When we were supposed to hear the heartbeat. Instead, we heard a lot, a lot, A LOT of excruciating silence. Silence is NEVER good. All your “ridiculous” fears are solidified in that silence. We didn’t know that silence could be so very loud. All of this went down the Thursday before Mother’s Day. When we were going to announce to our family…And, understandably, we had to do repeat blood tests to confirm Baby G #1 wasn’t viable. Which meant going almost 2 weeks walking, talking, & quacking like a preggo; all while knowing deep down inside that I wasn’t a preggo.
Ugh.
It’s all bad.
But, back to the future. Or…err…present.
Anyway…fast forward to today. The appointment went great. My doctor actually said the word great & added that everything looked excellent. I have 7-8 follicles. My body is clearly responding very well to the meds. Yay! Doc said if he to guess today, I’d have my egg retrieval next Tuesday. In one week. SEVEN days. Woosh. Woof. We will do shots tonight to finish up the last of this cartridge of my follicle stimulating hormone (I am taking follistim) & start a new one to get me up to my daily dosage of 200 IU. Tomorrow night, I will add the antagonist (Ganirelix) to my nightly regiment. The antagonist is added after my follicles are appropriately stimulated in order to ensure that I do not ovulate on my own too early. Before they are ready, or want to, do my egg retrieval. It’s all a balancing act of meds, hormones, & action! We go back Saturday to confirm the date of the egg retrieval. This is also known as the “teaching day” where they will educate us on all things egg retrieval – & I’m hoping the steps after (petri dish phase, I call it) & embryo transfer, too!
Again, woosh. Woof. It’s…a LOT. Honestly, I feel like we’ve been standing still. In the eye of a hurricane. Completely immobile, unmoving, unchanging, & quiet. Or, silenced, rather. Everyone else has just been moving forward in their lives, whether easily or with some strain & effort. We’re silenced & unable to interact with the rotating storm of people moving on around us. Screaming for help, love, attention, support. God, ANYTHING. Couldn’t everyone see how much we struggled? How much we have? And still do? We just want what they have. And not just to join in…because my GOD we want to be parents. So, so, SO damn badly.
This has also just been an incredibly isolating experience. We had the unique…pleasure…of dealing with infertility after loss pre & amidst pandemic. They both held their challenges, but the isolation of social distancing on top of the isolation that loss & infertility brings was almost insurmountable for us. Our relationship & marriage have been tested in ways I never imagined, & I truly wouldn’t wish on anyone in the entire universe. It was one of the many things that loss & infertility has robbed us of. Certainty, steadfastness, & surefootedness. It almost robbed us of the one thing we’ve never, ever, EVER questioned or had to even think about questioning: US. I’m incredibly proud of what my husband & I have overcome & where we are now. It’s even further proof to me that we are meant to be. Soulmates. Whatever his soul is made of & blah blah blah all that other mushy, gushy crap.
I am feeling so very hopeful. And, to be quite honest, that scares the absolute sh!+ out of me. Why? Well, because: 38 months, y’all. That’s a long time to be going through what we have, & still are, going through. A successful pregnancy doesn’t erase the pain of infertility or loss. This much I have learned from other warrior women who have also been forced to walk this terrible path.
One on hand it’s like “FINALLY!” & on the other it just doesn’t feel real. In the moments of vacillating between hopefulness & mitigating that hope with reality, I just feel silly for even feeling hopeful. But what other choice do we (meaning myself & my husband, as well as so many others also facing & going through this as well) have? It’s sort of along the same line, or in the same vein, as what I feel when people tell I’m strong, brave, courageous, or stronger than I think, etc. What other choice is there but to get up & face the day, the reality of your life, & the situation that you’re in? Being unalive? Believe me I’ve had feelings of major doubt, depression, & wanting to be…unalive…but ultimately I chose to face it. I don’t feel brave & I truly don’t believe that facing all of this made me brave. You’ve got one of two options: be alive & face it, or…don’t. AKA: be unalive.
Okay. So, to translate that to this: what other choice do we have except to be hopeful?
No other choice.
This is it.
Because this could really be the end of everything we know.
I have had this post drafted since August 17th. Today is the last day in August & I am just now sitting down to finally “put pen to paper,” as it were, & get this bad boy out of my head & fingertips & into the world.
August — along with the late spring & summer — have certainly slipped away from us all.
To be honest, the last couple of months have been hard & shame-filled in a very different way.
In July (July 9th, to be exact) I got so incredibly sick from a yeast infection. Like, the sickest I’ve ever been in my entire life. We thought I had Covid. I legitimately felt like I was dying. It even resulted in oral thrush (that I was still taking oral Nyastatin for up until about 2 weeks ago…). We think it was a combination of stress, fatigue (we had just brought home our second puppy Millie Rose the previous weekend on July 3rd!), exacerbated by alcohol consumption. This is just one of the many reasons that I chose to embark into a period of sobriety. As of today, it’s been 52 days since I’ve had a sip of alcohol. To be honest, I’ve never felt better. There are a multitude of mental & physical benefits I’m experiencing as a result of this, but it really started from me not wanting to ever experience anything like that ever again.
I had a 103° / 104° off & on for nearly a week.
I cried every hour I was awake for…I’ve honestly lost count of how many days in a row I cried nearly every waking moment. But it was a long time.
My husband had to take care of me & our dogs. One of which was basically a brand new puppy who we had just brought home. She wasn’t even 2 months old yet. Glob love him, he also also tried to work from home.
He’s a freakin’ saint.
Long story short, we had to put off IVF. To say that I was incredibly upset & felt frustrated with myself for this derailment would be a massive understatement. I added a probiotic & a cranberry supplement to my already exponential amounts of pills I’m taking (I’m taking around 10…again: I’ve lost count.) Cutting out alcohol to avoid another “flare up” was, quite literally, the very least I could do. I would also not be imbibing when we started the IVF cycle, anyway, so why not start now? Also: a period of sobriety is something that was probably a long time coming, anyway. Who knows how long I’ll stay in this chapter, but I do know it will not be before I have a baby. Alcohol & me? We’re on a break.
With a new cycle came birth control (my, how FUN to be back on this after 5-6 years free from it…).
We had our baseline ultrasound yesterday & we are starting our injections this Friday, 9/3! Below, I’ll insert a screenshot from my Instagram stories very briefly detailing my IVF protocol.
So, that’s where we’re at. I, simultaneously, can’t believe we’re here but also: my GLOB it’s been a long time coming. Right?
August really did slip away.
Like a moment in time.
Not like a bottle of wine, though.
We are now at the precipice of, what I hope, is the rest of our lives. Changing forever. For the better.
It’s a weird feeling.
I texted with a great friend today & she hit the nail on the head:
Me: “I feel so weird.” “So much is about to happen, but not yet. So I’m just still before the storm.”
Amazing Friend: “Hurry up and wait type of thing?”
She just gets me. All the time. Endlessly. And forever.
Anway, we’re hurrying up & waiting for you Baby G. Your time has come. Let’s go. We’re just living for the hope of it all.
~ As always, thanks so much for reading. Much love, & hope for a return of the light.
August slipped away into a moment in time /
Back when I was livin’ for the hope of it all (For the hope of it all)
Soulstice: Return of the Light 