This week is National Infertility Awareness Week. If infertility has touched your life in some way or you know someone who has suffered with infertility, know that you are seen and held. We see your struggle and we see your strength. You are NOT alone.
For one week in April, men and women who are struggling with infertility share their stories so that others will know their journey. Hoping to share inspiration and strength. Sharing the hard times and the good times.
This is my story…
As a newly married couple, my husband and I tried for 11 months before we got our first positive pregnancy test. Those months leading up to the plus sign were hard. My period served as a constant reminder that I had failed again.
After my daughter was born, we waited only a few months to start trying again. My dream was to have 5 kids. (I know how insane that might sound, but I was younger then and full of energy. I loved children and wanted to have my own little family of best kid friends.)
After a few months, I got another positive test. Yay! But at about 8 weeks I began spotting. I went to the ER and the doctor said I was fine. But I might be in the beginning of a spontaneous abortion. Those words hit me like a gut punch. The doctor was so flippant. Just head home but if it gets worse, he said, just come back to the ER.
It did get worse. While I was out with family and friends celebrating Christmas Eve, I miscarried in the restroom of my favorite restaurant. Trying to keep it private, I just kept excusing myself to go to the bathroom. I’m not sure that anyone even noticed in all the festivities that I had spent the majority of the evening in a bathroom.
Back at the ER, everything felt like a blur. They did ultrasounds and gave me some medication to take. I don’t really remember anything except the feeling of loss. Why had my body betrayed me?
As our friends found out, I heard stories of miscarriage from what seemed like everyone and it made me feel less alone. Like there could be a rainbow after the storm.
We did get our Rainbow baby.
Followed by another miscarriage.
This time, I was so busy with two babies, that I didn’t feel like I even had the time to grieve or linger on what could have been. Like the first loss, time just kept moving and I was just trying to keep up.
We got a second Rainbow baby. It was my last successful pregnancy.
I eventually quit counting the losses.
People can only hold so much grief when there are 3 kids that demand 24/7 attention.
When I think back, I’m not ok with the person I was during those early years. I was miserable and short tempered. I wasn’t the mom I wanted to be. Life was hard.
The miscarriages continued. The big ones, that marked changes in our plans, were notable.
We had just settled into our new home in Lake City FL. All three kids were in school or pre-K. I had found a great group of mom friends. It felt like the right time to get back to me. I decided to go back to school to finish my degree. When I realized I was pregnant, I was prepared to do it all. There were friends that would help and support me. My husband and kids were excited about all of it.
At my first appointment, they informed me that I was pregnant with twins! So excited. My magic number of 5 kids! BUT, It was a high risk pregnancy. I was over 35(This is considered geriatric in obstetrics and I was carrying mono mono twins. The babies were sharing the same amniotic sac and placenta. There are increased risks of being entangled and strangled in each other’s cords. Most women who have successful outcomes from this kind of pregnancy, go on bed rest between 24 and 27 weeks. In addition, these women are often admitted to the hospital for constant monitoring.
I only made it to 11 weeks. I was crushed. I had always dreamed of twins.
We relocated back to Virginia Beach. I wanted to go back to school since my attempt to go back when we lived in Florida didn’t work out.
I registered for classes and the week before classes were going to start I got pregnant again.
The day after I withdrew from school, I miscarried again.
This is the last one that remember the day ir happened.
I was consistently late for periods. I would test positive for pregnancy only to have my period come within a few days. For me this marked more failures.
I just turned 46. My youngest daughter is 14. I still dream that my miracle is possible. And my period still comes to remind me that this just doesn’t seem to be part of my story.
I beg for menopause so that I can let go of the hope. And disappointments.
There were so many dark days, just going through the motions. Numb. Surviving.
Secondary infertility is its own demon.
I feel like I’m not allowed to grieve or be sad: I have three amazing children.
Why am I not satisfied?
I recently realized that I’ve been so busy being everything to everyone, that I really never took the time to grieve all that I had lost along the way. I buried myself in being a mom. I buried myself in anything that made me forget. I buried myself.
I haven’t talked much about my husband in this story. But he is the reason I can tell this story.
He has worked so hard to allow me to pursue my dreams. Endless hours at his job.
My husband is a saint. He is my rock. He bears all of the disappointment. Mine and his too. Without him, I’m not sure I would be writing today.
I never felt his disappointment in my failures.
He is always supportive.
In the beginning, he supported me when my dream was to stay home with our kids.
And now, while my dream is supporting others as they travel through a third-party fertility journey, he has my back. I love this work because It’s the way I give back. I celebrate the ability to help give others a voice. I am many things in the role I play: A confidante...a cheerleader..an ally.
It brings me great joy and meaning to share my expertise, educating parents in the world of third party fertility, and guiding them in their choice of the right donor or surrogate for their own family dreams.
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