For over 3 and half years, we have struggled with infertility. After countless doctor visit, medical procedures, medicated cycles, iui's and 2 IVF's, we finally got the news that we were pregnant. We celebrated, cried in disbelief, and started to plan our future with another little one, the life we had been praying for.
With our second IVF we had put in 2 embryos. They looked great, were healthy, and the doctor was thrilled to finally be able to give us good news. We had been told for years that we had between a 1 and 4% chance of ever having another baby, and now we had beat the odds.
Or so we thought. A few days after having my pregnancy confirmed, after we told our parents and siblings our news, I felt that something was wrong. I started to bleed and feel cramps that I knew weren't right. That day was Mother's Day.
The next several days were spent in and out of the doctor's office. Blood tests and consultations were only seperate by sadness and bouts of false hope, even denial. My numbers were going down, and they knew I had lost at least one baby, but we hoped that one survived.
Then Friday came. I had my final blood test, but no consultation was scheduled. When I called to get my results, I could hear the nurse's heart drop. She told me she was sorry, but my levels were continuing to drop. She confirmed that I had lost both babies. At 4 and a half weeks along, both of my babies stopped growing. They just stopped.
It was confirmed that I had lost both babies on Mother's day.
Then I had to have one of the most difficult conversations I've ever had, I had to tell Chris what the nurses and my doctor had said. The babies weren't alive anymore, but I had to wait for them to pass, since I'd been on so many hormones. Since he was at work, he couldn't talk long, so we left it at "they're gone." Then I texted my mom and sister in law. My sister in law texted back, but my mom called. As I sat on my bed, telling her what happened, as much as I knew anyways, I just cried. One of those "can't breath", "ugly" cries. But the worst conversation was yet to come.
As I had finally calmed down while talking to my mom, Abby walked in my bedroom. She knew something was wrong and came to sit by me on the bed. Then she asked me directly what was wrong in the most direct way she has ever asked. I looked her in the face and told her the babies passed away. I just watched her heart sink and her mind start going in every direction. She asked, "so am I going to be a big sister?" And through my tears I told her, "no, not this time." She asked if she was ever going to be a big sister, and all I could say was, "I don't know."
Then she went on with her pleading questions. She said, "but why did the doctor tell me.. tell us... why did he say we were going to have a baby?!" "Why did they die?" "But I did my one job!"
We had told her that during the IVF process we each had one job. Mine was to take my medicine and listen to the doctor. Chris had to work to pay for the doctor and our other bills. Abby's "job" was to help me not to stress. She wanted the babies to live so badly that she really tried her best to help me. Sure she had meltdowns every now and then, but she did so good.
I told her that yes she had done her job, and I did mine, and Chris did his, and that it was no one's fault. But she persisted and asked if she would ever be a sister. All I could think to say, as her face welled up, was that for that week that we knew we were pregnant, she was the best big sister.
After that we just sat together and cried for a little while, but she soon decided she wanted to go upstairs and play quietly for a while. I was so grateful that she still wanted to play, but I was heartbroken that she was having all of these emotions.
Friday, May 13th was the worst day of my life. I miscarried my babies on May 8th, but didn't know for sure until the 13th. On May 13th, my world crumbled. My dreams and my hopes of finally beating infertility, finally having a baby, had been crushed. And worst of all, my 5 year old had seen it all. She was there as I did all my injections. She was there for so many appointments. She saw the pictures of the embryos. She experienced the happiness, and then had it ripped away.
May 8th. May 13th. I will forever remember those dates.
Now, it's been a month since I miscarried my babies. They have passed, my hormone levels have leveled off, and I am medically "no longer pregnant." Everyday is a roller coaster of emotions, sometimes I'm angry or bitter, other times I'm just sad. Some days I have to remind myself that it's ok to be sad, it's ok to cry out "why?"
I know that one day, probably, hopefully, soon, I will lay down at night and realize that I didn't cry that day. One day I will be able to see Abby playing with her friends and their siblings, and not completely fall apart.
I never met my babies, but I loved them. I never held them in my arms, but I held them in my body their whole lives, and I will hold them in my heart for the rest of my life. The moment I saw those pink lines, every time I took a test "just to make sure", and in each of those meetings with the doctor checking on them, I loved my babies. I imagined what they would be like, and who they would become. I imagined them playing with Abby, and the amazing big sister she would be.
It took 1265 days of praying, crying, trying with and without medical help, to see those pink lines. It was 1268 days until a doctor finally was happy to tell me my results after a pregnancy test.
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