A while ago, I posted a blog about fertility, about some of the struggles surrounding ‘trying to conceive’ (TTC).  You can read about it here.  I had such an amazing out-pour of emails, facebook messages, texts and calls, many telling me they’d no idea that I was having difficulties getting pregnant, and many telling me they were so glad I’d posted about a piece of my journey, because they, too, had a bumpy road on the way to conception – and yet, it’s such a taboo subject, that few people address it.

I decided, then and there, to do as many guest blogs, as I could find guests.  People to share their personal stories, whether anonymously (or not) about their own struggles and issues with trying to conceive.  I’ve not had many submissions, I guess we’re still dealing with quite the unspoken subject matter and sharing your personal story with the world is a little scary for some people.

However, my first submission comes from my friend Izzy.  Izzy is a wonderful mother to two darling little children, but her path to motherhood wasn’t easy, not by a long-shot.

Here’s her story;

Las’s e-mail was two sentences, one which was “would you like to share your journey?”  YES YES YES!!!

I let her know right away that I’d be willing to write and share, and over share.  A million beginnings jumped into my head, none of which I wrote down, because you know, that would be too easy, and too nice, and too convenient.  I procrastinate and over share, just like I’m doing right now.

 I will start with the truth.

I have two children, both of which were conceived rather easily.  So easy in fact that my husband complained he didn’t have enough fun while “trying to get pregnant.”

When I did realize this fact that I do have children, I thought to myself I can’t write this post.  It’s unfair and I don’t want to offend.  Then I read a piece about secondary infertility, which I didn’t know existed.  Then a friend of Las’s lost a child, a child that saved her mommy’s life by not surviving.  Then my cousin suffered a miscarriage at 10 weeks along, and a week later she was rushed to the hospital, a pulse almost non-existent, because nature is tricky, and her body deceived her.  Then I thought about everything that I’ve seen, heard, experienced, felt.  We are all mamma’s.  Some of us have been blessed with children, some of us are (im)patiently waiting, and ALL of us need each others support.

My first due date: July 8th, 2009 (my dad’s birthday) with my first child.  It never came to be.  At around 9 weeks along, the bleeding started.  The cramping was out of this world.  I went in for an ultrasound, saw the sac, and some movement, and was told to go home and rest.  I rested for a couple days, got the all clear to go back to work – a couple days of bed rest did help.  Bleeding and cramping went away.  The first day back at work, the bleeding and cramping were back. 

Now, I panic.  I stress.  I am a “worse case scenario” person.  I also listen to my instincts.  That morning before I went to work, I put on a pad “just in case.”  I guess I knew.  Couple hours into my work day, I felt it.  The cramp, the rush of blood, the lightheadedness.  I walked slowly to the bathroom, trying to look as normal as possible.  My pad was soaked.  I sat on the toilet.  I peed, and I lost my fetus, my first child, the cells that had the potential to create a beautiful human being.  Weakness took over me: my body went limp, my mind went into panic mode.  I walked out of that bathroom, told my boss I had to go.  On my way to the ER I called my husband.  He was one hour away. 

I sat in the ER waiting room, bleeding, losing the rest of my baby for one hour, all by myself.  People came and went.  I checked at the nurses station twice, letting them know that I wasn’t feeling good, that the bleeding was getting worse, that I was starting to shake from the blood loss.  They told me to just sit and wait.  When my husband ran into that ER, it took all my strength not to lay down on that floor and curl up.  After he caused some commotion, I was finally taken to a room, where I was told that “nature is doing what is best,” I was told “the pregnancy wasn’t healthy, so this is for the best.”

REALLY?!  FOR THE BEST?  FOR THE BEST FOR WHO? ME?! I’M IN PAIN, BLEEDING, LOSING MY MIND, MISSING MY CHILD I NEVER WOULD GET TO KNOW.  FOR THE BABY? IT DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A CHANCE! SOME WOULDN’T EVEN CALL IT A BABY BECAUSE IT WASN’T TECHNICALLY A BABY! FOR MY HUSBAND? HE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT TO DO OR SAY IN THIS SITUATION. 

Somehow my husband managed to say and do all the right things, even though he admitted he was lost and scared the whole time.

We got a call from my doctor the next day, confirming that the pregnancy was done, the fetus was gone out of my body.  I was assured time and time again there was nothing wrong with me, the fetus was most likely unhealthy and terminated itself.  Again the statement “it’s for the best.”  I heard that many times in the following weeks. 

I got used to it. 

I reasoned that people didn’t know what to say, so they said the thing that came to them.  In the back of my mind I kept thinking that children with disabilities, both mental and physical were born every single day.  I wanted a baby, any baby, sick or healthy, disabled or not.  Yet on the other hand, I thought my first attempt at becoming a mommy was my last one.  The emotional pain was great.  I cried and cried, I screamed, cursed, said some mean things – I didn’t mean – but needed to say. 

Somehow it was easy for my husband to accept the fact that the pregnancy was unhealthy and that this happened for a reason.  In his attempt not to say “it’s for the best,” he’d tell me “we’re just warming up the oven.” 

And warm up the oven we did.

As physically and emotionally draining as my miscarriage was, I listened to my doctor, and as soon as my period ended, my husband and I did the deed and I was pregnant again.  To say I was excited was an understatement, and to say I was scared was an understatement too. 

I tried to listen to well-meaning people and not tell anyone (except my husband) until I was 12-weeks along (don’t let anyone dictate to you when you should or shouldn’t tell friends and family that you’re expecting)  I couldn’t wait.  At 7 weeks along, we told our families at Christmas time.  Needless to say, everyone was happy and excited and couldn’t wait.  Our new due date was August 8th.

 After I reached 9 weeks into my pregnancy and had no issues, I was sure this baby was a ‘go’.  I allowed myself to dream a little, to think about the nursery, to think about names, to think about being a mom.  Then week 11 1/2 happened.  It was not a good week.  There was bleeding, and cramping, and FEAR.  I was SHOCKED! 

I was so close to 12 weeks, I was so close to the point when I no longer needed to worry about losing my child.  A family friend called and I was served with a reality check.  She was pregnant three times, and miscarried just as many.  Her miscarriages happened at weeks 9, 18 and 21.  WTF?! 

How can you lose a pregnancy so far in? 

How can you love a child so much, and then have it taken away from you just as fast?

How was I at 11 1/2 weeks along supposed to hold on to hope that everything would be fine? 

After that conversation, I quickly announced that if this pregnancy ended, I was D.O.N.E.  No more.  I would not try over and over only not to succeed.  I didn’t want children until I was 28-years old anyways, so if I didn’t want them for that long, I could spend the rest of my life not wanting them. 

 Then my friend lost a child at 23 1/2 weeks.  I spoke with her husband just the week prior and told him that if my pregnancy ended, I was done, and he said “You can’t think like that.  You try and try until you have a baby, that is the ultimate goal.”  I felt like a fool telling him how sorry I was for his loss, so far along in the pregnancy.  I apologized to him for my poor attitude.  He said it was fine, they would try again soon.

My bleeding lasted for a week.  Then as suddenly as it appeared, it was gone.  The baby was fine.  I was fine.  We were back to anticipation.  We were slowly and secretly happy. 

My due date was August 8th, and that is exactly when Olivia made her appearance.

I wish I could say it was easy, but twenty-three hours in labor, and an emergency C-section in the end does not make for an easy experience.  I am so glad my husband and I had a talk the night before about “what if?”  As soon as Olivia was out, my husband went to the nursery with her.  I was stitched backup, and wheeled into a recovery room.  I was able to see her and hold her then. 

The sweetest gift I ever received happened a couple day’s before Olivia’s first birthday.  My husband made a collage of videos since the day Olivia was born.  The first few minutes of the video show him with Olivia in the nursery, as she’s being measured, cleaned, holding his finger, screaming.  He didn’t know I didn’t see that video, somehow he forgot that I wasn’t there those first minutes of her life.  I was OK with that because I knew my new girl was safe with her daddy, and I knew she was in the best hands possible.

I submitted this blog-post in three parts, I have taken my time writing each post, really just waiting for inspiration to hit.

I feel like it’s so easy to put words to paper (or fingers to keyboard) but I wonder if the emotions come across as they truly were/are.

I suffered greatly with post-partum depression after having my daughter.  When I say suffered, I mean SUFFERED. I think my husband clued in just in time to save me. When I started wanting another baby, there was a lot of “talk” in my head:

-Are you crazy?

-You like pain do you?

-You haven’t figured it out yet, why do it AGAIN?

I didn’t listen.  My husband was less than thrilled to hear I wanted another one so soon, or even that I wanted another baby at all.

In my conniving (I really mean convincing) ways, we worked on another pregnancy.

Did I tell you I was fertile?

Yeah, my husband’s famous words: where is the fun in trying? You’re already pregnant!

I was pregnant, and I was scared.

Then I was sad.  My sister-in-law sent us her congratulations with these words attached:

“This isn’t fair, you guys suck, it’s our turn.”

I love her, and I know she’s having trouble conceiving, but really?  I was honest with her and told her I was nervous telling her.  I was also a little mad that I felt that way, because after all, why can’t I have more than one baby? Why can’t they be close in age? Why do we “have to take turns?”

We all got over our hurt feelings, stupid expectations, hurtful things said.

Then came week 8 of my pregnancy.  Here we were, chugging along to guess what?

Cramping, bleeding, worrying.

For the third time while pregnant I was told I was losing the baby. As I’ve heard this twice before, and actually managed to prove it wrong once, I didn’t put much thought into it.

Yet the pain got worse.

More tests, at 11 weeks there was still a heart beat, there was a baby, and more bleeding and cramping.  Another set of tests “confirmed” my hormone levels were dropping.  I asked the nurse how accurate these were and she said VERY.  I told her it’s been two weeks since the initial bleeding, and her answer:

“You’ve been through this before. You know these things take time. Just wait and see and you’ll miscarry and we’ll deal with it then.”

JKHJKHUI&(*&()*&^()&*^YGHGH&*(^*(&%^(^GHJGHJKBGJKHKLJ

No, you’re reading that right, and all that mumbo-jumbo is my irate reaction.

“JUST WAIT AND SEE” – wait for what? see what?

“YOU KNOW THESE THINGS TAKE TIME” – uh…no they don’t! I miscarried the first time and it was done within a week.  I had a threatened miscarriage and it went away withing a week.  I am not bleeding, cramping going crazy for two weeks!!!!!

My third pregnancy was hard.

What was harder was my feelings.  When I told people I was pregnant, I followed it with “but we don’t know for sure if the baby will make it.”

At one point a friend asked “are you even excited to have this baby?”

Was I excited? No, I got pregnant for shits and giggles.  I got pregnant because I was bored. I got pregnant so I could brag about my pregnancy powers, and be able to get the pregnant woman discount.

PEOPLE SAY/ASK THE DUMBEST THINGS!!!

I was placed on bed rest a couple times.

I was told to expect a miscarriage.

I was told to hope for the best.

I did…I hoped with all my might.  I don’t know how, but I did it.

I didn’t breathe a sigh of relief until my lil boy was safely in my arms.

 I do have two beautiful children. I consider them a blessing. A miracle, because that’s what it truly is.

I hope that every woman can experience having a child, if that is what she wants.

Motherhood is hard, and I bet not being a mother, when that’s all you want, is hard too.

We as women need to support each other more, and if we say the wrong or the dumb thing, let’s chat, discuss it, work it out. 

Hopefully this has helped some, hopefully this has not made anyone mad, sad, or wondering why Las is friends with me.

Good luck ladies (and any gents).

If you or someone you know, would like to share your story, feel free to get in touch 🙂