Three years exactly into the journey, we got our pink plus! Resounding cheers from our hearts burst and leaked throughout our family tree. We couldn’t contain our excitement. The children were over the moon to welcome a baby into their lives and I felt at peace, whole and happy. Until it wasn’t time for that anymore. We lost our very loved baby shortly after announcing. The resulting D&C and recovery afterward took its toll in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from. I felt like a tomb. I felt broken, alone and failed. My body that I work so hard to take care of failed me and the resounding shock was depressing.
I felt like I was floating for a while. Gently checking in on heartbeats and pulses in my life but then retreating to a guarded watch as I mended.
Almost 2 years to the day after I found out I was pregnant with the last, I found out again. This time was with the help of some Letrozole
, copious amounts of blood work and follicle scans. I stared in disbelief but walked in emboldened hope that this rainbow was a sticky baby. Sadly, we received the news that this baby wouldn’t be staying with us either.
Like a dam with too much pressure on it and one very weakened point, it all collapsed. One day while on a walk with my husband, I shattered next to him and told him that I didn’t want to continue on the current path. I felt I couldn’t be a good wife and mom with one eye longingly looking down the forked part in the road. So, I waved the white flag and my husband and I decided together that we were ready to cross over into the next phase of our lives. The one where we focus just a bit more on us, make plans for experiences that we can do with older kids that we held off on and find who we were after being tumble dried the last few years.
It means, the focus can be on “what is” instead of consistently focusing on “what if.” This decision wasn’t a careless one.
And, for many couples who seek out infertility treatments, they share this outcome. It’s not addressed, the “broken” usually aren’t. It’s dismissed with a simple “It’s not meant to be.” Or, “ Well, at least you have children already.” Because these shushed and whispered comments are considered normal to hear. You just endure it.
What could I use to hear, you ask?
“This is hard. I don’t know what to say but I’m here.”
“ Do you need me to find somewhere lovely and appreciative to donate your baby and maternity items? I’ll go through everything.”
“ You may feel broken but where you see crinkled and cut, I see strength.”
“ Want to take a kickboxing class or take some aggression out on some hay bales with a paintball gun?”
Not all of us who chase rainbows, get them. We have gone through the options and left bruised, tattered, worn but most of all, we moved on without having a baby.
It’s worth noting that to this ugly club, all we have is each other. We feel the membership weighing everyday and watch it lay waste to our hearts when we remember due dates where we should’ve been celebrating instead of preparing.
For all of the women who shoulder this everyday, I see you. I am along the path with you. I look for rainbows and extra shiny stars when no one is looking too. You’re not alone. You are worthy. And, it wasn’t all for nothing.