...It it so hard to break the silence when other’s want desperately for you to move on...
Two months prior to conceiving TJ, I was diagnosed with a bicornuate (heart shaped) uterus. It panicked me, I over-researched, overthought, and generally obsessed about statistics. I told my family, “I always knew I’d have troubles conceiving!”. Then without much effort and only two months of freaking out, I was pregnant! We were excited and relieved that it happened so fast!
My pregnancy was without any scares, I was blissfully ignorant regarding what could go wrong. My doctor assured me that my uterus shape would not impede my pregnancy, he only stated that I may go into labor a few weeks early and present breech. At just over 18 weeks, I had a very slow trickling of fluid. After an ER visit, testing, and an ultrasound, it was confirmed that my water had ruptured. I was sent home and told to “take it easy.” Several days later, I began to bleed. I went back to my doctor who performed a vaginal exam and again was told all was well, cervix hard, baby’s heart rate was great. I was even told I could go back to work. Two days later, my son’s cord prolapsed and I was rushed to the hospital, he had no heartbeat. I delivered vaginally after nearly 12 hours of induced labor. One of the hardest parts of being categorized as a miscarriage, is the general public’s assumption that the delivery of your child required nothing more than popping out an unfertilized egg that in no way resembled a human. Delivering my son remains the most traumatizing event in my life, and I’ve experienced quite a lot in my 30 years.
Six months after losing TJ, we weren’t pregnant. Despite my tracking every twinge and purchasing endless ovulation packs. I underwent bloodwork which determined I had a limited egg supply, I was sent directly to IVF. I could not comprehend how I had become pregnant after two months of trying and now was being told that I would be in menopause within 5-10 years. Why would I be given a child, have that child taken away, and then not be able to have children? I was pissed. I was depressed. I hated everyone who had it so easy and had no idea how effortless they had it. I underwent two full IVF protocols, the first was canceled, the second produced only one egg. That one perfect beautiful egg resulted in a chemical pregnancy. We had spent thousands, were emotional exhausted, and had nothing. It has now been 16 months since we lost our child. I have seen family and friends become pregnant, and hold their children. We still have empty arms. It is isolating to be infertile, it is isolating to mourn your child. No one wants to hear your struggles, their hearts are usually in the right place but their words often lack true empathy. I lost my father to suicide on my twelfth birthday and assumed that was my cross to bear in this life. I am now struggling with another stigma. It it so hard to break the silence when other’s want desperately for you to move on. Stigmatic deaths and battles are never about the person who is facing them. It is about the other person clambering to find comfort in their discomfort. Cry with me, tell me your thinking of me, hell, even just say “THIS SUCKS!” but do not change the subject, do not stop asking me questions, please don’t create an elephant.I ask for peace and healing every day, for my body, mind, and spirit. I hope one day to wake refreshed and not so weary from battle