Why I am Talking about my Infertility

Over the last few months I have joined twitter and have been apart of a community of other women and couples who are going through infertility. I wish I would have thought of this community sooner. My never ending google searches led me to blogs, which led me to twitter. I was hesitant on whether this type of support could really work for me.

At first, I thought me wanting to reach out to a group of strangers must be nuts! Imagine my surprise when I began searching for friends and 100s upon 1000s of friends with the related topic of “infertility” continued to surface. Imagine my surprise when this group of “strangers” helped get me through my first IVF cycle, keep my sanity when it did not work, and bring me laughter & joy in my everyday life of living with infertility. Imagine finding a group that just “gets it,” after a year and half of trying so hard to get those around me to get it- in one week I felt connected to this community and more connected to myself.

Through sharing my experience and getting advice via twitter I have been able to speak more to my own family and friends upon issues and concerns I face daily when it comes to my infertility. However, there is so much, so many do not understand. I thought I was the only one who wanted to vomit at the site of a pregnancy announcement via Facebook only to discover most of the community has deleted this aspect of social media for this reason.

Around Christmas I was feeling so raw. It was the time that had my IVF of been successful we would have been announcing our little one. It was the time in which family and friends thought our IVF didn’t have anything to do with the holiday and wondered why we weren’t fully participating in every aspect of this joyous occasion.

So I had an idea. If everyone was going to flood my newsfeed on Facebook I could
a. Delete my Facebook and let infertility take another part of my life away.
b. Share with the same family and friends the struggle of infertility.

I thought about it for awhile. I struggled with how much or how little to tell people. Did  I really want this on social media?  Who would I not want to see it? When the answers to the difficult questions were answered, I realized – I wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of this process. In fact sharing our story might bring more awareness to the fact that many couples are going through this struggle. It might make my “friends” think a little harder before posting certain verbiage around being a mother. I couldn’t think of any negatives and so we decided we would do a photo shoot to capture the sadness and struggle of this last year and the hope for this new year.

Even the morning of our photo shoot we both had hesitation on whether we really wanted to go through with our infertility outting. Our photographer was amazing as you can see. She made it clear that she was not going to share the pictures on social media and that it would be up to us what we wanted to use and leave out.

When I saw the proofs later that afternoon, I cried. They were so beautiful. There were pictures of my husband and I playing in the snow, laughing, and moments of seriousness capturing pieces of our journey. It was the best photo shoot we have ever had. She captured the true connection between us. A connection I know and feel was not there two years ago. I could feel the love between us just glowing off the screen. For the first time, I wasn’t trying to find the right words, describe the devastation, or get someone to see the story my way. It was so simply stated in a matter of 16 photographs; our love, our dedication, our connection, and our journey to our baby.

I share both my photo’s and video with you because I believe our happiness and sadness our not ours alone. I believe with every perceived negative there is a positive, I believe that in the darkest of days there is still a bright light, and I know wherever you are in your journey whether infertility or something else – life has a plan for you for me for us. and where we are in this moment at this time is exactly where we are meant to be…

Somewhere in the hopeful hopelessness

It is almost unbearable, completely unbelievable, and down right heart breaking that here we are – AGAIN!

As a child, I wasn’t afraid of too much. I think mostly because my parents encouraged me to be adventures but in truth it was because I believed that nothing could hurt me if my father was there. Without him there I felt the pain of the world, the truth that I wasn’t invincible, the reality that monsters do exist.

So when there was a thunder storm or even the possibility I would run into my parents room and slip between them in bed, hunker down, and know as long as I was there nothing could harm me. The strength of my father the loving arms of my mother, between the two I knew I was safe.

I would like to say that this was only as a “child” but in truth it lasted into my teenage years, and uh there might of been that storm 2 weeks before my wedding – but we wont go too much into that “one time.”

So here- we are- AGAIN! The moments before an impending storm, the word is in the air but God, that same childhood fear weighs heavy on my bones. It’s paralyzing because as we drive in the car and the discussion starts – I have no “fix” for the real life pain I’m about to feel, the pain I’m about to remember, and the pain I just can’t escape.

It’s four weeks after our miscarriage, they said it would get easier but each day is just a reminder of the little heart I once had beating inside me, relying on me, and needing me. I NEED to have this conversation and my husband NEEDS not too. It’s like hearing that first crack of thunder and my parents door is locked, knowing the monster has been released and my dads not there. Its like crying in the hallway, banging on the door, knowing the solution is just one step in front of me & yet so far out of reach.

I reach for his hand, the tears are already flowing, I am able to get out the words in a cracked whispered voice – “so whats next?” He stares silently at the road pretending he didn’t hear me…

Again, I say “so where do we go from here.” As I wait for some kind of life like response I start to wonder – what is it that I even want at this point?

What is this impending storm doing to me? Will this be the scariest part? Because waiting for the storm is always the hardest part. When your actually living your nightmare you have no time to think, no time to weigh out decisions. only time to react, to live in the moment, to make the best of it.

When the thunder storm was over, my parents would take me outside, they would show me the rainbow. At the time I didn’t realize the significance but now I know it was to give me a concrete visual that life is scary, storms will happen, no matter how much you prepare yourself, you may never be ready – and to show me that it is only after the worst of storms that the most beautiful things follow.

He looks at me blankly, his lips pushed out, his eyes meeting mine. My stomach is tight, as much as I know him, I’m never prepared for this conversation. Finally, he says “lets just put back our last one.” I have so many questions, so many “wells” and” what ifs”, but I know he’s done and truthfully I’m so drained “waiting” for the storm, I cant even push this conversation any further.

So here we are — AGAIN! In a hopeless situation with hopeful dreams and the best of intentions, trying with all our might to not constantly be fearing the impending storm & praying this is the last one…

The Darkest Days

Weeks after my miscarriage, the rest of the world had moved on. I was expected to perform at my job as if nothing had happened, family dinners felt much the same except for the emptiness I permanently carried with me, my dogs liked me again, and my friends wanted me to join in events just like before. It even felt at times that my husband had moved on, forgotten, buried the thought of our baby deep in his heart where he may never again revisit.

I planned to plant a white weeping cherry willow tree. Something about this tree felt sad and happy all at the same time. The way the branches wept reminded me of tears and the long overreaching love of a mother; protective, beautiful, and sacred. Yes, plant a tree I will…

I planned to write a letter to my baby. To tell them everything in my heart I felt I needed to say. To give myself room to remember & say goodbye. Yes, a letter I think I will…

I planned to continue moving forward, not moving on, because well – no matter what anyone says; the pain never gets better and you never move on.

Though I planned to do all these things, to remember, to cope, to mourn. I didn’t plan on feeling just as bad as I felt. I didn’t plan on fighting the thoughts of worthlessness. I didn’t struggle with blame because truly in my heart I knew I did all that I could to make the pregnancy successful from day 1. However, I struggled many nights wondering why I was continuing this fight?

By continuing the fight I mean life. I reached out to my insurance I was sure it was time to see someone. I was sure what I was feeling wasn’t really normal, I was sure that though grief can consume every fiber of your being my grief was making me wonder was it worth being?

The questions the thoughts they really scared me. I never actually considered ending my life or not moving forward but the question  was it worth it weighed so heavily on my mind.

Over two years of doctors, blood work, scans, painful testing, sperm samples, home equity loan, & 4 different clinics- I couldn’t help but wonder was it really worth it?

They say when you see that beautiful baby and hold them for the first time “it will all be worth it.” But what if that moment never happens, what if IT never feels worth it?

What if all this time, money, energy, sacrifice, brings us nothing but bad memories and heartache?

At your first visit to the fertility clinic they do not tell you the devastating truth that some families will be patients for years and some will stop coming after years, not because they had a baby but because IT was never going to be possible.

So here I am weeks after my miscarriage with no idea if any of this will be worth IT but still giving it my all, still pushing to the next cycle, & remembering IT all happens for a reason.

Mother’s Day with no baby in my arms

Today I’ll celebrate not only the beautiful mother who I call mine 

but for 

the life that left this earth 

leaving me behind. 

Mothers come in many forms, 

I loved my baby just as you love yours.

 I’ll never hear them say my name 

but I’m a mother just the same. 

I’ll never hold them in my arms,

 but the bond we shared will always be ours.

Life is short and sometimes bitter sweet

forever my baby in heaven- the place we will meet. 

Mother’s Day after miscarriage is like setting my whole body on fire and watching everyone around me watch me burn and they’re not allowed to put me out. While all along asking me if I’m okay?

It’s watching Mother’s Day burnt breakfast pictures surface my newsfeed –
knowing that may never be me.

It’s waking up at 6am with an elephant upon my chest,
knowing my personal strength will soon be put to the test.

It’s reassuring everyone else your okay, when you do not even know how your going to make it through the day.

It’s holding back all you want to say,
because no-one will get it anyway.

It’s feeling broken and completely unglued,
there’s so much of my story that no-one ever knew.

It’s realizing though I am a mother,
I’m a grieving mother
and this holiday has no place for me.

It’s knowing today I will be the girl with the group with no baby in her arms.
Everyone will remind me “someday this will be yours.”

Every sign, commercial, restaurant, radio station, and social media outlet –
well we know they wont let us forget.

So before you ask someone if she’s a mother be prepared that we come in all forms.

Mother’s Day weekend after miscarriage

I cannot think of anything more painful than Mothers Day after miscarriage. Last week this time I didn’t realize just how painful this day would be for me. However, yesterday as I prepared to go to a family party it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Weeks earlier, I had continued to remind myself that once I got to this weekend we would be just about out of first trimester and all that stress would almost be over. That by the time I prepared to go to this party and sequel of family events I myself would be rocking a cute baby bump and probably my first maternity shirt.

Now I stood in the mirror wondering what to wear?  It was spring and 50 degrees with a downpour. I reached in my closet I pulled out the outfit I wore to my transfer. Somewhat of a dress with a pair of leggings. It could be dressed up or dressed down and this seemed like the best option looking at the weather. I closed the bathroom door to give myself a once over and the tears began to flow. Here I was wearing the outfit I wore to greet my child, I remember putting it on and thinking “this is going to be the lucky one.” I remember watching it hang in my closet for weeks and never touching it as if it was holy. Now today, the weight of this 1oz dress crushed my ribs, I was finding it hard to breathe, hard to think, and even harder to stop the tears.

Suddenly, all those emotions that had subsided the thought that I was doing “well” it all came crashing down. I walked back into my closet, looking for something – anything but everything was becoming blurry. The most intense anger took over my body I turned to the wall and repeatedly punched it like a crazy woman. My body was so numb that somehow the pain in my hand actually felt good, no-one could take that from me. When it became too much I fell to my knees amongst all my clothes a hamper by my head. I crawled into the tightest little ball and when my husband woke up and found me there you can believe he was a little bit in shock and very confused that I was refusing to come out of the closet.

It took me over an hour to stop the tears. Somewhere between punching the wall and crying out my entire body weight in water I decided I was wearing that outfit. I’m not sure if I was just too exhausted to look for another? or if I felt some type of guilt of trying to forget my baby and that day we shared?

Arriving at my sisters graduation party I felt like complete crap. Here it was an amazing weekend for her and I had to coach myself here. Anti social is an understatement, I found my way to the alcohol and a comfy place on the couch and judged every mother in the room.

I felt alone. Even surrounded by my family it was as if I was expected at this point to just be me – like this weekend shouldn’t hurt. As if everyone was tired of my infertility being apart of every holiday. The horrible truth is for them it might be holidays but for me it’s every second, of every day, of every month. I excused myself to the bathroom twice where my husband followed to console me.

I usually am the one to plan Mothers Day and doing my best between all that has been going on I had reached out to my siblings to see what was going on. My sister was consumed with graduation and so she wasn’t sure about anything, my brother who is the one with the baby had talked to my dad about the zoo. Part of me felt relieved, while the other excluded. I got no say in Mothers Day anymore because I wasn’t recognized as a mother? Or was it that they were trying to make it easier for me by just showing up? Either way, I thought of the day unfolding at the zoo. My sister-in-law, her mom, my mom; both grandma’s competing for the 1 year olds attention & recognition of being grandma and it made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t know if I could do it.

I stayed the appropriate amount of time and when we got in the car I sobbed a good half hour. My husband tried but nothing was working this time. Arriving home I opened my mailbox to my best friends invite for her sons first birthday. These are the moments I look up to the sky and truly have to ask God, why? Even when I make it to my safe place, there it is- the reminder that I have no invites to send and cake smashing to plan.

I feel super negative going into today. Like an ungrateful child who didn’t get what she wanted. I have an amazing mother who I should be more than happy to celebrate and instead I’m mourning the child whose not here. I have alot of judgement with “what I should be feeling.” While realizing this process is not cut and dry. I’m just praying I come out on the other end as someone I will still recognize.

Island of Lost

Miscarriage. Thats right I said it- I shouldn’t because it makes the room uncomfortable. I shouldn’t talk about it, I shouldn’t cry about it, I shouldn’t get the proper closure I need because my baby’s life was never really seen.

Life at conception is only life when your fighting a cause
otherwise the mothers who never held their children
should say nothing at all.

My baby was less because their fingers never grew
because their heart stopped beating
and their life was one you never knew

Don’t dare mutter the words d&c
I never heard them until it happened to me

I’m walking this path completely alone
no matter what anyone says
I never got to bring my baby home

I cant sleep because the dreams remind me
of the baby thats no longer inside me

Its dark and lonely on this island of lost
having a baby is nothing like I thought

I would do anything to change this pain
instead I’m left having to accept this is part
of the infertile game.

Our Physical Bond is Now Gone

IMG_6362There I sat squatting over a cup in the bathroom as I tried to retrieve a urine sample. Having not had anything to drink since 12am made this relatively easy task a challenge. My mother yelled into the bathroom telling me “they don’t need a sample.” I then realized the sample was to confirm no chance of pregnancy and for the first time I would be sad to hear that HCG had been found in my system. I took the cup and threw it against the wall-like that changed the fact that in the following moments I would go through the most difficult procedure of my life. I composed myself and exited the bathroom.

The tone at the admission desk changed. She now realized just why I was there.

I stood in the elevator as the admissions lady pushed the button to floor two. She told me the elevator would open from the back. She wished me “good luck” as she exited the elevator. In five minutes this lady had sent me from moderately composed to a complete mess.

I stepped off the elevator a cut out window in the wall, the smell of surgery hit me, and the tears just kept flowing. I turned into a corner ashamed that I couldn’t stop crying, embarrassed that I was here- that I had failed my baby. More than anything I was terrified.

My mom was so comforting. She had been with me since I found out the day before. She understood because she herself had 3 miscarriages. I was the baby conceived after her first D&C. So as painful as it was for me to live through this terrible event I know it was brining up memories for her and a deeper pain that now her baby was going through the same.

The nurse began doing the routine. Name, DOB, blood pressure, temp, directions on how to put on the robe- which by the way I’m an expert at by now. Med list, allergies, etc. Finally the doctor appears. He holds my hand and tells me to remember this doesn’t effect future chances of getting pregnant. Sadly, this is part of the process and think how many steps you had to overcome to get here. Yes, my thoughts exactly, the very expensive, emotional process I had to go through to get here.

I told him I needed an ultrasound before we proceeded. He looked at me questionably. He told me that I needed to understand there was no way to have a viable pregnancy once HCG levels begin to decrease. I didn’t care I needed to see my baby one more time. So he said “okay, can we get an ultrasound machine up here?” It took the staff another an hour to locate one and prep but the doctor kindly performed it – with no change from the day before,  I whispered goodbye baby. He looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was ready to proceed and through tears I said “yes, I’m fine.”

The nurse grabbed a warm blanket, walked me to the bathroom, took my glasses from my face and walked me down the longest hall of my life. With each step the hall got colder, my legs felt like jello, all I could think is “why?” Why was this happening, why my baby, just why…

We made it to the room. It was a narrow table, much like the one they have you sit on for egg retrieval. The end of the table is made to bend right under the hips. So they have you sit in the donut shape at the end they tell you its  “like sitting at the edge of a pool” – What !? This is nothing like sitting at the edge of a pool. They take the one gown off, my whole backside is exposed. Theres about 9 people in the room. There is no such thing as dignity when it comes to infertility.

I lay on the table, there are small narrow tables to place my arms on the side. All at once each person begins their job; telling me what they are doing before they do it. I feel things being placed on my legs, blood pressure cuff going on my arm, leads going on my chest, I’m sobbing. Beyond sobbing, the kind of cry that happens when your crying so hard you don’t even make a sound, the kind of cry thats felt from completely within. My heart literally is hurting, its aching a pain I’ve never known. In the next few moments they will take the only physical bond I have left with my baby.

I know this has to happen but every part of me hurts. The nurse tells me to hold her hand. I think I held her hand so hard it probably hurt her for days. The doctor comes in- he begins to talk to me about an island, one with many palm trees, in a place I have never heard. It’s simple and stupid but it calms me down. Maybe it was his story or the drugs they were pumping into my IV – whatever it was I felt it was so kind that he didn’t let me go to sleep sobbing. That he gave me something hopeful and beautiful to hold onto. That after all his years of experience and probably many D&C’s he remembered how painful it was for me and that it was my first one.

I woke-up completely forgetting what had just happened. I was cramping and told the nurse omg I’m cramping am I having a miscarriage? She didn’t answer me. I pulled the covers because I felt wet- a feeling I have been on high alert for  over the last two months. There it was bright red blood everywhere, I began sobbing, I now realized all over again that yes I had miscarried and now my baby was really gone. The nurse got me  into surgical underwear, I was in so much pain, at some point they administered medication to help. I kept telling her I was in more pain because honestly I wanted drugs that would knock me out. Would make me not remember any of this painful experience. Truthfully there are no drugs that will ever be able to do that for anyone.

My husband was at home waiting for me. He got done work at 3pm. Since it was an emergency and scheduled less that 24hours from when it happened it would be hard for him to get coverage as he is a nurse. On top of that I figured I had to go through this experience I had no choice but I didn’t have to make him witness it. My friends continue to tell me over and over again to not just worry about my husband that I need to worry about me too. The problem is how can I not worry about him? I know what I can handle. Honestly, I don’t know if he could handle watching me go through that procedure. Selfishly, I want to protect him so he doesn’t get discouraged with this process. So that his decision to go through with our next transfer isn’t delayed because he witnessed the emotional hell I went through and how it ended.

So in true perspective. I’m not a great wife, I’m a selfish wife and I have guilt.

He had my couch ready for me, he had purchased a dozen pink roses, he placed them near the frame with the ultrasound and the candle we lit which burned the entire weekend. My twitter ladies were so wonderful as they facilitated a wave of light the day of my D&C, this helped so much and I will never be able to express what that meant to me.

I never thought when I started this blog that someday it would be filled with the pain of a miscarriage and D&C. The one piece of comfort I’m thriving on is that this was always our plan. God had this journey written in stone from the moment I was conceived and so that means I am now one step closer to the baby we will bring home .

The Scars of Hope


The scars of hope I wear them well
At first glance you may not tell

An average girl, average frame,
Wishing for an average story
With no-one to blame

Hope and pain
feel the same
In this infertile game

Sweaters in my car
to hide the morning blood draws
Morning coffee not quite the same
because it’s decaf which I made

I’d take a seat
but my backside is sore
Each night I bend over injecting more

Did someone just turn up the heat?
Progesterone is no friend of mine
It tricks my body & my mind

Baby pictures make me tear
But these aren’t complaints you want to hear

Sure, I’m doing just fine
Truth – I’m going out of my mind

Sorry calendar is completely full
oh man, do I need a refill on my menopur?

Don’t  worry it’s just the same
I don’t really care about your baby’s name


Through the Good times & the Bad…

image1-2 copy

On our six year wedding anniversary as we mourn the loss of our child I remember the many reasons I not only fell in love with my husband but continue to each day.

It was 6 months before my husband and I got married. So much had went into our wedding plans and preparation. We would be married over an hour from home in the botanical gardens at ringwood manor.

Oddly enough I was able to find one of the only venues in NJ which had a castle on site, where the reception would take place.

We had spent over a year planning this day but one thing was missing…

We had not picked our wedding song! We had listened to many songs over many eras during our drives to the beach that summer. Still nothing explained just how much we loved each other in the way each of us wanted it represented on that special day.

6 months before we got married I was on my way home from work when I had a seizure on the train. I woke up mangled between the metal bars which supported the seats. It felt like only minutes later I was in a hospital bed looking at my soon be husband. In reality it had been hours. My parents were hours away and I asked him not to call them as they were trying to have a romantic get away and I knew if they knew I had a seizure they would come home.

My soon to be husband had never actually seen me have a seizure. However, we talked about it often and he knew it played a part of my life.

Suddenly my stomach started to feel awful. He began unhooking me from the IV so I could get to the bathroom.

We walked as he held my gown closed and let me lean on his arm. We make it to the Bathroom as my stomach just got worse. My mom would come in with me but I wouldn’t have to ask and suddenly I found myself wishing we had called my mommy.

I sat in there crying. Crying in pain, embarrassment, and anger. The door opened and my soon to be husband stepped into my stinky box. He stood in the corner and gave me one of his famous pep talks. The pain didn’t stop but the embarrassment and anger subsided.

He spent the night by my side, didn’t  sleep a wink. He had work early the next day so I woke up by myself. I woke up to what I like to call seizure remorse I like to compare it to a night of drinking and you can’t remember anything but then the stories start and you feel like absolute shit. The morning starts out grateful your alive and then the stories start with what happened. You feel so guilty for having such an impact on everyone’s life in this painful way. So as I sat on my parents couch I wondered if by the end of the day my soon to be husband would realize that marrying me was more trouble than it was worth.

My phone rang in the middle of the day. Elton John played from the other side. “You can tell everybody this is your song.” Tom got back on the line. He said I want you to know how much I love you, so today I picked out our wedding song.

I listened to the song about ten times and it was truly perfect. Everyone’s wedding song is special but for us the song had even more meaning then just the song they would play on our wedding day.

At no point in time did my husband ever make me feel less than perfect or not beautiful. He turned a day I would rather forget into a beautiful memory of just how loved I will always be.

Having seizures doesn’t mean you should expect any less. In fact it’s been my experience that I have been overwhelmingly blessed by love and support.

I realized it was self judgement I was carrying not true perspective of how my soon to be husband really saw me.

6 years later we mourn losing our child. It was less than 24 hours ago that we had a D&C – if there is such a thing as calling it terrible timing, it sure was terrible timing. We celebrated and mourned by working on a puzzle and eating takeout. Realizing this is what marriage is about. When they said through the good and the bad we didn’t realize so much bad would happen in a few short years. In a way were molded together because there will never be anyone who could ever understand what we have been through as much as I do for him and he does for me. So on our 6 year wedding anniversary I pray that God continues to bless our marriage and helps us find peace in his plan. 

What do I wear to say goodbye to my baby?

They say memories are associated with scents. That is why you might walk into a store and have a memory of being a child or you might not have any memory at all but may be persuaded to like or hate where you currently are unknowingly based upon a scent.

A few weeks ago my husband bought a new deodorant and when I smelled it in the bathroom I said ” hey it smells like that summer at the shore.” When we first met my husbands mother owned a shore house and we spent many weekends there that first summer. Many happy, beautiful memories. 8 years later that scent is ingrained in me. He laughed and said ” you remember! Thats why I got this one, it’s made from the cologne I wore at that time.” We laughed and talked about our fondest memories that summer as I bent over in our bedroom and he injected me with my progesterone shot.

That smell will live with me forever. Not only me but my husband as well. In some cases a scent has a beautiful memory and in some not so much…

Clothing also sends me to a distant time. I can remember the outfit I wore the night I met my husband, the day I got engaged, what my baby sister was wearing the day my parents brought her home, the day of all my transfers. Now standing in my bedroom I would have to pick-out the outfit I would wear to say goodbye to my baby. Something I never really liked, something I could burn after, but really mostly something that fit. Only a few weeks pregnant but with the progesterone shots my belly had grown so much over the last few weeks. Everything felt tight in my thighs and belly. What does someone wear to a D&C and more importantly do other people think about this?

IMG_6339                            2 weeks into injections       5 weeks                   6 weeks

Whatever it was going to be I knew I would remember it. So days after my D&C when I found the shirt, pants, and bra in a pile on my closet floor- it was no surprise that it brought me to tears. That I wore this outfit the last time I left my house and was considered pregnant and came home not pregnant.

I wondered if it was in a ball on the floor because my husband also associated this horrible event with this outfit? I couldn’t ask him. I didn’t truly want to know the answer.

I haven’t burned it yet but for some reason I don’t think it would even matter. The memory of that day has been burned into not only my memory but my heart.

The good the bad the in between

Transfer day was pretty perfect. After my little hermy was returned home my husband drove us to our physical home, setup my bed, and made me some frozen pizza. Unlike normal people I enjoy frozen pizza more than take out pizza. So I laid there munching on my pizza and praying baby would grow.


In the weeks to come my pregnancy would be confirmed, 6 ultrasounds would be done, a heartbeat would be seen, and than just like that a heart beat would stop.

I can’t explain that feeling of seeing a little heart ticker on the screen but I can explain the moment it stops.

It had been a horrible few days. A week before we had not seen a heart beat. I was upset but not surprised as the doctor had cautioned me that it might be too early. I waited 4 days. 4 painful days. I was being terrible to my husband and couldn’t concentrate on anything other than my little baby.  Then that Monday, it was there! This little white spot on the screen appearing and disappearing and every bit of worry I had was gone.

The nurse pulled up a chair and touched my leg, she told me the heartbeat was going slow. This could be an indication that something is wrong but it also just might mean the baby is measuring a week behind.  I cut her off there and let her know that a heart beat is a heart beat and I’m not worried that I knew my baby would be okay and I didn’t want to discuss “other possibilities.” She understood and told me she would feel the same way. So I made my appointment for three days later and had faith that my baby’s little heart would be ticking away in three days.

Thursday came…

I drove to the train station and when I got there someone had parked in my lucky spot. Ridiculous, right? But this had been the spot I parked each time I received good news and today I was getting good news. I wont lie, I had a break down about the parking space, but is it ever really about a parking space? I cried and drove around the son of bitch who took my spot and considered parking right in front of them though it was not a legal parking space. I then calmed down and proceeded to a space under a tree which I rationalized the fact that it was protected and under the only thing growing in this concrete lot and that made it a better space than my original space. But I was wrong…

Laying with my legs in the stirrups, my St. Anthony prayer card placed on my belly where baby lived, I begged the ultrasound tech to keep looking. 15 minutes of searching, holding my breath, and sobbing like I have never sobbed before – the tech says “I’m so sorry hun, take as long as you need to get up.” How is this really my life? Are you fucking kidding me? 

My body is tingling, cold and hot, all at the same time. I struggle to put my pants back on – looking at the floor I see all this water, I realize my tears are so big and so fast I have left a puddle. I’m angry, I want to smash that ultrasound machine, break it into a million pieces and just walk out.

But instead…

I compose myself to go in the waiting room and wait for the doctor. The pregnant nurse comes out to hug me, though it’s kind, it’s the last person I want telling me she’s sorry. Her with her cute little baby bump and hot flashes. She doesn’t get the right to feel sorry for me or make me her dinner time conversation as “I had a patient who I just felt awful for today.” As if her baby is promised to her and mine never was a sure thing… 

The doctor comes and his presence is kind and gentle. He explains that the baby has barely any growth in the last few days, heart beat and rate are not detectable. He goes through 3 options

1. Let miscarriage happen on its own, might take weeks.

2. Take a pill and have it done in 24 hours, heavy bleeding and lots of pain.

3. Have a D&C, be put to sleep , less bleeding, also no chance of seeing what was my baby.

He tells me to come back Tuesday to confirm ultrasound findings. My clinic is in the city so I take the train to appointments.

It’s raining, it feels appropriate. I forget I have an umbrella the rain drops fall on my skin and I feel like I’m not a real person, I sob all the way to the train, on the train, and I don’t care who witnesses my mess of a life.

While on the train I had made the decision that I would in fact smash that persons car who took my lucky spot!  I would stomp on it and break the windows with the awful tree branches I had to park under. But this decision was just like my decision to smash the ultrasound machine. Neither happened but thinking about it did make me feel better.

My husband was waiting for the ultrasound picture and instead I needed to call him and tell him our baby didn’t make it. He’s in complete denial and I don’t know how to make this clear. He continues to tell me everything is “okay.” I can’t console him in the moment because I’m dying.

The call comes in that afternoon – bloods are back and it is confirmed that hCG and progesterone has declined. They cancel my confirmation ultrasound as this is my confirmation. They schedule me for a d&c the next day at 2pm. Exactly one month from baby being transferred at the same exact time my baby will be removed. Such an expensive process to put something in that would only be removed weeks later.

I’m told I can’t eat and drink after midnight. I didn’t realize at the moment how hungry I would be as my body still thinks it’s pregnant and 2pm is a long time from midnight.

There’s no words or peace to be found. My husband goes about his workday and afternoon as if nothing is different. I was so angry that I was going to go stay at a hotel because I couldn’t believe how insensitive he was being. Then he came home and I realized he was in complete denial, he really didn’t believe anything was wrong with the baby, and now in clear words I had to tell him our baby had died. He needed me to say it multiple times and each time it became more real to me. My baby had died…

My eyes were so red and puffy that they physically hurt and I couldn’t see clear. At 10pm I sat where I sat weeks earlier full of hope, now full of despair eating pizza. It felt right that this pregnancy would end the way it started. The only two times in weeks that I had pizza as eating healthy was a priority. Now I had no reason…

I didn’t sleep at all, I searched the Internet for positive stories of women in the same place as me, there were none. I searched what to expect with a d&c and nothing felt truly clear. I felt empty, scared, and so alone. I wondered how I would ever get through a nine month pregnancy because anxiety is all I felt around baby.

I’m in the darkest  place I have ever been. All I can do is hope that I find comfort.