TTC, TWW, BFN, BFP, DH, AF...a year-and-a-half ago I wouldn't have known what any one of those acronyms meant. And, to be honest, I wished it had stayed that way.
But now that my husband, John, and I have entered the world of trying for baby #1, and not being in that so envied group of those who breezed through it with no issues (not a big fan of that group BTW), I have unfortunately become way too familiar with these acronyms and have even started using them myself. Insert BIG SIGH here.
I'll admit, it's been a difficult journey so far and hard to describe to anyone who's not in the same place. Hence the start of this blog, which I'm using to share my experiences from this point on and hopefully connect with other women out there going through the same thing.
For me, I know it's been comforting reading other women's blogs - women who have gone through some of the same experiences I have. My hope is that through this blog I will be able to reach other women out there too. I mean, let's face it, as personal a journey as this is to each and every one of us, it's hard going through it alone and alone is how you feel a lot of the time.
So, here goes, blog entry #1. An introduction to me and what my last year-and-a-half has been like. A quick warning - this entry's a long one and future entries will be much shorter, but hopefully this entry will provide a little insight into who I am and where we go from here.
How do you define yourself? A year ago I would have said I was a “runner”, or, in another word, “happy.” It’s amazing how things can change in a year though. Today, I would define myself as “NOT pregnant”. Strange that that’s the first thing that comes to my mind these days but there it is.
It’s been a tough 12 months for me and my husband, John. What started off as an exciting time, filled with the hope and joy of starting a family, has become a roller-coaster state of emotions, with no real end in sight.
A year ago this month, I became pregnant for the first time. John and I were thrilled and, at the same time, haunted by new anxieties like, were we going to be good parents? Could we afford a child? How would we handle the changes and responsibility of being someone’s mom or dad? All understandable anxieties but weirdly, exciting ones to have.
We found out I was pregnant right around Mother’s day and decided to tell John’s mom and dad the good news when we went to visit them out in the country. It was early, just a month into the pregnancy, so we knew we were taking a chance, but we also knew how excited they would be to become first-time grandparents. Honestly, I think they had given up on the possiblity, with John being just shy of 40 and us being newly married, but never having talked about wanting kids. So, we knew it would be an unexpected, happy surprise. The look of shock and ear-to-ear grins told it all. They were thrilled! Of course, we told them not to get their hopes up too much yet, since miscarriages this early in the pregnancy were common.
But, to be quite honest, John and I both thought it would be smooth sailing. We took good care of ourselves, ate healthy, exercised regularly. I was an avid runner, he a kick-ass mountain biker and triathlete. We both watched our diet and I was following every rule in the book (to an extreme) for newly pregnant women. Avoiding foods known to cause problems, drinking lots of water, avoiding caffeine and all alcohol, taking my pre-natal vitamins, etc, etc.
Unfortunately though, the truth of the matter is that if you’re going to have a miscarriage there’s really nothing you can do to avoid it. It just happens. And, for me, it happened seven weeks into the pregnancy.
I knew something was wrong when I started spotting. Although that can be a common, normal occurrence during pregnancy I just knew that things weren’t gong to end well. And, when we went to the doctor a few days later, our worst fears were confirmed. No heartbeat, no further growth. A miscarriage was inevitable and, due to the hormone levels in my body, I needed to have a D&C procedure to complete the process.
The miscarriage was one of the worst moments in our lives. In one instant, all the hopes and dreams we thought had been realized with the pregnancy, were suddenly tossed away and we had to adjust back to the life we had before the word “pregnant” was ever spoken out-loud. Our entire state of mind was forced to shift gears in a split second, which is frankly too much to ask of anyone.
A deep sadness took over me during that time. As common as miscarriages are, it’s hard to comprehend that that many people have to go through the same, horrible experience we did. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. For more than a month, I was an emotional wreck. Crying all the time, feeling panicked and disengaged from my friends and my former life.
It was hard for me to comprehend who I was during that period, I felt a true loss of self.
I used to be a runner. Then I was pregnant. And now...what? Not a runner, because I couldn’t maintain the level of training for which I had become accustomed and still become pregnant or be pregnant. And, no longer pregnant or even able to start trying again, since my body was still in “healing” mode. Here I was in a complete state of limbo and I had no idea how to move on.
Somehow though, I got through it. I can attribute most of that to my wonderful husband, John, or to follow the proper lingo, my darling husband (DH). He was there for me every step of the way and somehow made it easier to breathe, especially on the really difficult days. And, on the good days, he made them even better. I’m not sure I could have gotten through the pain I felt then without his constant love and support. I know he was hurting a lot too and it was hard for me to be there for him as much as he was there for me. In between crying-fits though, I’d tell him he could lean on me too, but with all the crying, it was hard to make much room for that. Poor guy.
And then, after a few months had passed, a bit of brightness came back into our lives and we felt somewhat normal again. So, we started trying once more. As proactive as I like to be, and as used to being in control as I am, I was beginning to lose patience once two to three months went by with no success. I was also six months shy of turning 40, which was playing a huge role in my wanting us to have a kid as soon as possible.
Honestly, I never thought I’d be in this position - about to turn 40 and not yet a mom. Who does? When you’re a kid you think you’ll start a career, meet the man of your dreams, buy a house, a dog and a cat, and, of course, have a couple of kiddos. Easy as that. What you don't take into account is that you’ll make many silly mistakes along the way and finding that Mr. Right could take a bit more time than you had originally anticipated.
In my wildest dreams, I never thought it would have taken me until I was 37 to find the love-of-my-life. A corny term, I know, but the one true way to describe how I feel about this man. In the past, I had dated a number of men, some short-term, a few long-term, all of whom were pretty decent guys, but none of them were like John.
John and I became friends first. We had both gone through pretty bad break-ups a few years back - he from a two-year marriage and me from a seven-year dating relationship (ridiculous I know, but what can I say, I was young and stupid). Through those experiences though, we both had gotten to a point where neither of us were willing to settle and we knew what was important to us in a relationship - complete honesty, kindness, and having a lot in common.
As it turned out, we both loved adventure, being outside, running/biking, participating in races, and pushing our bodies to the limit. So, we just clicked and, after having become friends first, we quickly fell in love. We had such fun together and, five years later, the miscarriage not withstanding, we still have a great time and discover more and more things that we love about one another.
Of course, at the time we met, I wasn’t really thinking about kids. I’ve never been that woman who’s known all of her life that she wanted to be a mom. Sometimes I would wonder if I just didn’t have that maternal instinct, but then I figured that when and if that time came I’d know it. And, so I did... which brings us to where we are today, John at 40 and me being just a few months shy of my 40th birthday, trying for baby #1.
If you’ve ever been in our position, then you probably know the pressure and state of urgency that surrounds a couple when the the woman is in her late-30ties or early-40ties. Unfortunately, it’s hard to fight the statistics -- they’re happily laid out for you, loud and clear. Since you’ve now become categorized as “high-risk” (love, that term, don’t you?), just because of your age, there are so many more, fun statistics to play with -- harder to get pregnant, increased chances of miscarriage, birth defects, etc., etc. Good times.
In November, on our two-year anniversary actually, I found out, once again, that I was pregnant. Of course, John and I were both excited but much more cautious this time around. We held our breathe when we went for the first sonogram at seven weeks and were amazed and incredibly relieved when we saw the heartbeat going strong. So exciting! But, as much as I wish I could say that this had a happy ending, unfortunately no, it was not to be the case. A week later, at our first official OB appointment, we found out that the heart had stopped beating and we were having another miscarriage. The whole experience was surreal. I couldn’t breathe or even look directly at my doctor. I completely tuned him out as he tried his best to explain everything that was happening, and I felt the sudden urge to pass out.
To be honest, talking about this second miscarriage is still something I can’t do. Too soon maybe or just too much sadness in the memory. But, I will say that I am still here, seven months later, living my life as best I can, with the most supportive husband in the world, and am grateful for that alone every day.
And, as it turns out, through these unfortunate experiences, we may have found some root issues that were at play in the miscarriages, which ultimately resulted in my undergoing minor surgery a few months back called a hysteroscopy, which hopefully means my uterus is back in the game now (thank you technology)! Only time will tell.
Time. It’s funny how time can seem to go so slowly when you’re playing the waiting game like we are today. The wait has been the hardest thing for me. I’m a planner and have always been as proactive as possible, paving the wave for next steps in my life. Unfortunately, that’s not how this whole trying-to-have-a-baby thing works. I’m no longer the one in control. Instead I must play slave to my body - waiting for it to be completely healed and ready for a new pregnancy.
So here we go again. Next week I have my first appointment with a new doctor, an RE. I just couldn't bear another visit to my regular OBGYN's office, where everyone in the waiting room is happy, healthy, and eight months pregnant. Time for a new start. Ready-get set- GOOOO!
