I started the long road of fertility treatment in 2016 with an OB/GYN, and ending up with a Reproductive Endocrinologist. I failed 2 nauseating rounds of Clomid along the way, and underwent extensive fertility testing and procedures.
Our tests finally came back and my doctor (who is excellent, by the way) went over the results with me.
My husband was required to do a semen analysis and his numbers were oddly (lol) excellent. As for me, only my left ovary was working, and it wasn't working well. I had too many eggs, and was on the radar for cervical cancer. There was only a 5% chance of conceiving on my own. She said my best option would be IVF, which my insurance covers.
I held my composure as best I could in the office, and I broke down in my car.
It wasn't fair that I had saved myself for marriage, that I hereditary PCOS from my mother, who herself had 5 children with 3 different men, 2 of which where conceived out of adultery, and one was aborted. But after some time, I accepted that this was my lot. I had no choice. I became ok with it, and was working on moving past the curse of infertility. I would focus on other things.
So we scheduled a hysteroscopy to remove the cysts on my right ovary, which was completely blocked. After finishing a prescription to get the surgery scheduled within the narrow time allotment, my cycle should have started within a few days. But it didn't.
My doctor called me into the office immediately, and did an emergency sonogram. "That looks like a gestational sac. Do you know what that is?" I had no idea, and she went on to tell me it was a sign of early pregnancy, but it could possibly be a cyst. They did some blood work and said they'd call me the next day. I figured it was probably a cyst seeing that I didn't seem to ever leave the office with good news.
The next morning, my husband went to the gym, but I stayed home. I decided to take a pregnancy test to prove to myself it wasn't a gestational sac. I didn't like the suspense and repeated disappointment.
I still had a big box of ovulation and Hcg strips I'd purchased off Amazon during my Clomid treatments.
I froze when I saw those two pink lines. Any woman who has gone through fertility treatment knows those lines are like finding a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.
This meant, that at the time of that doctor's visit to go over my test results, I was already pregnant on my own, without any medical intervention.
I called my husband and told him, but I cried. Not because I was excited, but because I felt it was too good to be true, and I felt almost burdened. I've seen many patterns in my life where things didn't work out for me, and this scared me. The stakes were very high.
He encouraged me, and later that day the doctor's office called to let me know I was pregnant and what my Hcg level was. It still seemed too good to be true, and it took me a few days to accept it. I was happy, but I wasn't excited. Life had already taught me not to get my hopes up too soon.
We had our official sonogram, and we were given a due date.
After some time, I embraced the fact that we were finally having our first pregnancy in 6 years of marriage, and expecting our first child. Maverick if it was a boy, and Charlotte if it was a girl.
I went in for a sonogram checkup- my husband came with me. And I'm glad he did.
The sonogram took longer than it usually did. The doctor even turned on the audio to listen. I didn't even know the sonogram machine had audio. I could tell she was desperately looking for something, and kept doing some of the same things over and over.
Finally she turns off the machine. "I'm sorry, I can't find heartbeat. Get dressed, and we'll discuss it in my office." My heart fell into my stomach. I felt hopeless. I felt duped. I felt stupid.
Opening my keepsake box in over 6 months for this photo.
My body didn't react to the baby dying, so it was continuing pregnancy business as usual- symptoms and all.
I was given three options to expel the fetus: take a pill, have it surgically removed, or wait it out. If nothing happened within a week, I would need to have surgery to avoid blood poisoning.
I chose to wait it out. I was tired of stirrups and all the probing. I was mostly hoping for a miracle- specifically a Lazarus-type miracle (John 11:21-23).
Saturday morning I began having unbearable contractions that had me in tears. I delivered my deceased baby at 12:35pm that same day in my bathroom. I held the tiny, underdeveloped baby in the palm of my hand, and showed my husband.
I ended up having the hysteroscopy AND a D&C shortly thereafter.
The depression was, and is real. The stages of grief are real. I lost my passion for everything. Losing my baby was the straw that broke the camel's back for me. It depleted my last bit of strength and my "go-getter" spirit. It changed me.
I quit my businesses because I no longer had the heart for it. The only thing that kept me sane was lots of prayer.
We've since had no success with conceiving naturally or with fertility treatments. Our last IUI failed, too.
My heart is shattered, but I'm ok for the most part. I'm over it. And I think that's why I'm ok.
My due date passed a few days ago, and it was difficult. I decided to honor my baby's life by operating Sweet Texas Olive again.
I don't know where this will lead me, but I figured I would at least give it a shot.
And that's where I've been this entire year.
From anyone who's been here, I'd love to hear your advice on coping with baby loss.