Note: there are dear friends who know me in real life and read this blog. Some of you are currently struggling with infertility or adoption yourselves. I had intended to call and share this news personally before writing here, but then it ended and picking up the phone is just too hard. I am so sorry. Also, we have not told our families about this and do not intend to. Please respect this.
It’s been quiet here, and for good reason. I have written this post many times in my head with moving prose and imagery, but now that I’m here it has all dissolved.
I found out I was miraculously pregnant a few weeks ago. The professor and I were terrified and cried when we found out. The timing could not be worse with our living/job/financial situation. The initial reaction was not to keep it, but we quickly realized that was not an option for us. So we embraced it. We talked about how we would make a second child work in our small space, smaller budget, and uncertain job situation. We got excited. We talked about names. Sabine was going to be the best big sister and we could not wait to let her know around 20 weeks.
My first beta looked good – higher than my other pregnancies. My first ultrasound did not. Baby was there but a week behind and the heart rate was very slow. Since we weren’t certain when I ovulated, though, everything still could be good.
“The heart could have just started beating today,” said the doctor. “Congratulations, you are no longer infertile!”
I cringed when he said that because, deep in my heart, I knew that was not true. The similarities between this ultrasound and the one with my first loss were too great.
Yesterday I went back for another scan. I had terrible morning sickness, a cold I could not shake and a heart full of hope. This was meant to be. This was our miracle unicorn that was going to give Sabine a sibling and make our house the chaotic, love-filled place of my dreams. But it was not to be. The ultrasound showed a 7-week embryo, dead still, no heart beat. The baby had grown a full week meaning the heart had stopped very recently. I didn’t cry until that night.
We weren’t trying for this pregnancy. I was actually trying to avoid pregnancy as my cycles were slowly returning and regulating. Two weeks after my positive test I was scheduled to have an IUD placed, just in case. I had made peace with my amazing only child. I was happy to see her growing up and becoming more independent. I was happy to begin having a little time for self-care. I was excited to start down a career path again as she approached school age. Things were getting better.
And then the universe threw me a spontaneous pregnancy and three weeks of dreaming, shifting our mentality and readjusting our life plan. And then that fucking universe took it all away. Again.
Today I had a D&C at a Manhattan abortion center because my OB was too busy and no one else could get me on the schedule for at least a week. While I always respect a women’s right to choose, sharing a room with women opting to end a potentially healthy pregnancy was so, so hard. At the bottom of my form, I had to fill out new stats – Number of pregnancies: 3, Number of miscarriages: 2, Number of live births: 1. These are not numbers I had wanted to see change, yet there they were.
I have been told that in time I’ll see a reason for all of this. That I’ll find peace and move on. But right now, mere hours after the remains of so much hope were sucked my womb, I am having a hard time believing.