Pregnancy After Loss and Infertility During National Infertility Week
One year ago today, my heart shattered into a million little pieces. I still can’t bring myself back to that room, on a FaceTime call with Henry, being told that I had lost not one baby, but two. That day I learned another term in the infertility world that I never wanted to know - missed miscarriage. I wish I could erase that day from my memory, as well as so many other days from these past three years, but I can’t. They are a part of me.
This week I have watched so many women online speak out about their experiences during National Infertility Week, and as much as I don’t love the word infertility, I do think it’s important to acknowledge the 1 in 8 and 1 in 4 women who experience this heartache day in and day out, and also bring awareness to something that affects millions of women but is never talked about.
Infertility is not just one thing. It’s a combination of many things that so many women carry in silence.
It’s already being months or years into your fertility journey when you make that first visit to the clinic, hoping it’s a quick fix and you’ll get pregnant soon.
It’s that first blood draw of thousands, not realizing you will soon become a human pincushion.
It’s the awful HSG test. IYKYK
It’s never getting a concrete diagnosis, only a bunch of possible causes.
It’s celebrating wedding anniversaries and birthdays and mourning another year going by without a baby.
It’s the fear of time passing.
It’s years going by and feeling like you are stuck in place.
It’s smiling for the camera and taking a trip to escape your reality.
It’s getting surgery that leaves you with scars all over your stomach, but no solutions.
It’s trying to take back control by taking 20+ supplements, drinking bone broth, reading It Starts With the Egg, and doing acupuncture, among many, many other things.
It’s ending any exercise routines that may be defined as “too intense” and feeling like you are slowly losing yourself.
It’s the weekly therapy to talk about the resentment and pain of everyone around you getting pregnant.
It’s declining baby shower invites to protect your heart.
It’s the joy of finding out you’re pregnant with twins, only to find out at the end of your first trimester you had a missed miscarriage and lost both babies.
It’s having to educate yourself and others on what that means.
It’s devastation after devastation.
It’s the having to start over and the fear that comes with that.
It’s the IUI or IVF appointments and procedures done alone because of Covid.
It’s getting pregnant again and vowing to yourself you will do everything in your power to protect this pregnancy.
It’s the unavoidable anxiety that accompanies with pregnancy after loss and infertility.
It’s having a SCH and the trauma of that. IYKYK
It’s being in isolation and not telling anyone about your pregnancy.
It’s the fear of finally opening up.
It’s the panic attacks before every appointment.
It’s the armor and guard you put up to protect yourself from disappointment.
It’s declining offers to go to baby showers or weddings or any other outing with close friends and family members because the risk of Covid, after everything you’ve been through to get to this point, is not worth it.
It’s wearing a mask and hoping everyone around you does the same and acknowledges the magnitude of your fear.
It’s trying to celebrate a pregnancy while simultaneously being scared of the unknown.
It’s being resentful of others who are pregnant and have not had the same experiences as you and therefore cannot understand the trauma.
It’s feeling very, very alone and isolated, and simultaneously grateful and happy.
It’s knowing this miracle may not strike twice and holding on tightly to the blessing you have.
It’s the hard acceptance of this when others around you are on their second, third, or fourth child.
It’s knowing these experiences will follow you forever and doing what you can to support a community of warriors who far too often are suffering in silence.
It is so many more things. If you know someone who is going through infertility or loss, please reach out to them. They absolutely feel alone and just want to be heard and seen. You can’t “fix” their heartache, but you can certainly be there for them and sit with them in their painful silence.
I feel so incredibly blessed to be where I am right now, but I would be lying if I told you I didn’t wake up scared every single day. Pregnancy after infertility and loss is like holding your breath for nine months. It’s not making any plans for the baby until the very last minute. It’s feeling like the weight of the world rests on your shoulders and the stakes are so much higher than if this was a “regular” pregnancy. It’s still being resentful of other women who can frolic through their pregnancy with joy. It’s being so overprotective of your body that you are not willing to take any risks. It’s saying no and knowing that you are not being selfish, you are just willing to do whatever it takes to protect this child you have sacrificed and prayed so hard for.
It is so many things, and all of those things are what make an infertility warrior so badass. While it certainly is the worst club with the best members, I am proud to be in company with such incredible women.