Recovery: day 14

I'm lucky in that my fertility clinic is amazing in so many ways. It's clear that Dr. D cares very much. As does her staff. I get calls to make sure I'm healing and bad news (and good) never comes from a stranger. I'm also lucky that I usually don't have to wait for test results or call backs. I don't have to fight to be heard. I have access to my RE through direct email and her personal cell phone. My clinic is open on Saturdays and Sundays. I don't fit to their schedule, they fit to mine. I feel that these people are in this fight with me. They are just as invested. Not from a numbers perspective, but from their hearts.

A few days after my D&C my phone rang. I was expecting it; I'd been looking for that restricted call on my caller ID for days. The only bad thing about not having to wait, is that this kind of news rips open wounds that are still trying to heal. But I suppose, this happens even when you have to wait. There is no amount of good in hearing bad news.

I already knew that it this was going to be a chromosomal issue. The large yolk sac said so. What I didn't know was what caused it. But this time it was me. It was my egg. An extra chromosome 22 and totally incompatible with life. It was a very conclusive answer. I'm starting to understand what it feels like when the fault lies squarely on your own shoulders. Our infertility issues never had an answer. Unexplained infertility doesn't lay blame. Our last loss was due to a bad sperm but I never, for a second, was angry with Mike. It was just bad luck. And though consciously I know this is how I should look at it this time around, it feels very different. My baby was defective because of me. It didn't survive because of me.

The test results brought other news too. News that I knew would hurt regardless of the answer. Finding out the sex of a baby at only 8 weeks in utero is never good. It's information you should only receive during an ultrasound at 18 weeks, with smiles and chatters of prom nights or sports games. Anything earlier means something went very, very wrong. Dr. D didn't offer this information when she called, but I asked for it. There was a pause, I closed my eyes, it stung like hell. It was male. We've now had one boy, one girl, and one little unknown soldier. We've achieved, and lost, everything.

The necklace I purchased after my last loss brought me quite a bit of healing. It is something tangible that allows me to remember. Something that doesn't get filed away in a memory box or brushed under the rug because it's too hard to talk about it. I wear it constantly and often find myself holding it when I need strength. It's the perfect symbol of my little girl. I needed to do the same for this one. Something a bit different but that honors this last pregnancy just the same. Something to remember my little boy. It's ironic that such tiny symbols represent the single biggest events of my entire life.

PICTURE REMOVED

I'm trying to heal. And I am. With each day- I am healing little by little. But damn am I tired.

Recovery: day 22

Last night I spoke to a friend of mine, the same one I talked about in this post. We don't communicate often, but she sent me an email the other day to see how things were going. Because she has endured 7 failed IVF cycles and 6 unsuccessful pregnancies, I told her about my miscarriage. She and her husband decided to stop trying a few years ago and live without children. However, as she said, that decision doesn't automatically eliminate the sting of each new pregnancy announcement or make not having a baby in her arms any less painful. It doesn't mean she's able to fill that void with something else. It was a conversation that was not without tears, but offered some healing.

From where she stands now, she has a lot of insight into her fertility journey. She's careful with what she says because she knows this process is my own and doesn't want to influence that. But what she did say, made so much sense. She listened compassionately, she validated my feelings, and more than anything, she understood.

One of the things we talked about was my struggle with the ultra sound images that keep me awake at night. How badly they hurt and how I feel like all the monitoring and watching my baby grow has made healing so much harder. She paused and confirmed that is how she had felt each time she miscarried too. But then went on to say that she feels differently about it now. That those images are the only things that she has to hang on to. They are the only tangible reminders of the babies she loved so much. And instead of trying to not remember, she embraces each pregnancy that she had. Because even though they were fleeting, those were her children.

I sat with this all night.

And my friend is right. I'm glad I have those images to return to. Whether they be the ones burned into my memory or the ones I have tucked into my desk drawer. It's true they cause me pain now, but they are the only things that I have. And after all of this, I am thankful for my baby. She taught me what it feels like to be pregnant. She showed me what it was to love someone I'd never even met. And that, yes, I want to continue fight to be a mother. She was worth the pain I'm feeling. Even if she can't be here with me now.

I also took the advice that many of you left me- that I find a way to honor this pregnancy. Something, in addition to the photos, to hold on to. I spent a lot of time thinking about this and finally settled on a necklace. It wasn't easy to find, but when I did- I immediately felt it. It's an egg shaped piece of sea glass wrapped in a tangle of wire. With her zodiac sign being Pisces, it reminds me of the ocean, the waters that I live by, and where the fish swim. It's unique, and beautiful, and will be a constant reminder of the little one I never got to hold in my arms, but that will forever be in my heart.

PICTURE REMOVED

I am still raw. I still hurt every day. But I'm mending. And maybe gaining a little perspective along the way.