Today marks three months.
Three months since I felt that twinge of pain on my left side and my doctor immediately ended the exam.
Three months since we finally gave in to what we had known was going to be the truth of our situation.
Three months since my husband scooped me up off our bedroom floor and put me on the couch, so the EMTs did not have to drag their equipment, and me, all the way through the house.
Three months since we lost our baby.
Some days it feels like it has been an eternity. Other days, it’s hard to believe it has already been that long. It was a Wednesday, just like today, and we had been stretched between hope and reality for 12 days. Hope that this was just a scare and things would turn around – that we were just off to a rocky start. Reality that my symptoms were not healthy signs, and every test that had been run was confirming that. We had gone for another check-up with my obstetrician that day, after watching my hCG levels rise and fall in disappointing and concerning increments. Until that day, we thought my body was just hanging onto this pregnancy for dear life, explaining the slowly declining hCG levels. But for the first time, our doctor did not tell us not to stress, not to hold out hope. He was always honest and realistic, but cautious and optimistic.
This time, he looked at us and said that we were looking at an ectopic pregnancy, how it was not, and would never be, a viable pregnancy, and we would need to talk about the process of ending it in order to keep me safe and give me a chance at a healthy pregnancy in the future. He looked at us with sad eyes, comforted us, and told me that I was in no way responsible, nor could I have done anything to cause a better outcome. It was not my fault. And quicker than it started, the bottom fell out of our hope and we were confronted with a fear worse than we had anticipated.
It was as if my body heard our doctor say he would take care of me, that we had a safe way to handle this, and good ole body decided to be the hero; because that night, while Bryan was taking the trash out, my tube ruptured and my body went into shock. I was bleeding internally, and my body was doing everything it could to survive. The only thing I could do was lay on the cold tile floor of our bedroom and pray to God that Bryan did not decide to start a project in the garage, where he couldn’t hear me crying for him to help me. I wasn’t there long when Bryan came in a found me. He scooped me up and put me on the couch, and called 911.
I underwent emergency surgery, which resulted in the removal of my left fallopian tube and the discovery of advanced stage endometriosis, likely the cause of my ectopic pregnancy. The following weeks, bringing us to today, would continue to uncover more bad news in the form of yet another diagnosis – infertility. We need advanced reproductive technology in the form of in vitro fertilization to have a baby. Infertility. A dirty, isolating word. Painful, time-consuming, and insanely expensive. But this is my only option, aside from a miracle, to get pregnant again and have a baby. To become a “real mom,” and end our waiting game.
So today marks three months and 12 days that I have been trying to keep myself together; to put on a happy face and will myself to accept the road we have to travel, and be grateful for the option. It’s been three months of missing the baby we never got to hold and not knowing how to mourn them. Three months of feeling broken and hiding from the world because of it.
This is where my little pet project of a blog enters the scene. My hope is to share my experiences, build a community of warrior women (and men!) who have traveled this lonely road, and make the journey not-so-lonely for all of us. When rolling this idea around in my head, I reached out to a friend who I look up to for several reasons – one of which is her uncanny ability to use words to connect and heal. When I pitched my idea to her, she said this:
That’s really the crux of the human condition, isn’t it? We just want to feel like we’re not alone in what we’re going through. I’d say that for you starting a blog, the worst case scenario is that you find a productive, creative element to chronicle your journey and the best case scenario is that you open the door for women across the globe to find comfort and solace in the fact that they are not alone.
Thank you, sweet friend, for the courage to do this.
Infertility is not a dirty word. It should not be isolating. And so I invite you all to walk with us, support us, cry with us, love us, pray for us, and send us words of wisdom if you have them.