The blog post was started on 5/5/2011 but never posted. I was digging around this old blog in hopes of finding something I posted about my Marfans (syndrome) and came across this. It's Good Friday. It's a painful day because two years in a row I found out I had lost my babies on Good Friday. Not a good day for me (but then again, it wasn't a "good" day for Jesus either). Below is the post that I wrote almost 6 years ago, when I was still mourning the fact that I'd never be a mom. After the original blog post I'll add some thoughts I've recently had about this same topic - surviving five miscarriages.
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(I just realized it's been two months since I last blogged. I guess it's because I'm used to sharing what's on my mind and heart with those who read my blog. When I found out we were pregnant (about two months ago) I didn't want to share that part of my life and so I guess I stopped blogging. Really, when you're pregnant and doing everything possible to stay pregnant, it's really all that's going on in your life. I'm not pregnant anymore and so I'm back to sharing my heart. But first I need to get this topic that won't leave my mind out of the way.)
I got pregnant the first time with my previous husband a little over 10 years ago. Around 10 weeks I went in for the first ultrasound and there was no heartbeat and the baby was underdeveloped. I waited two weeks to have the miscarriage and nearly went out of my mind waiting. I ended up having a D&C and went into a depression for about 6 months. We weren't trying to get pregnant and I was able to finish my degree because I lost the baby, but I mourned the loss of that baby for years.
Jason and I started trying to get pregnant shortly after we got married. (I was in my upper 30's so time was not on our side.) After two years of nothing, last year we got pregnant three times in six months. The first time we lost the baby 4 days after we got a positive test (January 2010). The second time we found out in February that we were pregnant again and on Good Friday (early April) we had an ultrasound and found out we had a blighted ovum. (That's a placenta with no baby.) In May we found out we were pregnant again (accidentally this time). In late June we were told that we had lost the pregnancy and this time it was twins. One was a blighted ovum and the other one was undeveloped. (Twins!)
After the January miscarriage I tested positive for anti-phosolipids syndrome. (Google it if you're interested.) What this means is that I had to have twice-daily injections of heparin. NOT fun. I also had to have blood tests every 2-3 days to check my progesterone and hcg levels. (The hcg levels should double every 2-3 days. If not, it's a good sign you'll miscarry.) So with each pregnancy the shots and blood test would start. I felt like a pin cushion.
After the June miscarriage we decided to try losing weight in hopes of increasing our chances of having a full term pregnancy. We started Medifast in July and by November Jason had lost 45 pounds and I had lost 42. And then we started trying to get pregnant again.
This time we found out we were pregnant in March and at six weeks we got to see a heartbeat. I really got my hopes up this time. However, two weeks later we went in for another ultrasound and there was no heartbeat. In fact, my doctor had a difficult time finding the baby. To say we were heartbroken and disappointed is an understatement. As we were driving home the definition of insanity came to mind - doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. As sad as we were, neither of us were that surprised. From our previous experiences last year we had always been preparing ourselves for the worst. And we got the worst.
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I guess I stopped because I wasn't sure what else to say. Six years later I'm still not sure how I'd end that blog post. I know now that I doubt I would have become a teacher if I had become a mom. Part of my healing was looking to the future instead of the past and seeking a new outcome for my life. It took some time but God slowly gave me a new dream - being a teacher. I always said that I had a lot of love to give kids and a lot of kids out there need love and I knew God would bring those kids to me. I had NO idea at the time that it would be around 100 every year. What a huge honor and responsibility - and I love it.
I'll be honest though, I still cry over my unborn babies. I didn't name them. They're more known to me by the year and month I was pregnant with them. So many of my other friends have names for their lost babies, but I guess after losing 6 babies, it's just too much. I know that I'll have 6 little ones to meet in heaven and they'll let me know their names then.
I call myself a non-mom and avoid Mother's day like the plague. (This year some other non-moms and I are renting a cabin in Hocking Hills to get away and hopefully not have strangers wish us a happy mother's day.) Over and over I tell people I'm not a mom. But for a few months I was. For a few months I gave myself injections to try to stay pregnant. My belly was bruised and I dreaded those twice daily shots. A couple times I was traveling and had to do the injections in the bathroom of a strange airport or an office in another city. When I remember those times, they're reminders that I was a mom, and that I'll get to be that mom I dreamed of someday, but probably not on this earth.
Recently I was digging through my bathroom closet trying to find some mousse or other hair product. There's a shelf above my head where I put larger items and my hand ran across a box. When I brought it down it was a box of alcohol wipes. I wasn't even thinking and opened it to see how many were in there and there was a heparin syringe on top. All the tears came back. The frustration of losing babies, of giving myself the shots that didn't make a difference, of having to correct people and tell them I'm not a mom, of not getting the life I dreamed of when so many others do.
Surviving miscarriages is hard. It takes therapy. It takes understand family and friends (thank you!!!). It takes strength and courage that God gave me because I didn't have it. It takes an outlet, mine was music - David Crowder Band's Church Music CD got me through. It takes having the courage to let go of one dream and embrace another.
I'm sharing my experience in hopes that someone else finds encouragement after a broken dream. And also so that my friends understand why Mother's Day is difficult for me, and why I stay away from posts that act like they'd be nothing if they weren't parents. Or anything else that insinuates that my life is empty, lonely, or meaningless because I don't have children. (Most don't actually say this, they just say the opposite which implies it.)
For my other non-mom friends, please know that you're not less-than because you don't have little ones. You're not any less of a woman, any less beautiful, any less designed to have an amazing purpose in this world. And if you're married, your marriage isn't meaningless because you don't/can't have kids. God designed each of us beautifully, with different purposes, and he wants us each to have a full life (an ABUNDANT life) regardless if we have kids or not.
You're so loved, never forget it for a moment.
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