I am a cliche. Or at least I was for a few weeks.

I am your neighbor’s cousin’s wife who magically got pregnant after years of infertility treatments and an adoption.

I am also now the woman who has suffered four, first trimester losses. I am the woman who is so numb by previous experiences that I didn’t feel much other than shock when I saw those two lines staring back at me on the pregnancy test. I am the woman who isn’t surprised that her body failed her again. It fails time and time again, so why would I ever believe that this pregnancy would turn out any differently?

I did let myself believe for a fleeting moment that I would make my daughter a big sister. She loves being around other children so much and I wanted this for her. I wanted it so badly. However, at the same time, I worried about how she would feel if this baby was actually born. Would this harm our special bond and relationship in some way? Would she see herself as less important because she’s not biologically mine? Would she ever truly believe the fact that she was the one who saved me or would this sibling of hers overshadow this?

I guess we’ll never find out the answer to these questions, because at right around 6 weeks, I started to miscarry again.

About 2 and a half weeks ago, I found out I was pregnant. No, we weren’t trying. No, we weren’t preventing. We jumped off the TTC rollercoaster after our last failed FET back in September 2013 and never looked back. It’s been over a year and a half since we stopped trying. My cycles have been weird ever since. They have been typically averaging 21 days accompanied by 10-ish days of bleeding. The window to even think about trying to get pregnant was always small, but somehow we did without even knowing it.

I took a pregnancy test here at home for the hell of it a few weeks ago when I was feeling more off than I usually do. I walked away for a few moments and when I came back I was in for the surprise of my life. A not so faint positive test was staring back at me. I didn’t really believe it, so I hopped in the car to pick up another box of tests. I took another test and up popped another positive. I called my primary care office and requested a beta. I was panicking and thinking about previous pregnancies. After showing up at the lab way too early, losing my shit in my PCM’s office in front of at least 10 other people, and explaining essentially my whole medical history to a nurse, I finally got my blood drawn. A few hours later, the nurse called and said, “Congratulations. You’re pregnant.”

My PCM’s nurse passed along all of my information to the OB/GYN clinic. Betas rose nicely over the next few days and my progesterone levels were amazing. I started to think that things might be ok. We scheduled my confirmation ultrasound for April 30 – the day after my daughter’s adoption finalization ceremony. This week was supposed to be an amazing and happy week. Supposed to be.

On Saturday, I started spotting. I figured it was due to the progesterone inserts that I immediately started taking nightly. A little bit of pink and then brown. I thought to myself, “That’s normal. Things are probably alright.” On Sunday, there was more spotting. Red spotting. I started to freak out. Red typically isn’t good news. On Monday, there was more red and it wasn’t really spotting anymore. I called the OB/GYN’s office as soon as they opened and they made an appointment for me at 10:00 that day.

I won’t go into the details of the actual appointment other than to say that it didn’t go well. I’m not even really sure how this doctor can call herself an OB with some of the questions I was asked and the lack of information given about what to expect. I was sent back down to the lab for another beta. I cried so hard in that chair while the compassionate man drew my blood. I picked up my daughter from a friend’s house and went home to wait. I found out that my beta rose from the previous Monday; however, it wasn’t an appropriate rise. I knew in that minute that this was over.

After celebrating my daughter’s long awaited finalization (another post for another time), I headed to the lab for another beta. I received a call in the late afternoon to let me know that my levels dropped from 761 to 361 in just 48 hours. I swear my body knew I was receiving bad news, because I started passing clots shortly after that phone call.

Right now, I’m angry. I’m angry at my body. I’m angry that we have no answers for why my body can’t do what it’s supposed to do. I’m angry that my family might never expand again. Up until the moment that pregnancy test told me I was pregnant, I was ok that I would never experience pregnancy again. I had come to terms with the fact that I would never bring a biological child into this world. I love my daughter more than most people will ever know and she was enough for me. This pregnancy has once again left me angry, confused, and lost.

I hope the physical part is over quickly, so I can begin to heal mentally and emotionally. I’m so thankful to have my daughter in my life because I know that she’s never going away. She’ll always be there when momma needs hugs or kisses and she will help me heal. I just hate that my 14 month old had to be the one to wipe away the tears from my face when I realized that this just wasn’t meant to be.


9 thoughts on “Cliche

  1. Fox

    Mere words cannot convey how monumentally sorry I am for your loss. Be angry. Be sad. Be whatever you need to be and know we are here for you.

  2. createdfamily

    I am so sorry for your loss L. This is so awful. I wish you had been the shiny unicorn cliche, not the “close but not quite” cliche. I know how it is to be the latter and it is a lonely club.


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