Month: September 2018

I had to come home from work today. That felt defeating. I had been crying before I even left the house. Last night was hard too. Nothing about it felt positive. I did not get much sleep, so then this morning all my thoughts were so heavy. I am so frustrated about the process of trying to conceive. It is wearing and exhausting and frustrating. But it does not end there. Last night I caught myself thinking about how I would talk to my clients about needing to be out for a procedure. I was preparing for another D&C after a third miscarriage. I can’t even get pregnant, and all I can think about is how I would prepare for another miscarriage. My night was full of mood swings from anger to crying to numbness. The rollercoaster of emotions is the hardest part.

I guess it’s true…the body does keep the score. That’s what they teach you with counseling and trauma. The body remembers trauma even if the mind does not. Friday will be the day I found out last year that I was pregnant the first time. I don’t think people normally remember those dates. But a bunch of dates are all I have. So I remember. And it’s miserable. It is so hard to go through all these dates. I really hoped that I would be pregnant again by now. I had hoped I would have had a baby by now. But instead of a four month old, I am left alone. That’s how it feels. With a pregnancy, you aren’t alone, but that’s what I am. I try really hard to be okay with being alone. I started yoga again this week. I try to work on loving myself. It hard not to let this define me because in reality, right now, it is.

The appointments are so draining. I am preparing for another one, well two actually. Two Friday; one Monday; one the following week; two the following week; three the week after that – and that’s only if any of the appointments don’t schedule another appointment.

This week is World Childless Week. It’s a week dedicated to raising awareness for those living childless not by choice including those that have never been pregnant and those affected by not carrying to term or stillbirths. Several of the daily themes of the week hit close. Friday focuses on comments that hurt, and the phase this year is “You never know true love until you have a child.” Fuck that. It is insensitive to think that I don’t know what it’s like the love. I care for children everyday in the toughest situations. And you know what, I loved my babies more in six weeks than anyone. I have so much love for a child that does not even exist. It hurts because I love so much. If I did not have so much love for them, then it would not hurt. I would argue that you never know true love until you love for a child that never came. However, even that is unhelpful for others. Saturday’s theme is “We are Worthy.” I find it hard to find worth in this process. Everything is about preparing my life for a child that is not coming. I have stopped rearranging my life for the hope of having a child. I stopped that awhile ago. Most people get to be excited as they prepare for a child. I feel drained and like my life is no longer mine. I go through the motions with no more hope. People make comments about hopes for my baby. That hurts. I wish I could give you that. I want that too. I have been doing my best to define myself and my own worth, but everything also benefits a future child.

I am feeling a little better today after I came home for awhile to cry and then took the afternoon off. I hate that I had to do that. I wish I could handle my life. I try to tell myself that I am doing the best I can. I try to tell myself that I can’t do it all on my own. I need doctors to help regulate my thyroid, which influences my mood. I try to tell myself that foods can influence my mood. But it is all so frustrating.

One last jumble of thoughts: it is insensitive to place the blame on an infertile person. Saying that they are too stressed or need to give it to God before they are able to have children is extremely rude, insensitive, and ignorant. You would not tell a cancer patient’s family that they died because they did not have enough faith in God. Infertility is a medical condition. And people want to change that. Please don’t be that person to make ignorant comments. Those comments hurt.

It’s been hard to write. It feels overwhelming. I wanted so much for this blog to be happy. I had hoped that I would be able to quickly find the rainbow after the storm. But that’s not my story. Everything is still hard. Life is still stormy. It feels as though life will never get better most days.

I have found out a lot of information. I wish answers help with the blame and helped me sustain a pregnancy. But it hasn’t get. I went on a very difficult and long search for answers after the second loss.

My OB ran a loss panel searching for lots of different kinds of common problems for loss. The only thing that came back was heterozygous for MTHFR A1298C. I did a ton of research. I was consumed and obsessed. My OB said that mutation was not a concern. I saw a hematologist. She said there were no hematology concerns. I asked my primary care physician to run some tests. She ran some of them but said everything looked fine. I knew there had to be more.

Based on the information from MTHFR, I decided to go gluten and dairy free at the end of April. I had made another appointment with another physician that I hoped would run more tests, but I couldn’t wait the nearly two months until the appointment. I couldn’t try to get pregnant without some kind of change. The thought of miscarrying for the rest of my life was too much.

Something unexpected happened. I felt a lot better. And very quickly! Over the next two months, I learned a lot about food, and I slowly made more changes to my diet. Some of my symptoms started coming back, but I still felt immensely better than I had in years.

Fast forward to my appointment and the next month when I got test results – I have hashimoto’s disease. It’s an autoimmune disease that affects the thyroid. At first I was so excited to find out what was going on in my body. I had answers! And not only for my miscarriages, but also for the numerous health conditions I’ve had over the past ten years. But then it started to set in that I had a chronic illness. And unfortunately it became clear that even the doctor who had diagnosed me was not well qualified to treat me.

I have since found that I can slow the progression of the disease and potentially reverse it through many lifestyle changes. This journey to health has a lot of meaning for me. Not only do I want desperately to be able to have a living child, but I cannot just sit back and wait for my body to destroy me when I have the power to have change in my life.

I am now on the autoimmune protocol. It’s extremely restrictive in diet adds a lot of stress reducing activities, appropriate sleep encouragement, and exercise. Everything about the disease is debated. But I hope to find what works for me.

As the months drag on, it sets in more and more how far I have come from having a living child. I feel like I never stop grieving because there is so much to grieve.

I grieve for the children I have lost. I grieve for the life I wish I had. I grieve for the four month old baby I was suppose to have. I grieve for the dates coming up soon where I will have gotten to a year after finding out about the first lost. I grieve for the due date coming up of my second loss.

I grieve for the autoimmune disease I am faced with. I grieve for how difficult it is just to remain healthy. I grieve for how challenging my life has become. I grieve for how I have had to redefine my life to include enjoyment and socialization without food. I grieve for the lack of support without knowledgeable doctors. I grieve for the lost time as I research everyday and go to multiple appointments a week.

I grieve for my diagnosis of infertility. I grieve for this the hardest right now. It has set in hard. And it’s miserable. I try to fathom my life without children. I try to decide what interventions I could handle. I try to think about if we could handle other options to create a family. There are no good options. It’s all miserable. It’s all consuming.

But I have to keep fighting. Even when I am at my slowest. I don’t feel like I have a choice. I go to therapy. I started acupuncture. I meditate daily. I try to do yoga. I take baths several times a week. I have been painting my nails more.

I have good days and bad days. I try to focus on my accomplishments. I fight. And it’s so so hard. And I keep fighting. So here’s to fighting; to the misery every single day; to the successes with the little progress; and to the story that continues no matter what happens.