Here I am again, staring at a blank page. I’m not really sure how to even begin because that’s exactly how I feel; BLANK. On the morning of August 2, one year and two days after my last positive pregnancy test, I finally was staring down on two little pink lines. This time was different than the last three times I received a positive result. After two losses and months and months of negative tests, those two little pink lines instilled a great fear in me. I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel a tad bit of hope, but mostly I was terrified. What if I lose this one too? Will Annie ever really get to be a big sister? I think I feared most because after so long, there was finally some hope that she would, and I wasn’t sure how I’d survive if that hope was yet again, as it has been every time, crushed.
Why can’t I be one of those women who pees on a stick, calls her husband to share the news, and goes on in excitement not even thinking that there could be anything other than a baby at the end of nine months? I would love to be that girl. I never will. Whether or not I am ever given the great gift of becoming a mother for a second, or hopefully fourth or fifth, time, I will never get to face a pregnancy without fear.
It’s been a very, very difficult year for my little family of three. Adjusting to a move from abroad. Starting that year with the loss of a pregnancy. Endless fertility appointments and treatments. Our basement flooding three times. I have distanced myself from friends. I have let myself become bitter in this endless obstacle course to fulfill my dreams of another child. I have lost my faith, regained it, and lost it again. I have felt broken and helpless and at fault. The obstacles and loneliness of infertility are impossible to describe. It weathers a marriage. It controls your life. It crushes dreams. Friends stop calling because they don’t know what to say and are probably tired of hearing the same sad news.
This weekend I lost this pregnancy. After my first miscarriage, I went into a state of complete sadness. After my second, a state of anger. Now, probably because I was so scared this would happen, all I feel is numbness. I feel like I am drowning in hopelessness.
When we found out I was pregnant, all I could do was pray that we were starting this year out differently than the last. A year ago I was experiencing this very same thing. I have no words to describe my pain. All I know is that I don’t want this year to be like our last. I need to find a way to move forward without fear, without bitterness, with hope.
Infertility has brought so much sadness and negativity into my life, but it has also taught me so much and brought along some positive things too. I never for one second take Annie for granted. She is my greatest gift and my miracle. Having such a hard time giving her a sibling, has made me more grateful than ever that she made it here. I squeeze her harder and treasure every second knowing I might not get to do this again. When you lose something, it makes you appreciate the things you have that much more. A friend once said to me as I was crying to her over the phone about how hard the infertility has been, “I am so worried about you, and I am so worried that Annie has to see you so sad all the time.” This is something no one in my life should ever worry about. My daughter brings so much joy, it would be impossible to shed a tear in front of her. When I am with her the sadness disappears. I sometimes get sad playing with her or watching her play and picturing her playing with her siblings I can’t seem to get here for her, but that’s about it. Annie has been my greatest rock, she keeps me going.
My experiences with infertility have deepened my friendships. When you share hardships with someone, it is amazing the support that is provided. The understanding that nothing can be said, but sometimes a silent moment on the phone can mean so much. When overcome by loneliness, these friends let you know you are not alone. I wish my friends and my sister that have experienced this, and some of them for so much longer than myself, didn’t have to. I wish I could wish every single one of their losses and struggles away. But knowing that I am not alone and that I have someone to talk to who really understands, gets me through the hardest times and helps me to move forward. I am forever indebted to their support and love and deep understanding.
Though infertility has brought great challenges to my marriage, it has also brought me closer to my husband. Mike can attest that over the years there have been plenty of times that our infertility has caused great distance between us. But it also always brings us back, and each time it brings us closer than before. We share everything. And sharing heartache and devastation and hopelessness builds unbreakable bonds. We are able to move forward by also sharing dreams and hope and the joy of Annie. We hold each other up and give each other the strength to keep going. Michael, I love you so much, I don’t know what I would do without you.
My goals this year will be different than the last, and I hope this helps to bring a better year and future. My number one goal last year was to get pregnant, to give Annie a sibling. Our due date would’ve been April 8, 2015, one week after Annie’s 4th birthday. I can’t focus on what’s not happening and what I have no control over. I will survive and move forward focusing on all the gifts that are already here, and there are so many.
Thank you for reading, thank you for your support, and, as always, accepting all prayers.