At 38, my husband and I have been on the rollercoaster ride of fertility for many years now. Our son was born after 4 long years of painful and emotionally draining fertility treatment. Just after his first birthday in March of this year, we discovered I was pregnant. It was a total shock but we were very excited and pleased. Sadly this pregnancy was not to be and I recently miscarried. For several years now, I have wanted to share our story with others, as I am only too aware of the pain and heartache this taboo subject provokes for many. As couples sit and suffer in silence, I want to reach out to them, as others have perhaps unknowingly done to us, by sharing the latest part of our story.
The miracle that was not to be…
We had not been expecting it. Indeed, we had both grown to accept that our little boy would be our only child. Life was good and I was finally starting to feel myself again after the traumatic birth. I felt myself letting go and then destiny dealt us a strange card.
On 31st March, after months of waiting, I finally had the confirmation that I was being made redundant. A sense of liberation and relief overwhelmed me. I had been unhappy and unfulfilled in this job for some time now. A new chapter was beginning. The next day, April Fool’s day, we found out to our shock and disbelief that I was pregnant. The biggest surprise and the happiest of news.
In total disbelief, we went through the initial stages of check ups, blood tests etc. not quite knowing how to feel. Then as the weeks passed and we shared the news with members of our immediate family, we started to believe that this unexpected miracle could actually be ours and that we were again going to be blessed with a baby. Would he, could he, be as perfect, beautiful, smiley and full of life as our darling little boy? I began to wonder would I be able to love this new baby as much as I love my boy.
As the weeks passed, we did not talk as much about the pregnancy or act the same way we had done before the birth of our longed for son. We were both, however, without a doubt thrilled and also somewhat anxious of what lay ahead. Would we manage with 2 children under 2? Would we need to change flats? I would be unemployed and it would be difficult to look for a new job whilst pregnant. My mind was awash with questions and uncertainties, but the sensation and thought of having a little person growing inside of me again, something I thought totally impossible, gave me a sense of calm and total wellbeing.
As the days lead up to my second check up and my body felt no different, I began to wake up in the middle of the night wet with sweat and disturbed without really knowing why. Then the verdict was announced; the pregnancy had stopped, the embryo was not viable and nature had stepped in and the little miracle that we had only just started to believe in was no more. Four weeks on cloud nine and now a feeling of total emptiness and the desire to rid my body of what remained of this impossible miracle.
I knew very little about miscarriages or even that for many, medication was provided to provoke them. This is what happened in our case. A dark period to live through both physically and emotionally. The physical side is now passing, but I am at a loss to manage the emotional side. On the one hand, I feel like I have already seen and been through so much on the rollercoaster ride that is fertility, but this is one battle I did not foresee and for which I feel totally unarmed.
I have found an amazing amount of strength through the love I have for our little boy. He seems even more special to us both, although it seemed that he was already a gift every day, this experience is the best reminder ever of how precious he is. I have cried little and do not feel quite ready to totally let go, as if I am unsure of what will happen if I do. Hours will go by and I will feel light, happy, fulfilled and then all of a sudden a wave of something, grief I suppose, engulfs me. It might be a song I hear on the radio, walking past a pregnant lady in the street or a hug from a friend that reminds me and I feel shattered. The best medicine I have found is the innocent laughter of my son that blocks any sudden feelings of sadness. His joie-de-vivre and infectious laughter have been all the more present this last week and I am so grateful for it.
As much as I want this dark period to pass by quickly and for life to return to normal, I am trying to tell myself that I, we, must live this experience as we have done all others and that it is important to work through this together. When we come out the other side, whenever that will be, I know that we will be stronger still and that if we remain a family of three, we are not a family with “just” one child, we are a family, a little, perfect, special family and that we appreciate each other and are eternally grateful that the word family is part of our vocabulary.