I really don’t like going to the doctor. Not for the usual reasons, though.
There’s this one line that gets me every time.
I fill out my name, my personal info… life is good and then I hit the ‘Number of pregnancies’ followed by ‘Number of Live Births’. My numbers are 10 and 3. The math isn’t in my favor, I know. It is a reminder each time I fill out a medical form of the lives I have lost. Hubs can’t claim that. He was always sad, more like bummed, but he never feels a loss quite like I do. It’s his loss after he connects, but before that first kick he feels, I am connected.
Besides, no form asks a man to disclose this loss, it is the woman’s burden.
According to the March of Dimes, 15-25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. The most common thing shown on social media is 1 in 4 women experience miscarriage. Just among a sampling of my closest friends, I’d suggest that number could be low, considering how many women I personally know who have experienced this type of loss.
With each loss came the questions. WHY? HOW DO I KEEP GOING? WILL THIS HAPPEN AGAIN?
I mourned each loss and then with each new positive test I’d doubt. I would be afraid to connect.
It’s funny. We had gone so long since the last positive pregnancy test that when C came, I didn’t believe it. Neither did Hubs. Before I would allow the doctor to draw blood for my panels or do anything I HAD to see another positive test. So, at 2 in the afternoon, I got another positive and they ran my panels. Before I left, I was given a progesterone shot as a booster just in case my low progesterone was in some way contributing to my miscarriages.
I ended up having twice a week Progesterone injections until I was 30 weeks. It was unpleasant. Those needles were long and so very worth it.
I used to wish there was some magical pill that made the pain of miscarriage go away. I don’t anymore. I realize that those losses are carried with me, they help me to be the woman I am. I celebrate life, no matter how brief it comes to me.
We have talked about having another baby. C is way younger than her older brother and sister. I want her to have a sibling close enough in age to share her childhood with.
Three years ago, I told Hubs I was done. No more trying. No more talking about babies. He needed to let it go. He needed to be okay with two. My heart couldn’t handle another loss. I remember crying, begging God to make him understand, to make him forget about the family we dreamed of…
The night before my positive pregnancy test with C, we were cuddled on the bed. We were talking about the twists and turns of life. That night, Hubs told me that if all we ever had was our two kids, he was content. We had been doubly blessed.
Then, I woke up to find out he was wrong. We had been three times blessed.
Miscarriage is tough. I’m not sure the words exist as you lose your child, questioning your worth because your body was actively failing you. You don’t know where to find comfort, because that word is foreign. There is no comfort for you in that moment.
Time provides that. I pray for women suffering through this type of loss. I pray everyday. In those moments, I felt alone. But I wasn’t. In those moments, I know now that God was there.
This is my experience. Others may have had other experiences. Pray for these childless mothers.