I think I am finally ready to write about the middle and end of 2022. This is a continuation of my last blog which was so long ago but still also just happened in my brain and in my heart. Somehow miraculously at age 41, just before my 42nd birthday, after three miscarriages, one stillbirth, many rounds of fertility treatments done by myself as a single woman that never even got one 5 day embryo, after years of being single and alone, after finally meeting and falling in love with the best man for me, after all that I naturally got pregnant. And let me tell you I had given up on that dream almost 2 years years earlier on my 40th birthday after having many frank talks with my fertility specialist who told me they could keep taking my tens of thousands of dollars a pop, but it would never work out for me. I couldn’t and wouldn’t ever carry anymore children and I would never have a living one of my own. And as heartbreaking as that was, and it was, it was also freeing in some weird sort of way. I could step off the rollercoaster of peeing on sticks 24/7 that I’d been on for years. I could step off the stabbing myself daily with upwards of ten shots a day. I could step off the self hate every fucking time the next test was negative, or the next call was the embryos didn’t develop, or we only got six eggs that time. I could remove myself from the cycle of hope and heartbreak that came around monthly for years and I could live with Shaylyn being my only baby to even ever make it to birth, even though it wasn’t the outcome we wanted or hoped for, I did get my miracle baby. She just couldn’t stay with me and that was my one saving grace. That even though I did lose Shaylyn and will grieve her forever, I also had her all to myself for 8.5 months. I was the only one who ever got to have her alive and that is just one of the million gifts Shay has given her mama. So I got off the train. My mental health was probably the best it had ever been since Shaylyn died. I got to spend a ton of time being the best auntie to my other babies. I was able to leave my house and do projects and spend time with people who really brought me so much joy. I met my boyfriend who treats me like a queen and is just so nice to me, which I’ve basically never experienced. That was it’s own struggle after years of abusive relationships. It’s hard to trust someone after you’ve watched people turn into the worst versions of humanity. On our first date he took me for a boat ride and it happened to be international pregnancy and infant loss awareness day, October 15. And I had told myself if I ever dated again I was going to be my whole self. I wasn’t going to hide my losses or my struggles and I asked if I could bring my little tin candle and light it. And he fucking said I could, no questions asked. He didn’t ask me why I would want to light a candle on a boat at 7pm exactly. And once I had it lit he didn’t ask until I was almost ready to blow it out an hour later. And when I told him about the international wave of light that bereaved parents do every year he just accepted it, which was such an odd liberating feeling for me because as any bereaved parent will tell you, people say stupid shit to us all the time and I was kinda just waiting for that to happen, but it never did. I have never been in a relationship where someone just accepts you for who you are and where you are in your life. So we started dating and it was great. Everyone in both of our lives were so excited and loved us together. Fast forward to May 2022 and I started throwing up and being absolutely unendingly nauseated 24/7. I had just taken a round of super crazy antibiotics because I was being scheduled for a sinus surgery so at first I just thought these pills really screwed up my stomach, because never in a million years would I ever think oh I just naturally got pregnant 1.5 years after many many rounds of medical intervention that couldn’t produce a single healthy embryo. But then my period didn’t come and I don’t know how to explain what is considered such a miracle can also be the most heartbreaking realization. Because I had given up that dream, albeit forced given up because my body just wouldn’t produce children, I had changed my whole life again to that of a childless woman who had come to some type of peace with that existence. But the two bright as fuck lines on the first stick I had peed on in years was staring me directly in the face and I collapsed on my bathroom floor in tears. It’s so hard to explain to an outsider how something can be the legit biggest miracle to ever happen while simultaneously being the biggest nightmare you’ve ever imagined at the same time. So I called my MFM that had delivered Shaylyn, the same one who had found my clotting disorder, the same one that gave me my blood thinners for my fertility treatments, the same one I had cried to and with so many times and she treated me with the same compassion and care she has always given me. She let me come early for blood tests, they usually make you wait for several weeks, but she knew my mental health was now in the trash can. I did two blood draws two days apart and the numbers rose appropriately, which in my first two miscarriages that did not happen, those were two very early miscarriages. That had only ever happened with Shaylyn. I told her I did not want to do the endless blood draws for weeks on end. I just wanted to let things play out how they would until I was far enough along to get my blood thinners. They usually won’t give them until after the first trimester because of the risk of excessive bleeding during miscarriage. But she said she would do seven weeks. Because she is amazing and she knew I wouldn’t make it mentally. I also told her if this doesn’t work out will you please remove my tubes. I can’t do this again, I can’t do the two lines and I can’t do the pregnancy thing and I can’t do the loss. I was stuck in this limbo hoping against hope that this would last but also scared shitless in so many ways. I know no number of weeks guarantees a take home baby. I know my odds are so much worse than normal. So I went home to wait and every day I just waited for the gush of blood. I was on edge every single second, every twinge of anything could set my anxiety spiraling, but that never happened. The gush never happened and I made it to the seven week appt and I can’t tell you the anxiety of that appt. Waiting to see if there would be a heartbeat. I prepared myself for the “I’m sorry there is no heartbeat” line that I’d heard so many times once again, but I didn’t prepare myself for the alternative. I saw the thumping immediately. I’ve had so many ultrasounds I’m prob an expert in reading them at this point, and I just broke down. My poor boyfriend. He had no idea what was going on, he’d never seen an ultrasound before, he had no clue what to expect. He had never gotten anyone pregnant before and he also didn’t think he could have kids. So here we are 41 almost 42 and 43 years old looking at a thumping heart on a monitor. He was also very emotionally overwhelmed and had no idea what to do with me, which I will admit neither did I. I got my blood thinners and started that journey of daily and nightly shots in the belly and I talked to this baby 24/7. Mostly “please stay with me baby”. But again that was not to be. Two weeks later, even though I was still having morning sickness and every other symptom, there was no heartbeat at 9 weeks. She estimated it had been a week and my body was not recognizing the loss. She and I immediately started talking about options because we both knew I could not live any longer than necessary with another dead baby inside my body. This was prob the lowest point in my life because I had allowed that hope to creep in. Hope is great and it’s necessary but this hope, this maybe I will have a living baby with a wonderful father, that hope I could not ever have again, because the heartbreak is too much. So we scheduled a d&c (thank god I live where I do) because if I was sent home to wait for my body to recognize that loss, I don’t know if I would have survived. She also immediately agreed that she would take my tubes out at the same time. Oh and as an aside when you go for a tube removal surgery by law they have to read you this thing about regret and lalala and the poor nurse reading it I was like lady check my fucking chart. What I regret is having had to lose every single one of my babies. I will not regret taking the chance of any other losses inside my body off the table. But thank you state of Mass for that lovely required by law speech about regret. Maybe read the room 🤷‍♀️. Anyways I had my procedures and a week later they called with results from the d&c. It was trisomy 13, the most common reason for a miscarriage, and a boy. I’ve only told like two people that last fact. So in a sense I did get my girl and my boy, I just didn’t get to keep them. So now here I am just after my 44th birthday again off the rollercoaster of what could be or could’ve been and I will never have another human being growing inside my body and I will never have another human being die inside my body. And I’m at the most peace that I can be with that. So no, not all of us get that rainbow take home baby, but I do get plenty of rainbows on the lake almost weekly and people can think what they want but I know that’s just my two rainbows speaking to their mama in the only way they can. 

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