Cheryl’s Story: Miscarriage and Infertility

My husband and I are about to celebrate our 4th anniversary next week. We’ve been trying to conceive a child for almost two years now. We waited until he was out of dental school and had been practicing for a year. The first few months of negative pregnancy tests were disappointing, but we started being more intentional about it, using ovulation predictor kits, then trying to track my basal body temperature, which I was terrible at. After a year, I talked to my doctor about our failure to conceive. We started tests, everything kept coming back normal. We were categorized as “unexplained infertility” and sent to a specialist. A year and a half into our attempts to conceive, I was waiting for my cycle to start so we could schedule the first ultrasound for our first month of treatments. For the first time in my life, I was late, but wouldn’t have noticed had it not been for the ultrasound scheduling issue, because we hadn’t been trying, not even tracking cycle days for the past two months. I finally decided to pee on a stick, just in case. I was pregnant! I couldn’t believe it. I ran to the doctor’s that morning, too scared to believe the home test, but it was true. I had my second appointment at 11 weeks. I was beyond excited; my midwife had told me we would hear the heart beat at this appointment. The doplar couldn’t pick it up so they sent me for an ultrasound. I waited with my phone ready to record the sound for my husband. It was silent. I had an hour’s wait alone, trying to convince myself that all was well, God wouldn’t let anything happen, after all this pregnancy was his gift. He had cured me. Finally they told me. My baby was dead. We had to do a D&C two days later, after a second ultrasound I insisted on, because I couldn’t do the D&C until I saw again, with my husband there. I just couldn’t accept the news. That was almost 4 months ago now, we are trying again, with treatments this time. We are in the middle of our third month trying. I thought I felt the pain of infertility before. Now it’s mixed with grief and the constant temptation to despair. It’s hard. And hard to explain how hard it is. Prayer and my husband’s love and support are the things that keep me going and believing one day, one way or another, I’ll get to hold my child in my arms.

 

One of the happiest days of my life was the day I found out I was going to be your mother. I have longed for and prayed for you for so long. Before your dad and I were even married, we talked about you, our hopes and dreams of you. I loved you before I knew you existed. The weeks I carried you were some of the happiest of my life. I stayed awake dreaming of you, mouthing names in the dark to see if they sounded right, and I talked to you every day in the shower, on the way to work. I know you couldn’t hear me; your ears never had a chance to fully develop, but I couldn’t help it. I was just so happy you were there and so anxious to meet you.

The day I saw you was so bitter sweet. There you were, my beautiful child, looking like a little gummy bear, so still and peaceful on the ultrasound screen. I waited to hear your heart beating but never did. I started crying that day and I don’t think I stopped for weeks. And still I cry for you almost daily, at the sound of a certain song, the sight of a pregnant woman, pictures of newborns on Facebook… Your dad got to see you, too. It’s one of the first times I’ve seen him cry, though he has quite a lot since. You really were so perfect, so tiny. It was hard to believe anything could be wrong with you. We had a D&C because they said it would be easier. I have nothing to compare it to, but it was not easy. When I woke up from the anesthesia, and realized you were gone, I felt so empty, so bereft. I didn’t know what barren felt like, not really, until that moment. You weren’t there to talk to, to dream about, to make me wretch at the smell of coffee. You were gone. I never even got to know if you were a boy or a girl.

My biggest regret is that in my shock and grief I did not think to ask for an ultrasound picture of you, but I still see you in my mind, every day, and I pray for you. I don’t know if there is any logic to praying for one already in heaven, but I do. I pray my grandparents find you so you have family. They were wonderful grandparents. I know they would make you feel loved. I pray that God is all the parent you need, that you don’t miss or need me. I pray that I get to see you and hold you some day when I join you.

I know this letter sounds sad, it’s written while I’m grieving, but know that you did bring me so much joy. I only carried you for eleven weeks, but the joy I felt knowing you were with me was unlike anything I’ve ever known. Life is a gift and I am thankful for yours, no matter how short it was.

We are trying again, praying to have a child, your sibling. Know that we are not trying to replace you. We never could. You will be in our hearts forever, a part of us, and we will never stop missing and loving you. I believe and hope and pray that one day we will meet you, and we will finally get to hold each other and get to know each other. Until then, know that you are loved and never forgotten.

Love,

Mommy