My story (OUR story)
I was married to my soul-mate at the age of 27. Being a practical Taurean (if you believe in astrology), we planned our family to be and when we would begin, taking into account my fertile years and our careers and budget. We decided to start trying when I was 30, so that we could have some time to get our home sorted, and work on our careers, pay off our mortgage, etc.
My 30th birthday arrived, and we stuck to our guns, even though we were quite scared about the prospect of becoming parents. About 4 months after my birthday. I walked home to take a pregnancy test. I peed on the stick and looked at it. It was negative. Disappointed, I threw it in the bathroom bin. THEN I read the instructions (!), and it said ‘wait 2 minutes’. I checked the stick again. There was a line so faint that I had to hold it in the light, and squint to see it. After calling my best friend and making her tell me at least 5 times that it really is positive even if it is the faintest line, I told my husband. Two weeks later we saw our child’s heartbeat – the most beautiful sight to our eyes. This was really happening! Our next appointment was at 12 weeks but before 10 weeks I started to bleed. I called my doctor, who confirmed our fears. I had lost the baby.
I want to say that I was devastated and I was, but even more so, I was in denial. I was so incredibly sad, and I believed that if we could have another baby, it would take the hurt away, and I wouldn’t feel so guilty. I thought that I could compartmentalize my grief. I packed away the baby clothes that I had already received from a neighbor, and said to Mike that I wanted to try again as soon as possible.
I fell pregnant a few months later. We didn’t even get to see the heartbeat this time. I miscarried at 6 weeks. Now I started to worry. I knew the odds for miscarriage in a first pregnancy were high, but two in a row was not common. I spoke to my gynae, who said we should wait for the next pregnancy before we go through a bunch of invasive tests that might not give us an answer. We picked ourselves up, and tried for another baby. Mike got me pregnant again, and we were less joyful about this one, as I was scared to commit only to be hurt and disappointed again. I lost this baby too, also before we had a chance to see the heartbeat.
Sex, drugs and needles
I was no longer my positive self. It wasn’t bad luck. It wasn’t Mike. There was something very, very wrong with me. My body was killing our children, and I had no idea why. We started testing. Everything came back normal. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. Obviously everything WASN’T normal, or I’d have a child by now. I did more tests. Mike did tests too. Eventually, after giving enough blood to keep a small population of vampires satisfied, the doctors discovered that I have Hughes Syndrome. This would require daily injections of blood thinners to maintain any pregnancy. In fact, I had to do it for the two week wait between ovulation and testing too, just in case I did fall pregnant.
Despite rigorously taking my medication – progesterone, multivitamins, Metformin (I discovered by myself that I am insulin resistant), prednisone, clomid, Clexane (heparin), Ecotrin and whatever else the pill of the day was, I kept losing children.
I was depressed. I was obsessed with finding a reason for all the pain we were going through. I blamed myself and got angry when people told me it wasn’t my fault – after all, whose fault was it, then? I felt so guilty that I could no longer talk to my husband, and pushed him away with sarcasm and anger. I didn’t want to let anyone else into my world of self-destruction and sickness. I stayed in bed when I didn’t have to go out, and cried whenever I didn’t absolutely have to keep it together. I managed to get up to go to work, and often I’d sit at my desk and touch-type while I cried. My friends, colleagues and family were so incredibly supportive, but I didn’t feel worthy of love. Not mine, not theirs, not my unborn children’s.
Finding myself
Eventually, I realised it was time to take stock of my life. I didn’t want to be this angry, bitter, jealous version of myself. I started to turn around. I wrote about my journey, starting off with an article about what not to say to people who miscarry (based on the stupid things that well meaning people said to fill the awkward silence between “I miscarried” and “Err, okay, good luck then, have a nice day”). The writing was not only cathartic, it helped me find my voice. I realised that there was so much more to me than I ever imagined. I started opening my eyes and appreciating the people who WERE in my life rather than obsessing about the 7 that weren’t. I began to nurture myself again, first in little ways and then in bigger ways. I started to let my husband love me again. We started to talk. We started to heal.
During this time, I began a life coaching course, and a month in, I found out I was pregnant again. I took a whole different approach to this pregnancy, and focused on myself, and how I could support my body as best I could – both physically and mentally. This time, things were different. I was different. Then, at 7 weeks, I started to bleed. I was so angry! I made the decision to not go into ER, because it was a long weekend, and I had an appointment on the Tuesday anyway. I got some painkillers to keep on standby in the meantime, and continued to wait. Tuesday came, and we saw a heartbeat! 7 months and a beautiful, life changing journey later, I gave birth to Joshua.
What I’ve learned
Since Joshua’s birth, I have had another 3 miscarriages. I have learned so many things from this journey, one of which is the importance of talking to the right people and knowing how to communicate and get what you need.
Sometimes our friends and families don’t understand what we are going through, and they dismiss our hurting. Sometimes we are too fearful to talk about it with anyone, for fear of releasing the darkness that we hold in our emptiness. I found the light in me again, and I want to share that with others. I am passionate about helping women and couples who have been through similar struggles to become parents – whether it is facing that single line on a pregnancy test month after month after invasive procedures, or whether it is the fear of enjoying the pregnancy only to lose another one.
I came through this battle better and more powerful than I entered, and I want to help you equip yourself so that you can too! If you’d like to get in touch, EMAIL ME.
