Marcia’s Story-Pregnancy and Infant Loss Series

Marcia shares the difficulties that her and her husband faced while battling infertility.  She has captured all of the emotions that those that have suffered a loss go through: happiness, trepidation, unfathomable sadness, anger, depression, anxiety, and somehow, that unfailing hope that seems to well up from some unknown source.  She also talks about coping, dealing with the time after loss, and the mark their struggle has left on her and her husband’s inner being.

 

Marcia’s Story:

Both of my miscarriages were hard to process, but my first was the worst. My husband and I had gone for our first ultrasound. I was almost 8 weeks along. While sitting there on the table and waiting for the doctor to come in, I was nervous and excited. I couldn’t wait to see our baby on the monitor. Seeing those two pink lines was the start to my happiness. I guess maybe I was a little naive in the beginning and didn’t realize how quickly my happiness could (and would) turn to sadness.

The doctor entered the room with the nurse and began the internal ultrasound. At first, they had the monitor facing me. Then, I began to notice their body language changing and a change in their facial expressions as they turned the monitor away from my view. I was soon informed that they were having a tough time locating the Fetal Pole (or heart beat). I was informed that it could just be early. Sometimes, it can take as long as 9 weeks to detect. So, we left with our hopes still high and went on with our day.

My husband returned to work and I decided I wanted to get more information (and maybe to look at Pregnancy & Baby Name books too). I made a stop at Barnes & Noble on my way home and then grabbed some lunch and headed back to the house. I was in a good mood. I wasn’t letting anything get in my way and was treading forward.

Then, I went to the bathroom.

I will spare you the details here. But, I ended up calling my husband in a panic. I think he ended up getting home in about 10 minutes (Which usually took him 30 at the time. Pretty sure he was doing 100 on the highway.) and rushed me to the E.R. While sitting there in the waiting area, I was crying and shaking. I couldn’t believe this was happening. Not once did a nurse, a doctor, a volunteer… anyone… ask if we would like to have some tissues, a private room, anything. I felt like everyone was staring at me. Here I was, sitting with my world crashing around me as my husband was trying to find the right words, the right stroke on my back, the right number to the IVF nurse & doctor. I felt so alone in that moment.

Once we were wheeled back. It began to sink in that there was nothing that could be done at this point. Why did we come here? I should have just stayed home and let this happen. So many thoughts were flying through my head. I couldn’t even concentrate on filling out paperwork or the words that were coming out of the nurses & doctors mouths. Thank goodness for my husband.

He finally got a hold of the IVF nurse who (through her many years of counseling lessons) walked us off a ledge and gave us renewed hope. She said, “Maybe something just got hit during the ultrasound. It could be a clot, etc. I want Marcia to by-pass an internal ultrasound there at the hospital. Take her home, put her in bed and don’t let her lift a finger for the next 48-hours. Hopefully, the bleeding will subside and we will see you in the office on Monday morning.”  (Yes, it always seemed that my “issues” happened on Friday nights. Which was never great in helping my anxiety levels.) We left the hospital and did just that. Well, sort of. It’s really difficult to lay in bed and try to not think the worst. Really. Difficult. The next 48-hours were the slowest ever. But, the good news was… the bleeding did subside and finally came to a stop. I was once again “hopeful”.

Finally, Monday morning came about and we headed on our way to our R.E. (who was two-hours one way). Again, we sat in that stale room waiting and pacing the floor. Finally, the nurse and the doc entered and began the ultrasound. Again, the monitor was turned away from my view. Again, I saw the body language change. Again, I saw their faces change. And again, I was not shown the monitor. I was then informed that there was a sac, but it was empty. There was no baby. There was no heartbeat. I had a blighted ovum.

I think everything froze at that moment. Words were coming out of my doctor’s mouth, but I had stopped listening at “There’s no baby”. Tears were just flowing down my face and I just sat there. My nurse began speaking. I know she has been coached on how to deal with this type of situation, but her words honestly weren’t helping. I got the “You can try again.”, “You are the lucky one, you have embryos remaining.”, and “You are still young.”. I suppose these were supposed to make me feel better, but they didn’t. There was nothing anyone could have told me in that moment that could have made me feel any better. I just wanted to go home and let this be over with. But, It was just beginning.

We had drove separately that morning so my husband could get a few hours in at work before the appointment. We went back to his car and drove home. Separately. Finally, I was alone in my own thoughts. I made a stop at the nearest convenience store. I know it probably wasn’t the healthiest of decisions, but I grabbed a pack of smokes and the largest bottle of wine I could find (I later found out that my hubby did the same. I guess we were both on the same destructive path.). I went home, opened the garage, grabbed our lawn chair, put it in the drive-way, popped open the bottle of wine (ya, it was the fancy one without the cork too! ha!), lit a smoke and before I took a drag… with tears pouring down my face, I let out the biggest scream ever. I’m honestly surprised that my neighbors didn’t come out to check on me. I sat there and cried and drank and smoked and cried. Then, my husband pulled up.

The next 24-hours were sort of a blur. But the things I do remember will stay with me for a long time. We didn’t make any phone calls that day. Instead, my husband pulled the mattress from our bed out into the living room. Lit a fire in our fireplace and grabbed the bottle of wine. We laid there for hours sobbing and holding each other until we fell asleep. It was exactly how we needed to get through it. I think it was about 3pm the next day when we finally decided we should probably get ourselves something to eat and try to move on.

Moving on being the operative words. It was all just beginning. I had to have blood work done every 48-hours. You see, they had to watch my levels to make sure I was actually miscarrying naturally (or, I would have to undergo a D&C). Every time I went to the lab, I had to explain to the tech that it was not a happy occasion. I was not about to find out if I was pregnant. Instead, I was finding out if my body was getting rid of my pregnancy (my baby).

It took approximately two weeks for my body to finally “give up”. It was Valentine’s Day. I was in no mood to be all “lovey dovey” that day. It worked out perfectly that my hubby and his good friend had previously planned to attend the Daytona 500 race. I didn’t want them to cancel their plans, so I told them to go. I ended up going for a massage that morning, got Chinese food and headed back home to feed my face and watch a sappy girly move. And then it began. I started getting atrocious cramps and couldn’t get comfortable. About 11pm that night, my hubby and his friend returned to find me on the couch with the heating pad. I was actually in a “ok” place. I had already prepared myself. I honestly wanted it to take place before they arrived home, but it didn’t. Within minutes, I was in the bathroom and our dream was gone. Just. Like. That.

Six months later, we decided to give it another try. We went for a frozen transfer. This time, I found out before the ultrasound that I wasn’t going to stay pregnant. My hormone levels weren’t increasing like they should have been and I ultimately was having a Chemical Pregnancy. There was no need for blood work or follow-ups this time around. It was almost like it never even happened. (Well, in their eyes.)

I was a mess. In less than a year, I had experienced two great losses. I could barely keep my head up. I think my hubby was actually pretty concerned for my well-being and decided I needed to be around my family & friends. So, he sent me home (to Indiana) for two weeks. Nothing can replace good therapy like the love of your family & friends. It was exactly what I needed in that moment.

It was once I returned that I had to work on me. I sought out another support group, started seeing my therapist regularly and began thinking about a change in my life. I soon left my job and took some time for me and we officially began our “break”. (We didn’t return to an RE for almost two years) I lost 25-pounds and finally got rid of that nasty habit I picked up after the miscarriages.

In May 2013, we returned to Indiana for my Best Friend’s wedding. It was during this trip that my Dad informed us that he was seeing several doctors to figure out why he was having some tremors (similar to that of Parkinson’s). This information woke my husband and I up. We needed to stop sitting on those frozen embryos and try again. (We soon learned that my dad was diagnosed with Huntington’s Disease)

Once we returned to Florida, we contacted our new RE and started the process of having our embryos transported from Tampa to Orlando. (Yup, our babies had their first road trip without us!) On August 14, 2013, we entered the RE’s office for our last and final attempt at having our family. Before ushering me back, they informed us that one of the three remaining embryos we had did not survive the freeze. I was appreciative that they allowed us a few moments to process that information before entering the room and beginning the transfer. I was then ushered back to begin (this time around, my husband wasn’t allowed to be in the room during the transfer due to space limitations).

I remember being unbelievably relaxed and at peace that morning during the transfer. I honestly felt like I was “exactly where I was meant to be” (a saying my yogi had said to me just the day prior). During the transfer though, one of embryos decided to be a comic and decided to make its grand debut by not leaving the straw and having to repeat the transfer within moments. We are most certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that that exact embryo was our daughter.

And so, after seven years of heartbreak, IUI’s, IVF/FETs, RE appointments, an emergency cerclage, mandatory bedrest, stress tests and weekly specialist appointments, high blood pressure, a severe low-sodium diet, 20 hours of labor, a broken clavicle bone and a short stay in the NICU …. on April 25, 2014, we welcomed our biggest accomplishment and our greatest miracle — Our daughter Ella.

I think this is the point in my story where I leave you with a quote my husband posted on his blog after Ella was born; as I think he said it best:

“I know we’ve got Ella and we know we are lucky and our story has a happy ending, but I don’t ever want our story to be used as a feel good story for someone going through fertility problems. It’s not fair to promise things or tell these stories of hope, when someone’s future involves the uncertainty of fertility problems, and the luck needed to overcome them.  This isn’t a test you can study for, it’s not a race you can train for, there’s not a perfect cliche that will make you feel better, because there’s just so much more involved with fertility problems than being in good health or a good state of mind.”

XoXo to all of you today and always