I try not to dwell on the situation, tear up when I see a beautiful baby, or feel the inadequacy of being unable to produce offspring. I hold on to my faith. I hope and pray that I will one day hold my newborn child. After experiencing the pain and hopelessness of multiple miscarriages, I cannot begin to fathom how a woman could intentionally destroy the life of her child. I understand the myriad circumstances in which a woman could find herself with an unwanted pregnancy, but as the statistics show, there are millions of omen, millions of families, who would want that pregnancy, who would love and shelter that child.
My husband and I may be one of those potential families. We still have faith that we will have a biological child, but that may not be realized. I was twenty five when I moved to California and twenty six when Jon and I married. It seemed all we had was time. We stayed in Call for several years and moved around the Inland Empire quite a bit. We lived in five different homes in five different cities. Jon was teaching while I worked several diverse Jobs. I was trying to mind my place in the world, uncertain of which professional direction I wanted to go in.
As time passed and our financial situation worsened, we realized that we’d have to change some things if we wanted to start a family. We couldn’t continue to put off having a child while we waited for our financial situation to improve and decided where to settle down permanently. When the recession hit in 2009 and Jon was laid off for the third consecutive year, the decision was made for us. We moved back to Louisiana in 2010 and eventually settled in Lafayette. In 2012 1 was working at a local law firm as the billing administrator and Jon was teaching at Acadia High School.
He had only a few classes left to finish his master’s degree in Educational Administration, and we began looking for a house. We searched for about a year, at first looking at older, more cost effective homes. We finally decided on a brand new three bedroom home in Huntsville. We picked out the plan we wanted and a few months later work on our brand new home began. It was Spring of 2012. It was around this time we figured we better start trying to fill up those new bedrooms with children. I had Just turned thirty two, still young enough, but it was sat time to get the baby train moving.
We tried to get pregnant for about three months and were beginning to get worried when I was pleasantly surprised one Saturday morning in May; I got a positive pregnancy test. I had imagined a myriad of ways to tell my husband we were expecting our first child, but I was so shocked that I just wondered into the kitchen and told him, “l think I’m pregnant” while he stood at the sink loading the dishwasher. His reaction was very similar to mine. After about five minutes of being dumbfounded, we started getting excited. A couple hours and here plus signs later we were calling our parents and siblings.
We were elated, as was our family. This would be the first grandchild in both our immediate families. I went in for blood work a couple days later and would see my doctor around the 10 week. The blood test confirmed I was pregnant, and we began to share the news with close friends and the rest of the family. It may have been premature, but we formulated several pages of baby names for both sexes, argued over our favorites, and not so favorites. We were in baby bliss, until the seventh week. It was a Monday morning at the end of June, and I awoke lending terribly ill.
I had horrible stomach cramps, nausea, and various other unpleasant intestinal issues. I called into to work to let them know I would be late, thinking this would pass soon. I was wrong, it continued to worsen, and then the bleeding started. I was in a near panic; I was pregnant and that type of bleeding is not a good sign. I called my doctor’s office and had to explain to the receptionist that I was having a miscarriage and needed to speak with my doctor’s nurse. I was then put on hold, sent to the nurse’s voice mail, where I again had to explain that I was having miscarriage and needed someone to call me.
Jon was teaching LEAP remediation that summer and was giving the test that day. I called the school in tears and was told he was testing, and I would have to leave a message unless it was an emergency, and to my mind, it was. I told the woman, mimes, it’s an emergency. ” Jon got on the phone a few minutes later, though it felt much longer to me. Time had somehow suspended itself, and I was in a horribly slow nightmare. At the sound of his voice time righted itself, and I struggled to get myself under control enough to answer his question. He asked, “What’s wrong” to which I replied, “l think I’m having a miscarriage. He said, “I’ll be home as soon as possible. ” Jon came through the kitchen, and I launched myself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. He Just held me; I don’t think we spoke a single word. He stood there and absorbed all my fears and pain, comforted me with his mere presence. When I was able to speak, I explained the situation in more detail. The nurse called shortly thereafter, and we were told my doctor couldn’t see me until pm that afternoon. It was around 1 lam. Three hours seemed an eternity at that point, so we opted for the emergency room.
About an hour after our arrival to the ERR, I was taken to another room for an ultrasound. Once Jon and I were ensconced in the tiny closet like room, we were introduced to the ultrasound tech and the individual she was training. Jon and I feared the loss of our first child while this woman described how to perform an ultrasound to her trainee, completely oblivious to our distress and pain. The examination continued while I contorted myself around to view the screen, not knowing or understanding exactly what I was looking at, but praying to God that I would see a flutter, a miniscule beat.
I saw nothing; I felt nothing. We were hustled back to our room, where we waited another hour or so before the ERR doctor came to examine me. After his examination, the doctor explained that according to the ultrasound, I was only five weeks along so that’s probably why there was no heart beat on the ultrasound and that I hadn’t miscarried yet. It was a threat of miscarriage. I was confused as I was supposed to be seven weeks, but I listened as the doctor explained that I should rest for few days and see my doctor in three or four days.
The Fourth of July holiday was coming up and we had schedule a mini vacation for hat time. I spoke once again with my doctor’s nurse and she assured me that some women bleed during pregnancy and that I should go on my vacation and rest and try not worry. So that’s exactly what we did. But the bleeding continued and when we returned from vacation, I went in to see my doctor. After another ultrasound, in which I again searched for any sign of life in my womb, I was devastated when my doctor came in and told me I was indeed miscarrying. She went on to explain it’s something called a blighted ovum, or embryonic pregnancy.
The egg is fertilized, however due o chromosomal or hormonal issues, it never develops or dies very early on. She then told me to think of it this way: It was like I was never really pregnant so my child didn’t really die. I know she was trying to make me feel better, but what she made me feel was the exact opposite. You see, I believe there was a child. I believe that as soon as the egg and sperm combined and fertilization took place, my child was made. Life was started. It was ended very abruptly, but I believe it began. I went on to have a natural miscarriage, with no interference from medication or medical procedures.
It took three weeks. Three weeks of constantly being reminded that I had lost my child, that I wouldn’t be giving birth and that I wouldn’t be using one of those adorable baby names that my husband and I argued over. It was one of the most painful experiences of my life, and Vive known my fair share of heartbreak. We were told not to despair, that miscarriages are very common, and indeed they are; much more common that I had originally thought. I had never known an individual who miscarried. My mom had five children, my mother-in-law four, my grandmothers had seven children between them, and Son’s grandmothers both had six each.
Not a single miscarriage among them. But, we did like we were told and remained somewhat hopeful that the next pregnancy would result in a healthy child. We waited another three months before we tried again. We were excited when I once again got pregnant, and after the first go around too. I had a new doctor, one I felt much more comfortable with. We went in at six weeks because of the previous miscarriage. My doctor spent over an hour with us and performed the ultrasound herself. I was incredibly nervous but kept telling myself there was no reason to worry. The first miscarriage was probably a fluke and this child would be fine.
I held my breath while watching that ultrasound screen, willing a heartbeat to be there. I watched my doctor’s face and could tell she was somewhat worried. She finally said the words, the words I had been dreading – no heartbeat. She then told us I could just be a little earlier than we thought. If that was the case, then it was too soon for a heartbeat. But I knew. I had this inexplicable feeling it was happening again. So it was another week of waiting, another week of tortuous thoughts. A week later I was again on a stupid little bed waiting for a stupid little machine to tell me my child was lethal and alive.
But that’s not what it told me, it told me there would be no child, again. It told me I had a blighted ovum, again. Jon and I went in to speak with my doctor after the ultrasound, and I cried. I tried to get my emotions under control because I had very important questions for this woman. She was incredibly understanding and waited while I cried; then waited while I cried some more. Eventually we were able to discuss the situation, and she recommended we go see a specialist, a reproductive endocrinologist. She said it was very unusual, unusual-what terrible word, she said it was very unusual to have two blighted ovum.
I had a D&C, a procedure to remove the tissue, two days before Thanksgiving 2012. We waited a few months then looked into the specialist, only to find out our insurance doesn’t cover “infertility’, another terrible word. I’m not infertile. I can get pregnant; I Just can’t stay pregnant. Apparently, these two very different facts are treated exactly the same in the world of insurance. Meanwhile Vive started my scholastic Journey, and now I have to plan my pregnancy around semesters, or another miscarriage. We can’t afford to pay for all these tests.
Vive Just paid off the medical bills resulting from the first two miscarriages, we’re paying a bundle on Son’s student loans, and now I’m incurring my own student loans. Our window of having a child is closing quickly as my age continues to climb. Our predicament becomes more dire as each day passes. Our only option may be to give up on having a child naturally. Our only option may be to adopt. Yet, we may not have that opportunity because of the uninformed, selfish decision of millions of would-be mothers. Many argue that abortion is simply a right, like freedom of speech or the right to bear arms.