I’ve actually…

written this post several times.  Last time I started it, it went totally different.  The first time I wrote it, again was different.

The last time I sat down to write this post was May 6^th.  Then it was a happy post about something that happened that I didn’t think was possible.  That very day, minutes after finishing the post, that happiness died, along with a little part of me.

I’ll start from the beginning, where I was originally going to start this post.

I’ve always known I was going to have trouble getting pregnant.  I always believed that I wouldn’t be able to have children.  I tried to protect myself, saying that I didn’t like them.  Avoiding them at all costs.

Then my family members started popping them out.  So I kind of had to deal with them some.  I felt lucky that I don’t live near them.  I know that sounds weird, but it’s another way to protect myself from the buried pain of believing that I will never be able to have my own.

Some times it’s unbearable to listen to one or the other family member complain about their kids.  Just shut the fuck up and be grateful that you have had to put hardly any thought into having them.  My sister in law had to put some thought into it, I know she struggled some, but she’s been able to produce two babies that have gone on to be healthy.

So I’ve tried to burry this pain for a while.  But after getting off birth control, getting married, and “not-not-trying” for three years, I started to realize that this really might not happen.

I’ve been tracking my cycle for about three years now.  I know when I ovulate.  I can feel it.  I’ve had a lot of blood work done this year.  Everything so far says I’m fine.  The doctor can’t find any reason that I can’t have a baby (we’re looking for a new doctor).

In February, I went to the doctor and she prescribed Clomid.  It’s supposed to make you ovulate better?  I took Clomid for three months and nothing. 

And then, strangely, after the Clomid had not worked for three months, my April cycle, I was pregnant.

Before I took the test to find out, I had felt like a bottomless pit.  I could eat and eat and not feel full.  I also felt bad at night and got real hot.

When I read the test results, I cried a little.  I almost felt like it was a cruel joke, little did I know, it was.  It’s just never seemed possible for me.  Ed freaked out and then eventually was really happy (I think).

We told our immediate family so maybe they would quit asking when we were going to have kids.  That’s painful too.  When I know it’s hard to get pregnant, and they keep asking.

May 6^th rolled around and all was well.  I had felt like shit the day before.  I chalked it up to being really hungry, because when I ate I felt better.

But then the spotting happened.  And I know some women spot while pregnant.  My sister did.  My mom did.  But I just knew.

I had to do a lot more blood work to confirm what I already knew:  I had a miscarriage.

The first blood test proved (even though the pee test told me) that I had been pregnant.  The second blood test 100% proved that I had miscarried.

Next, I did what I always do when I don’t know what to do.  I got online and started researching miscarriage, why it happens, how to deal.  I didn’t find anything comforting.  I did find a lot of what the nurses and doctor had told me.  “Be happy that you know you can get pregnant.”  Wtf.  Bitches.

And avoided actually talking to people.  It just hurts too much, still does.

I eventually told the lady I work for what had happened.  I feel like, right now, she’s the only one I can really talk to about this stuff because she’s actually been through it.  She had two miscarriages before having her sweet baby boy.  She has real suggestions and doesn’t bullshit or make it cushy.  She knows how hard this is.

She gave me a book to read that helped her.  Not with dealing, but with fertility in general.  I’ve read the book and want to start trying some of the suggestions.  I find a lot of what the book says and suggestions, fits with the problems I have always had.  Like why I’m tired all the time.

Putting my energy into this book and just researching things that might help is what’s keeping me going right now.

I know a lot of people have dealt with worse in their baby making processes.  I know friends who have lost their babies, miscarried, and I know many who struggle with the same things.  Knowing this, however, does not make the process any easier.  It doesn’t make anything easier.