Miscarriages and Me

When I met my husband on a life changing adventure abroad in 2009, we found we had a few common interests: an off beat sense of humor, love for spontaneous trips, an appreciation for great films and history, and to top it off we both didn’t see ourselves having children. A match made in heaven right? It was a year later and we were in the middle of a long distance relationship which was heading to a quick marriage so I could immigrate to Canada to be with him. We revisited the subject of children which turned into a heated discussion. 365 days after we met he did a 360 on me, he wanted a family. I know…I should have been flattered right? The guy, who I was madly in love with, and wanted to grow old with, wanted me to be the mother of his children.

I was living in New York City at the time and was constantly juggling work, life, goals, and staying afloat in the city. To be honest, I’ve never had that maternal feeling, and quite frankly after having my own baby I still prefer puppies and kittens over someone else’s child. During our baby making discussions one of my prerequisites was having a surrogate mother. The thought of labor sent me into a panic attack, and I didn’t fancy the idea of growing a human inside of me. It felt so bizzaree.


I reflected one night at the beach where my partner and I met. As the waves crashed in, thoughts poured out. Not to brag, but my husband is the catch of a lifetime. I sometimes still wonder what he is doing with me. If anyone could convince me to start a family, it would be him, and I would be lucky to have him as the father of my kids. He is one of  the most patient, fun loving, caring people I have ever met. I couldn’t lose him just because I was too scared ot the unknown. We finally came to a mutual agreement; we’d try four years later when I was 33. Two months later, we got married and started the immigration process.We didn’t discuss babies for quite some time later.

I had been on birth control since I was 14 to regulate my cycle. We planned to quit the pill right after our 5 year vow renewal in Costa Rica where we met. I would be 33; time to start the new chapter. I figured get pregnant would be a breeze. I’m a healthy fit girl. I don’t drink too much or do drugs, and I had a feeling after being on the pill for so long my body would drop eggs like it was Easter. We even joked about having twins; something we would be happy about. After our vow renewal we tried making our love child. I had been off the pill for a few weeks and was due to ovulate. We joked that just a few years prior we were having pregnancy scares with broken condoms and looking into alternatives, yet now were were trying to have a jungle baby. Talk about serendipity in life.

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I was bummed out when I didn’t get pregnant on the first try in March, but by early May I finally got pregnant! The line was super light, but there was a line. I’m pretty sure that turend out to be a chemical pregnancy beause I got a light period;then two weeks later ovulated again and BAM! Success! I was pregnant! During my trying to concieve I became obsessive about pregancy tests and ovulation tests. Some days I would take up to 5 tests. I bought them from the dollar store, they are just as good as the expensive ones…they do the job. I baked a huge bun and put a creepy plastic baby figurine in the center. I told my husband there was something for him in the oven. He didn’t quite believe me until I went to the drugstore and bought a digital test that said PREGNANT.

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I heard people say, ‘Don’t announce it until your past the third trimester.’ But that wouldn’t be me, I wasn’t going to have a miscarriage. I was by the book healthy. I had taken folic acid and prenatel for over ten months before we tried concieving. I did everything perfectly. My husband really wanted a girl because guys tend to run stronger in his family, that changed my blond boy craze to a girl, and I knew deep down I was pregnant with a girl. I could just feel pink all around me. The hypocondriac in me went to the hospial to check on the pregnancy at around 5 weeks. I thought I might need progestrone becuase of the pill. They didn’t do blood tests (Canada) but showed on the ultrasound a little dot that was my bean. At that time they couldn’t see a heartbeat, but I was positive about my pregnancy.

A week and a half later at 45 days in, I started having the worst cramps ever. I rested all night and had a little bleeding. I went to the ER the next day. They couldn’t find a heartbeat and my HCG level was very low around 400. They said to come back in a few days to confirm. When I went back my HCG levels had dropped to 200 and they regretfully informed me I was having a miscarriage. I was beyond sad, confused, and upset. I had already told friends and family members I was pregnant. You don’t realize how you react to something until it happens to you. While I was sad I had a miscarriage, I tried to keep in good spirits for the next pregnancy. My hormones dropped rapidly, just in time for a little 4th of July trip with friends, so I drank away my sorrows. FYI drinking alcohal with a low tolerance, while you are an emotional roller coaster, and hormonal, is a disaster waiting to happen. I became a hot mess and argued over the pettiest of things with my confused husband. A little makeup sex later…and BAM I was pregnant again by the end of July! I knew it was meant to be. I became psychotic about taking daily pregnancy tests. I held them up to the light to ensure they were getting darker. I couldn’t see a doctor until I was atleast 8 weeks pregnant, so I went to the hopsital again to monitor my HCG levels. They were still low, but higher than the first pregnancy. My husband went on a boys camping trip over labor day weekend. On labor day I began to feel crampy and had some spotting, so I went to the ER to check up on it. It was exactly 45 days into the pregnancy again, so needless to say I was worried. On labor day I hadmy second miscarriage. I felt angrier this time around, and frusterate there was nothing I could do but try again.

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My husband was supportive, but there was only so much he could do. For ten months we tried to conceive religiously. Anyone who’s gone through this, understands it’s not fun trying to make babies. It’s fun practicing when you don’t want one, but when the stakes are raised, the whole game changes, and somehow everyone and their neighbor ends up knowing all about your story.

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You see the looks when you don’t feel like drinking. Is she pregnant? But they don’t dare ask. Sex became the most scheduled mundane act we’ve done since we met. The nights when I’d come home from work late with a full stomach after eating an employee meal and my hubby was already sleeping were awful. He would wake up groggy out of his deep slumber and mumble, “It is today right?” The last day we had a chance of conceiving until the next month. Sex became a painful chore. Just a few years ago we were banging in public places; we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. Now we could hardly get horney. Thankful,ly my husband was a trooper and would do whatever it took to make a baby. We even talked about adoption if our attempts failed. We loved each other and wanted a family no matter it took. After my second miscarriage, we had 10 months of unexplained infertility. My periods came on time and I ovulated, but we just couldn’t get pregnant. We finally got an appointment with a fertility doctor in May, and it shed some light on our situation.

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