Told by: Amanda
Since the birth of my son, I have yet to have a successful pregnancy. I felt it appropriate to share some of my thoughts on my three early-term miscarriages. I want to put this experience out there for anyone who might be going through the same thing.
In October, 2008, I conceived the most perfect and amazing little boy possible. His name is Allen. I loved and continue to love him with all of my heart. My husband and I wanted him and were actively trying to have a child. That was my first pregnancy and it was textbook perfect. We knew within days of conception that I was pregnant and saw his beautiful beating heart at only four and a half weeks. We never returned to any form of contraceptive because we knew that we wanted to continue growing our family to include at least one, but maybe two more children.
In August, 2010, I conceived for the second time. We were elated! I carried this fetus for nine and a half weeks. Unfortunately, the baby stopped growing at around four. Because my pregnancy with Allen was so perfect and easy, miscarriage did not occur to me. Then the bleeding began… When I went to the doctor, they told me that miscarriage was imminent and that the child was no longer growing and had no heartbeat. I was sad, but what upset me the most was how quickly they offered to “fix” it by doing a D&C or giving me induction medicine. My thoughts were this- even if this child is passing away, it is my job to mother it by letting it die gently and not having them scrape it out. It was a horrible thought to me! The baby was made in love and I was determined to let my body naturally do what it was made to do. The response that I got from hospital staff was annoyance and repeated questioning as of whether I understood what was happening or not. I maintained my answer- yes I understand and obviously my body understands how to handle it! The entire “labor” included real contractions and took around five hard hours. The rest was a week of normal menstruation. An artistic rendition of this child can be seen on my portfolios:
The following year I had two other pregnancies which resulted in miscarriage at four weeks. The hardest one of the three occurred right before my husband’s deployment. We spent a lot of time together in the month prior in preparation for his departure. We were elated to learn the day of the deployment that I had conceived. Within two weeks the child was lost. The hardest part was the realization that my husband was in a war-zone and that he could die and I would never again carry a child of his. I was devastated and fell into a crying mess. I can say that I was depressed for a while over this one. That was the last time I have conceived to date, and was over two years ago. At that time I was tested in every way possible and found that I am perfectly normal and that the fetus, along with the other two, likely was simply not viable.
Shortly after this miscarriage I completely stopped menstruating. When my husband came home, I finally cried to him and as un-feminist as this is I broke down to him about how I felt I was not able to bear his children the way I wanted to. I told him that I felt like this was the biological function of a wife and I was sorry for letting him down. He told me that Allen was a handful and he could be perfectly happy if we never had another child. He assured me that Allen is enough and I am enough. I realized he was right. Saying that we have “only Allen” would be understating the incredible joy that we get from his smile each day. There is no saying that we only have Allen, but that we are lucky to have him. As we talked about it we decided that he can be and is more than enough. We are lucky to somehow deserve such a perfectly healthy little guy. My husband does not wish to adopt nor have any type of fertility treatment. I obviously respect his wishes.
Walking away from the experience I realize that I am blessed to be able to devote my time and attention to one incredible little boy. Seeing friends and colleagues who have never birthed a child makes me realize that I am blessed to have the one that I do. Knowing some of my family history makes me realize that I am blessed to have one healthy child rather than a herd of children with disabilities. Obviously I would love any child of mine with all of their accompanying needs, but I have a husband with PTSD who needs the quieter home with which we have been blessed. His PTSD comes with special needs and demands which make our smaller family a blessing so that I can manage all of the needs of my husband and my son.
I have also had the privilege of knowing strong, amazing women who have had to put their child up for adoption, raise a child who resulted from rape or to endure the incredible pain of a stillbirth. Having been through three miscarriages I can say that nothing that I went through has been that painful. I am blessed. I am blessed with the most incredible little boy I could have ever dreamed of. I am blessed with devout appreciation of him and never taking him for granted. I am blessed to not be diagnosed with PCOS, cancer or infertility. I am blessed to have hope that one day we could conceive again. I am blessed to have what my family needs at the moment, rather than what we want down the road. I am blessed with my upcoming graduate degree and bright career path at a younger age. I am blessed to live in a country where I could one day adopt a daughter if none is born to me. I am blessed to have never had to bury a child. I am blessed to never have labored a child who was not alive. I can say in so many ways that miscarriage is a blessing. There might be a plan from a higher power, and people say what is meant to be is meant to be. For me, in this life, miscarriage has happened and it would seem that it was meant to happen for the better of my family.
Blessed be all. I am sorry again to write on such a darker topic, but not enough people share these kinds of stories so I wanted to be sure to share mine with anyone who might need to read it. Shared with permission.
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