We are a few weeks into the new year and I find myself wanting to stay positive but struggling a bit. Each year as the New Year’s approaches and I like everyone else has resolutions. While most of my family and friends are hoping for the will to eat better, or be more financially responsible. I hope for motherhood. January 1st marked the 5 year anniversary of when we started trying to conceive. All that time ago I never thought we’d would be here today, still hoping to become parents. I find myself hoping to not reach the anniversary of a would be birthday again. I hope for this year to be the year that I become a mother.
After our miscarriage it took us awhile to heal. Our family and friends pushed for us to “try again” and they really didn’t understand why we weren’t doing anything about the situation. Sure you get hurt but you try again. It wasn’t that easy for me. As each month went by I secretly hoped that I would be late and a miracle would happen, but nothing. I had spent my childhood knowing I would be a mother. I babysat, loved and cared for so many children. I started babysitting at 11 and could not get enough. The children gave me such joy and if I could love so many other people’s children that much then I knew there was no way I could live life without being a mother. While I still ached for that child we had lost I made an appointment in May of 2009 with a doctor at the fertility clinic here in town. We were so nervous that we were going to be told that there was no hope and then after running a few tests she said, our fist course of action is to put you on clomid and if there is no luck after 3 cycles we will re-evaluate. June came and we were shocked when we were given the amazing news of a positive pregnancy test. FINALLY, we were on the home stretch. Due March 10th, 2010.
The clinic scheduled our first appointment for August of that summer and so we went through the 4th of July with such a positive outlook. Dreaming of this amazing thing growing inside of me. The first sign of sadness came when I looked at the calendar and realized that my 6 week appointment should be in July, not August. When I called the clinic they quickly apologized and got me in for July.
I was so nervous that I can’t even explain. We were called back, they had me get ready and then I laid there, and laid there waiting for the doctor to come in and do the ultrasound. She finally came in and in a sort of confident manor she started the ultrasound. She looked, and looked and pointed at the screen with her assistant and it all went white from there. I remember her grabbing my leg in a somewhat caring manor and saying it looks like it is an ectopic, I’m sorry. I can still feel the tears falling to the mat of the table. I don’t remember the instructions from there other than they were giving me a small dose of cemo in hopes the embryo will absorb back into my body. If not, then I’d need to have surgery. Her next comment rings in my head like nothing else.
We will just have to move to IVF from here. I remember wanting to scream at her but not being able to talk. How could she be so cold?
I spent the next week in bed, not wanting to take calls. Ethan was incredible letting everyone know and filter for me. I felt numb, how could this be happening? I couldn’t watch TV, baby comments were everywhere and I didn’t dare leave the house since I’d see pregnant women everywhere, and then to top it off I had to go back to work – at a childcare center.
Now we had one more would have anniversary to make it through each year, a little less hope of being parents, and great sadness in our hearts.
Where to go from here?