I’m the mother of three living children. Two of those children I got the easy way when I married their dad. However, I have been pregnant four times, given birth four times, and only one living child of my own. My other children are in heaven. As I’m looking at the sentences I’ve just written, I have to let out a big sigh. I have not had the courage to talk about my miscarriages yet.
I’ve read two books on miscarriages, support, and counseling. I have liked groups on Facebook and shared a picture here and there. I have never once said, “I have lost my babies way too soon.” I’m asking myself why? But I don’t have an answer.
So today is the day where I will share my story. After a long road of doctor’s visits, surgeries, and infertility diagnosis, finally I was pregnant with our first baby. When the nurse called to let us know the test was positive, we were so excited we could barely contain ourselves. We did as we were told and waited until I was thirteen weeks pregnant to announce it. Thirteen long weeks, and yet the evening of the big announcement, I got sick and started cramping. I told myself I’ve had too much ice cream cake, but when I started bleeding I knew that it was definitely not the cake that was bothering me.
I gave birth that night in the emergency room’s bathroom. My husband was holding my hands as I fought the urge to push and yet, there it came. I was not prepared for it. My husband wasn’t prepared for it.
We mourned for a long time. Four years to be exact. Unfortunately, the second pregnancy ended after six weeks and five days, very unspectacular. I didn’t even notice anything and when they induced me to abort what was left, I felt like a complete failure.
My third pregnancy came soon thereafter. I had this overwhelming feeling that we just had to try it until we were successful. I was able to get pregnant, so somehow I had to stay pregnant, come hell or high water. Miscarriage number three. I don’t know how to explain the terror, the grief, the anger, the disbelief, the emptiness, the deep, deep sadness I felt. Three pregnancies, three miscarriages and three babies gone. Just like that.
I tried to explain it away with biology and genetics. It helped make it more abstract in my mind and yet a piece of me, of us was gone. Another big sigh…
When we decided to try again, we pulled every stop we medically could, prayed and hoped for the best outcome, and finally we were blessed with a child. I cannot explain how much we love this little person, how much fun and joy he has brought to our lives, how much love and laughter he provides each and every day. We remember our babies in heaven every day in our prayers. We will never forget them, as they prepared the way for their little brother to join us. Waiting thirteen years for his arrival was a very long time and I thank God every day for blessing me with one perfect living child that I can hold, kiss, love, cuddle, and snuggle with every day. He filled the gap, the void I had in my heart. He demands my attention and tells me countless times how much he loves me and that I am the best ever. I sure hope that I am the best ever as I often feel like I am making up for the ones that I couldn’t keep here with me.
I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I can openly share my losses, but I know one thing, if you have a partner whom you love and who truly loves you, then nothing is impossible. If it is medically possible to have a baby then go for it come. If it is not possible and you want to have a baby then adopt or foster one. The love of a child is one of a kind and it feels so good to teach and learn and snuggle and hug and kiss and play.
I don’t want to miss a day. Ever.