Why?

I know I’m posting in this a lot today. Maybe it’s because this is the first blog I’ve had that I know my family (specifically my mother) doesn’t read, so I feel free to rant and post, etc.

I belong to a group on iVillage known as Trying To Conceive After Miscarriage. The women there are awesome, and have been a source of comfort for me through everything.

Well, this one girl Sharon just posted that a fellow member of her Expecting Club (and TTCAM Graduate) had a miscarriage. This is her third.

Her THIRD.

Why does this happen? Why is it okay for a woman who smokes crack, drinks, and does other drugs to get pregnant without complications, while women like me, and all the other women on this board have to suffer loss, after loss, have fertility problems, and just.. It’s so unfair. I hate it. I hate that anyone has to go through this pain, and this suffering. I’m a believer that every experience in life is worth something, but this is so painful.

*sighs* I just hate it, especially when it happens to a woman who has already been through it once.

Confessions

I have confessions to make about my miscarriage.

When I got pregnant, the only regret that I had was that I wasn’t a healthier weight, and more in shape. I remember vocalizing this. And I confess that there is a part of me that wonders if someone heard my lament, and decided to give me that chance to lose weight by taking away my baby.

I confess that I wonder if I am too negative, and that I don’t treat others with enough positivity. I have wondered if that negativity came back around and was a cause for my miscarriage.

I confess that I feel guilty that my body couldn’t support my baby.

I confess that I wonder if my baby could feel the love that I had for him. I confess that I wonder if he felt pain when my body rejected him.

I confess that I feel immensely guilty for flushing my baby down the toilet when I miscarried him. Like a fish. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to save the “products of conception” as people so eloquently put it, because I couldn’t bear the thought of keeping my baby in the refrigerator like a science project.

I confess that I wish I’d have been able to look at my baby when I miscarried him for longer. I couldn’t stand to look.

I confess that sometimes I feel like I hurt worse than anyone else that’s suffered this kind of loss. I know that I don’t, but sometimes I feel like I do.

I confess that I worry that I won’t be as excited the next time I get pregnant.

I confess that I get irritated with pregnant women who complain about how horrible being pregnant is. You think that throwing up, swollen feet, sleepless nights are bad? Try seeing your baby’s heartbeat, and then three days later, suffering horrible cramps, accompanied by huge clots of blood and tissue, and then wiping when you go to the bathroom only to find the embryo on your toilet paper. Nausea and weight gain doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?

I confess that I feel a twinge of jealousy every time I see a pregnant woman. Every. Single. Time.

I confess that I don’t want advice, words of wisdom, or any of that shit from my friends who are pregnant, have been pregnant without complications, or have new babies. I don’t want to hear any of that crap from women who have not been in my shoes before. If you have not ever lost a child, or had a miscarriage, then don’t tell me “Everything happens for a reason,” or “It will happen when it’s meant to happen,” or, “God doesn’t make mistakes”. I understand that your intentions are good, but honestly, just keep it to yourself.

I confess that I worry if I am physically able to carry a healthy baby to term, even though I’ve only suffered one miscarriage, and really have no reason to worry that.

I confess that I miss you every single day. Every day. You were only with me for a few weeks, but I loved you just as much as if you had been there the whole nine months.

My Story

Hello, and welcome to the “About Me” portion of my blog.

First, my name is Natalie. I am 25 years old, and I live in Tennessee. I was born and raised in a suburb of Chicago, Illinois. When I was 17, I moved to Tennessee with a man that I thought was the ONE. Like many teenage dreams and ideals, that turned out to be a bust. It all turned out for the best, however.
I met Josh, the man who would be my husband in early 2003. Our relationship progressed from strangers to best friends very quickly and in the fall of ’03, I decided I wasn’t happy with the man I was dating, and ended the relationship. A few months later, Josh and I decided to take the plunge from being best friends to being romantically involved. The transition was very natural; like breathing in and out.

In the fall of ’04, Josh asked me to be his wife. I said yes without hesitation and on September 25th, 2005 we were married.

Josh and I both knew right off the bat that we wanted children, and that we wanted them together. We had a brief few months in our early marriage where we stopped using protection. We decided shortly after to enjoy our new marriage and to be more careful… It went against every fiber of my being, being “smart” and careful because I wanted to be a mother so badly.

So we enjoyed our newlywed state for over two years. In October of 2007, we decided we were through waiting. Were we in the ideal place financially? No. Did we have our own house like we wanted? No, but we were both through waiting. The love we had for our unborn (and still yet to be conceived) children overrode any hesitations we had about starting our family. I had been told repeatedly by older women that if we waited until the “perfect financial time”, we would never have children.

We tried to conceive our first child for one cycle, in November of 2007. On December 1st, 2007 I found myself staring at a faint positive pregnancy test. I had tested in the evening, because we were going to my companY Christmas party and I wanted to see if it was OK if I had a few beers. I calmly walked out to my husband who was reading on the couch, and asked him if it looked like there was a plus sign to him. He glanced at the test, said yes, and asked what that meant.
“Pregnant. It means pregnant,” I said. A huge smile flashed across his face, which he quickly let fall. He went back to reading and said, “Well, it’s very faint so let’s not get our hopes up.”
But we both knew better.

The next morning, I took another pregnancy test and confirmed what I already knew. I was pregnant. We were going to have a baby! I crept back into bed with my sleeping husband and woke him up, telling him the news. He grabbed me and we hugged, laughed, and rolled around for about an hour. We told everyone in the universe that we were expecting that day. We were absolutely over the moon; in love with the tiny little being that was our baby. I nicknamed our little one “green bean”.

On December 19th, 2007 I went in for an ultrasound and saw our baby’s heartbeat. I had been experiencing some spotting, and wanted to get an ultrasound to check to make sure everything was okay, as we were planning on going to Chicago on the 24th for an entire week to celebrate Christmas with my family. The moment I saw the fluttering that was my baby’s heartbeat on the ultrasound screen, I began to cry. Who knew that a little, tiny flickering motion could bring me such a level of joy and relief? My doctor said everything looked okay, and so we left the office that day with high hopes and were walking on air.

The spotting I was experiencing continued, and over the course of the next few days it got worse. On the evening of December 21st, 2007 we were out with my brother-in-law about to see a movie and I began to have cramps. At this point, my spotting had turned into a slow, light bleed – like a light period. I had a terrible feeling and opted to go home. When I used the restroom, I noticed more heavy spotting and even more cramps. With fear in my eyes, I told my husband I wanted to call the doctor even though it was after-hours. I needed guidance. I called and got a receptionist, who said that my doctor was on call and that’d she would page her. Within a few minutes, my doctor called me back and I explained my symptoms to her. What she told me made my heart sink. She let me know, very gently that it was most likely the beginnings of a miscarriage. She said there was a chance it could be something else, but to prepare ourselves for the worst. As I hung up the phone, I turned to Josh and told him what she had said. My amazing husband made the phone calls to family, and sent out a mass text message to our friends. He informed them we were losing the baby, that we were going to turn off our phones and be alone together and to please not worry. He said we would call them the next day and let them know what was going on but for right now, we needed to be alone.

We went to the bedroom and lay down, held each other and cried for hours. I felt like my heart was shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

On December 22nd, 2007 just three days after seeing my child’s heartbeat, I miscarried our precious green bean. We missed our trip to Chicago and spent the week together, mourning the loss of our baby.

A few months passed until we were ready to try and conceive again. In May of 2008 we decided we were ready. I got a sinus infection/strep throat combination during our first cycle, so that was an automatic bust. Our first “real” cycle of trying was June of 2008.
Month after month passed with no success. As each month passed, I became sadder and more bitter. I was jealous of every pregnant woman I saw. My heart ached for the child that I had lost, and for the one I was so desperately trying to conceive again. We had to take a two month break in the winter of 2008 so I could have my wisdom teeth extracted, and had high hopes for the new year.

In April of 2009 after our 9th unsuccessful attempt.. I decided I’d had enough. I was becoming depressed; consumed with temping and charting, with checking my cervical mucous and living my life in two-week increments. I was done. I forgot about my charting websites, said farewell to counting cycle days and figured we would just have a lot of sex until it worked.

On May 9th, 2009 I found myself in my bathroom, once again, staring at a positive pregnancy test. I had taken it because I was certain I wasn’t pregnant. I wanted to put myself out of my misery, and get through with my weekend so I could stop obsessing. When the word “PREGNANT” flashed on my screen, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t cry, jump up and down or gasp like I always pictured I would. I stared at it, blinking; unable to believe that after almost a year of seeing nothing but negatives, I was finally seeing a BFP (big fat positive). After revealing the news to my husband (you can read the details about our BFP story here) we decided once again to tell the world our news right away. We’d had such an overwhelming amount of love and support when we lost our first baby that we knew if something happened this time it would be the same thing…

But deep down inside, I knew that this baby was different. I felt destined to meet this child right from the start.

On September 2nd, 2009 we found out that we were expecting a little girl. We have named her Nellie Rose. She is already the light of our lives and we are so in love with her. After the heartache of losing our first baby, and struggling for nearly a year to conceive we both feel so blessed to receive this opportunity to finally become the parents we’ve always wanted to be. Our little girl is due to make her grand debut January 17th, 2010……

And we absolutely cannot wait to meet her.