Miscarriage and Infertility REALLY messed with my head... But is it permanent?

This issue has been on my mind a lot lately, and I've been wanting to write about it for quite some time. Actually, I've been wanting to write about a lot of things, but there's no way to make them all fit in one post so I'll try just stick to this one for now.

Now I knew pretty much immediately after my first miscarriage started that something in me had changed and that I would never, ever be the same person again. It shattered my world and splintered my reality in ways I am still trying to piece back together (faith in God, in myself, in the future...for example).  I don't know how to make the pieces fit again and I have felt for quite some time like I am very literally STUCK here in this difficult place where I am at once pissed off at God and scared of him at the same time. It's horrible. But again, that is for another post.

As I already mentioned, my experiences have changed me, and so far I don't see how it has been for the better other than that I am able to empathize with others and their pain in a much more real way now than I ever could before. Aside from that, all it has done is make me bitter, jealous, angry, terrified, anxious and depressed. I could literally write a novel about this issue alone. Even though it took us almost a full year (11 months, I believe) to get pregnant the first time, I was still fine at that point. I still believed it would happen, and I had so much hope. We just weren't trying hard enough, or I was running too hard (I was really into training for 5K's at the time), or finishing grad school was just too stressful. Then, my mom got sick and I figured it just wasn't our time. Whatever the reason, I figured our time would come soon enough. So when it finally did in October of 2010, I thought "This is it. This is our time, and this baby is going to be a light for my hurting family. It's going to bring hope and joy to my sick mama." I really, truly believed these thoughts were from God and believed them with all of my heart, even when that first pregnancy started to have complications pretty much right away.

And then, even after the shock of seeing that sweet little 9 week old baby floating around with no heartbeat inside of me, I somehow got past the anger and found my way back to God. Sure, I was angry, but I believed he had a "plan" and that if I could just trust in Him, it would all work out just fine. I prayed through my grief and my anger and my jealousy of other women with healthy babies. I clung to the hope that he would not leave me or forsake me. I tried, I really did, to "let go and let God," as so many people advised me to do.

And then it happened again.

The 2nd time I was destroyed. In truth though, looking back, I was still so broken from the first loss that in all fairness I probably wasn't in the best emotional state to be trying for another baby. But if you've ever had a miscarriage or a loss, you understand the desperate drive to just get pregnant again... to get back what you've lost. And so, 3 months after losing our precious first baby, I found myself pregnant again. It happened relatively fast, even with my crazy messed up cycles, and for that I was thankful. But I was fragile and I was scared. When I took the requisite survey at my OB's office to screen for risk of post-partum depression, my OB point-blank said to me, "You know you score off the charts for depression right now, right?" "Yep," I said, "I know." Yet, I was assuming that being pregnant and having a baby would fix that depression right up. After all, my miscarriage was the initial cause.

Well, long story short, that pregnancy lasted even less time than the first. My faith was stomped into the ground, even though I tried for a while to cling to it. When my first due date rolled around in June of 2011 and I was still bleeding from my 2nd miscarriage that had started in APRIL, it was all too much. I think I've probably already written about that experience, so I'll skip the details, but a major turning point with my faith issue happened the night before that June 30th due date. I went to the women's Bible study with my church at the time, and after updating them all about my struggle, these very Godly and wise older women asked if they could lay hands on me and pray for God to stop my bleeding. So they did, even though I told them it made me nervous b/c of how fragile my faith already was: I knew that if it didn't work, that might be the end for me. Still, my hope that he would hear them and have mercy on me outweighed my fears, so I ultimately agreed. And pray they did.

The next day, my due date, the bleeding did indeed seem lighter at first, but it had been coming and going for months, so I wasn't holding my breath. "Maybe..." I thought, "Maybe this really WILL be it and it will be God's way of showing me he still cares about me." I remember I was sitting at my computer in the office that afternoon, when I felt a sudden gush of wetness between my legs (definitely TMI, I know). "Shit!", I thought. I was wearing a pad though (as I had been doing for the last 10 weeks or so... I swear I should have taken out stock in maxi pads), so I assumed I'd be ok when I stood up to go across the room and into the bathroom. I was wrong. I wasn't just bleeding a little, I was gushing blood that quickly soaked through my pad, my underwear, my skirt and then proceeded to drip all over the cream-colored carpet as I rushed across the room to the bathroom. Blood was literally everywhere and I could not believe it. This... THIS was God's response to all of the earnest prayers from some of the most Godly women I know? Well, shit. Thanks a lot.

My bleeding didn't stop that day, the day I should have been meeting my first-born child, oh no. It didn't stop, it came back with a vengeance I had never seen before. And I spent the rest of that afternoon trying to scrub fresh blood out of our carpet, all the while feeling whatever was left of my faith slip through my fingers.

I would love to say that that final deluge of blood was the end of the whole ordeal, but it wasn't. I went on to bleed for a few more weeks before I finally had another ultrasound and was told I'd need the D&C anyway... which of course led to two MORE weeks of bleeding to heal up from the surgery. Basically, I spent all of last summer bleeding, and I hated my life. I hated my body. I hated God.

(I guess I wrote that story out again after all. Sorry!)

We decided to take at least a 6 month break (though I hadn't realized I'd be bleeding for 3+ of those months, but whatever). Then, I got a new job and moved up north, so my husband and I were apart from August until he got a job up here in November, so that made taking a break all the easier (kind of hard to make a baby when you rarely see each other). But when he came up in November and we were finally moved into our own place, we felt ready to try again. This time, we were working with a new RE who had me on fertility treatments to try to up our chances of creating a healthy embryo (I was ovulating so late that with the first two babies they thought the problem could have just been poor egg quality). As we'd gotten pregnant relatively easily the other 2 times (once I figured out OPK's and charting and how to tell when I was ovulating), we both assumed the treatments would be our ticket to another pregnancy, and this time a healthy one. We had a lot of hope. So when month after month of pills and follicle studies, followed by injections and more follicle studies still did not lead to a baby, my state of mind quickly went downhill again. "You mean, after all of that, NOW I can't even get pregnant? And with HELP from one of Michigan's top doctors? What the hell is wrong with me? I guess it's never going to happen." We decided after 4 months of treatments to take a break. I wasn't handling it well emotionally and it clearly wasn't working anyway.

Lo and behold, that month we took a "break" (I was still charting and still using OPK's... a real great break, haha), is also the month I got pregnant. I ovulated at at normal time for once in my life, and the Dr. says this is probably due to the "honeymoon effect" of still having some of the drugs in my body, even though we hadn't used them that cycle. I was very hopeful right after ovulation and started on the progesterone supplements right away, per usual. However, about 4 days after ovulation, we both got some not so good news about our health (I swear I already wrote this all out... oh well), and I stopped taking the progesterone b/c I assumed there was no way we'd be pregnant. And I proceeded to drink as much as I wanted and basically act like a moron for the next 2 weeks, upon which I realized my period hadn't come at its usual shortened luteal phase point of about 10 days after ovulation. I took a test, and the rest is history. Well, the history that has led us to this point of being 22 weeks and 4 days pregnant with a baby boy... so it's not in the books YET that this baby will come home with us, but God I hope so. Maybe it's the nightly Lovenox shots that are keeping whatever the mysterious autoimmune disorder I was diagnosed with (literally the day before I found out I was pregnant) in check, or maybe it's just random luck. Or MAYBE it's God. I don't know, and I don't really go there right now because it's so scary and too confusing.

So shit. This is NOT what I intended this post to be at all. This was going to be about all of the psycho behaviors I now manifest as a result of my past experiences, and I still want to write those out because they are really weighing me down lately and I'd like to know I'm not the only one who struggles with them. I guess I'll jot down just a few (and if you are still reading this, you are seriously a champ... I am nothing if not long-winded. I get it from my mom, who used to write my teachers a novel instead of short note to explain why I might need to leave school early that day for this or that appointment. Ha).

Anyway, here are some of the things I do that I am NOT proud of ("Thanks, IF!"):

1) I instantly remove from my facebook news feed any woman who announces a pregnancy, unless I know she has had a difficult road leading up to that pregnancy. That is, I basically unfriend any and all women who are blessed with carefree and ignorant pregnancies. It's just too painful for me to see their stupid joy and bliss and to know they have NO fear or idea whatsoever that things could go wrong. And of course they WON'T go wrong (or so I assume) because these are extremely fertile women who get to time their children out exactly how they want to. And yes, even while pregnant myself, I feel no different about these women.

2) I then secretly stalk these women and check their pages when I feel like it, which I swear makes me a glutton for pain. Still, some small part of me wants to see how the "normal" half are experiencing pregnancy, so I check out their pages for a glimpse into what that world is like. Then, I feel like shit because I realize how far removed I am from anything at all resembling normal in the realm of being pregnant. Why can't I post cute comments about how amazing it is to feel my baby move inside of me? Or post pictures of my growing belly? Or quips about my cravings and how great my hubby is for putting up with me? Because that's not how pregnancy is for me. Pregnancy is terrifying and painful all at once. And yet, I torture myself by looking at these women's pages all the time. What is wrong with me? It's like spying on a club I'm not a part of, but want desperately to be included in. But I will never be a part of that club.

3) I curse every woman who is having their 2nd child (again, without any problems), especially when that child is the opposite sex from their 1st one. I guess I just think, "Really, you get to have it THAT perfectly? Not only are you on your SECOND baby since we started trying for our first, but now you get to have one of EACH? Well, isn't that perfect?" I am evil. I truly feel some jealousy and even hatred for these happy women who have it so easy. And I secretly wish their 2nd babies would be the same sex as their first, just because that seems a LITTLE fair, right? Of course, then they'll just keep having MORE babies until they get what they want. And eventually they will b/c that's how life works for the fertile. It feels cathartic to write that out, even while I know it makes me look like a heinous bitch. It's not me, it's the infertility talking.

4) I read into women's facebook comments like a private detective, looking for clues that she might be pregnant. You're "feeling sick"? You're pregnant. You're "exhausted"? Yep, pregnant. Then, I get insanely bitter towards these gals (I wrote "bitches" first, but then realized that might sound too harsh... it's how I feel though. Ha!) for not just coming out and saying it like I know they want to. Really, you have to be all cryptic and make us all guess? You know you are like 5 weeks pregnant and totally believe your baby will live (b/c it will, of course), so just go ahead and announce it to the world. We all know that "Craving Cold Stone ice cream" is not something a normal person would post unless they also happened to growing a baby inside of them, so stop trying to be cute. I also look for winky faces and comments from other people in response to these posts, since often others who are already in the know respond with more stupid cryptic comments like "Oh, I COMPLETELY understand. Just wait! ;)". It all makes me gag and want to slap someone, but only b/c once again, it's stuff out of the land of the fertile, where I just don't belong. Life there must be so blissfully ignorant and sweet. I wonder if that's what heaven is like.

5) I feel palpable relief when I see a girl my age tagged in a picture with a drink in her hand. I mean, it's crazy how relieved I feel. It's like, well, I know SHE at least is not going to be announcing a pregnancy today or even tomorrow, so she's safe at least for another couple of weeks. And I want to hang out with those people. Even though I am pregnant. Again, because they are "safe."

6) I don't do well with pregnancy small talk... at ALL. I was recently at a wedding where there happened to be about 5 pregnant girls all around my age, and so it was assumed we'd all talk and catch up and swap stories. This was a nightmare for me and I did my best to avoid conversation with any of them. We have nothing in common. All of them are on their first pregnancy, and none of them have ever had anything go wrong. There is literally nothing I can add to their easy conversations that won't just sound like a downer. "How are things going for me? Well, he's alive so far, so that's good. I still freak out pretty much every day thinking he's for sure dead b/c I haven't felt him move in a long time, but then I use my doppler (Oh, it's that thing they use at the Dr. to hear the heartbeat. Yeah, I rented one to have at home) to make sure he's still alive and I feel better. Sometimes I have to do this multiple times in a day." They don't know how to respond to this, and I am left realizing I should have just said "Everything is GREAT! I feel great and we're so excited to be having a baby boy. How are YOU doing?", but then, I've never been one who could hide her true feelings. Ugh. I wouldn't want to talk to me either.

I guess I'm going to stop there, because really, haven't I already painted a sad enough picture of life inside my sick and twisted little head? Ha. I miss my happy pills. It's all true though, and I try to tell myself it's normal given my history, but in reality I know many women handle this stuff with SO much more grace than I seem capable of. And I wish I could be that way. But for now, this is me. I am broken and bitter, but also happy and thankful for the life growing inside of me. This sweet baby boy better stick around for the long-haul though, or you might have to throw me in the loony bin once and for all.

Have a great weekend everyone! (Everyone = about 4 people at this point, but I am thankful for you all!).

P.S. I am not going to even proofread or edit this b/c it's too damn long, so I apologize for the typos. And for making you read 100 pages of rambling.