You would think that by now I’d be used to getting a positive pregnancy test, seeing minimal line progression on my subsequent (and ample) pregnancy tests and bleeding beginning withing 3-7 days of the first positive test. I should be used to it, right? It’s been four times now. Four. I am 1 in 100 women who have recurrent miscarriage, except my pregnancies ended before 6 weeks so, in science, my losses don’t really “count”. Recurrent miscarriage is defined as 3 or more losses of clinically diagnosed pregnancies – which means a sac and fetal pole detected by ultrasound. But, I digress…
This last pregnancy found me with very low expectations and in an almost indifferent state of mind. I wanted to be excited and hopeful but I was more analytical and logical than anything else. Every bathroom trip was an opportunity to test again, just to see those two lines appear, knowing deep down I wouldn’t see them get darker or last for more than a few days. It was more of a twisted, sad science experiment than a comforting confirmation that I was, once again, blessed with a new life inside my womb. I was (and still am) fascinated by the second (test) line appearing on home pregnancy tests. It is soothing to see that our efforts have been successful. Yet, this pregnancy held no feelings of hope. I felt from the beginning that it was going to end up the same the previous 3 had. Idk if it was intuition or my lack of faith in the potential for a good outcome.
I WANTED to feel hopeful and happy. I wanted to celebrated our success. I wanted to believe that the semi-dark line that appeared on the expensive hpt was going to get darker. But, I couldn’t allow my mind to go there. Not for 7 days, I told myself as each day after the first positive test passed. If I could make it to 7 days, maybe I would be in the clear. Maybe we would be having a baby this time. I clung to logic and past experience instead of faith and God.
Then there was the fact that my diet, physical activity level and mood had gone to shit during the first half of this cycle. I had thrown caution to the wind and decided to get back into heavy-weight, vigorous, intense workouts, chugging 350 mg of caffeine daily in my energy (pre-workout) drinks and forgetting for long stretches to take my prenatal vitamins. I figured, it hadn’t happened in a year of me following all the rules so why not just live my life at this point? Why not do the things I enjoy doing?
Crazy thing is, I don’t blame myself for the miscarriage. Not at all. I was in way worse physical health when I conceived all 4 of my living children. Wayyy worse. And, like I mentioned, I had spent years eating healthy and exercising daily (I’m a personal trainer) in addition to adding supplements and cutting caffeine for the year we have been TTC and, although I did get pregnant 3 other times, I still lost them. So, yea, I’m not convinced that my diet alone is the culprit.
In fact, I have no idea why this keeps happening other than me being 44 years old and potentially poor egg quality. We just need to catch one good egg! Or, it could be the hubs, his age or our genetic compatibility. Clearly I can get pregnant with no real issue and I’ve had 4 children already so, maybe it’s him? Or us together? Who knows! We aren’t planning to do any testing if there are any out-of-pocket costs other than our typical co-pays. Neither of us has looked into what we can do beyond continuing to try naturally and staying on track with our nutrition and exercise.
I thought I would have a baby by now. I’m getting older and the desire to nourish a brand new life 24/7 is beginning to fade. I do have moments when I think we have been handed this lot because we are supposed to be doing something else, something that doesn’t involve raising a new little human. And then I have moments when I’m crushed beneath the heaviness of wanting a baby and knowing that something is preventing it from happening.
No matter how I feel, the reality is that is is not happening for us and I think I’m ready to move on…