In September 2015 I got married. A month later I purchased my first home. It was a really good year. The following months were labor intensive, and super exciting. We worked every spare second on making this dated lump of junk into our dream home. We also had time for other things (like making a baby) meow. And make a baby we did. In February 2016 after trying for a month, we found out we were pregnant…. with our first.

Fast forward 4 months. Our house was coming along at flying speed. I had grown a cute little baby bump. Fur was sprouting from places no one should hear about. And then the unthinkable happened. At 20 weeks, we lost her. And just like that 2016 went from a year of great things, to a year of shit. Losing a kid at any age sucks. It was brutal and it was fucked up, and somehow we got through it. We met with a genetic counselor, we met with specialists. We were assured this was bad luck/ just the pits/ one in a million odds.

We spent some time healing. We worked on our house to take things off our mind. In July 2016 we went to Japan and felt our first escape from the pain that was so fresh. We had an epic trip that allowed us to focus on each other in a place so foreign and beautiful. It was an escape from the hardest parts, there were no looks of pity and questions of when we would try again. Halfway through I started feeling a little sick but thought nothing of it. I had been shoveling my face with food/beer and was on the go non-stop; my body was just adjusting. But the nausea continued. I made my way to the local convenience store and signed to a non-english speaking clerk “baby”, “pregnant”. She got it and showed me to the the wall of pregnancy tests. I rushed back to our apartment in Kyoto, and there on the robot toilet with a heated seat and rain sounds was a test with a little pink plus sign. Hello pregnancy part two. As I mentioned earlier I had been active (roller coaters, miles of hiking, beer on the regular). When I started bleeding a few days later I was not surprised. Of course this didn’t work out, my body was not exactly the prime environment for housing a kid at this exact moment.

After our trip we got back to business with the house, and back to the business of babies. Being a parent was always on the docket, and it was about time we got that part of our lives straightened out. In August 2016, just a few days before our dear friend’s wedding our third little pink plus sign made its debut. I had been eating kale like it was going of style, I was working out regularly, getting lots of rest, and laid off the rosé. The wedding celebration started the night before at a big beautiful house on Mt. Hood. At 2:30 in the morning I woke up to pain like someone was kicking me in the stomach. This loss was a little more startling. What did I do wrong? I ate so much kale!? The morning of the wedding I sat with some close friends, cracked a beer and announced, “I was taking a break”. This was getting hard, and I felt like some time off might help.

October 2016 was when things started getting really fucking hard. It was my birthday, and also happened to be the due date from my first pregnancy. It was a rough reminder of the sweet girl I had lost. Curtis and I had not been trying, but to be truthful we had not not been trying either. Two weeks before my birthday, like old faithful came the nausea. Welcome four to the pregnancy test saga. This time I gave myself permission to just be. I ate kale, and a burger; get off my back. I had a half cup of coffee somedays… Then it happened again, a toilet full of blood and plummeting HCG levels. And this was the very first time I realized that something was wrong. I spent my birthday at the coast with my best friends. It was a weekend of seafood, lots of booze, and so many long talks and sweet hugs as I cried my way into my 30th trip around the sun.

For those of you new to the world of recurrent miscarriages let me share some facts: 1% of women experience 3 or more miscarriages in a row. No one wants to be a statistic, but I assure you this one is especially lame. We had genetic testing and our results showed a clean bill of chromosomes. I had enough blood drawn to feed the entire cast of Twilight. Things looked normal outside of a Thyroid problem I had always known about. No one ever shared that an under-active thyroid makes pregnancies difficult. The doctor upped my dosage on medicine I have taken my whole life and said hold off for a month. I was to wait for things to level out. We said we would, but we failed.

November 14th I got sick when I got out of bed. How the frack did this happen!? We told no one, not even a call to the doctor. With our history we decided to wait. 5 weeks passed. This was new win for us. 7 weeks passed. Whoa… it was hanging in there. We finally got in contact with our doctor for a blood test and ultrasound. The blood work showed doubling levels, the ultrasound an empty sac. The said not to worry, our dating was off. We came back a week and a half later…. a slightly larger, but still empty sac. Intuition is a bitch. I knew it was over. One week later; our third and final ultrasound a showed the ultimate failure, a still very empty sac. The worst part of this loss was my body was still in total pregnancy mode. I opted for medication to end things at home which failed and the day before Christmas eve I had surgery.

This leads us to today. This month I will meet with an infertility specialist. We will assess our options, and I am slowly coming to terms with the reality that I may never have kids. This is a private, and weird part of my life (no one knows how to handle this kind of loss, hell I hardly do). But I have changed since this started. And I just want people to know. I want my friends to understand why I don’t go out as much. I want my family to accept those grey hairs as war paint. I am a mother of 5 babies that never were.


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