Category: grief and loss

grief and loss · Infertility · journal entry · sermon takeaways · trying to conceive

The loneliness of infertility

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I haven’t felt like writing very much recently. Part of that is just being so busy with work lately; and between that and trying to do work on our new house and start planning for a move…there’s hardly any time to think.

But it’s been a while (again) and I’m finding that I’m in a rather uncomfortable place emotionally so I need to try and sort things out.

Things are fine during the day. I’m occupied with the aforementioned work/house tasks and that keeps me distracted. And most of the time I’m so exhausted at the end of the day that I just crash.

But lately I’ve been finding myself overwhelmed by a cloud of negative emotions and I can’t get myself out of it (other than by going to sleep; which ends up being difficult if I get down enough).

This infertility journey has become very lonely. I feel so isolated. Yes, there’s people I follow on social media and various blogs; so there’s indirect encouragement sometimes. It’s helpful to see that I’m not alone; but that isn’t translating to my immediate day to day life.

People have all but forgotten about the miscarriage; and I don’t think they realize that the continuing to unsuccessfully try is almost as hard for me now as the miscarriage was, and how difficult it has been to deal with the unsuccessful IUI. And they don’t ask. I want to be heard; but I don’t want to force my emotions on anybody so I keep them inside until someone asks.

I even feel like I can’t really talk to my husband about it. Which is absolutely not true; I know I *can,* he always is willing to listen. But I know I sound like a broken record whining over wanting to be pregnant and whining over who didn’t say or do what I thought they should have, so I just get tired of repeating the same things and making him feel badly for not being able to fix it or make me be able to move on.

He made a comment recently indicating that he wouldn’t have even been able to remember our baby was due in October; and that really stung. I know those dates are more meaningful to me, but I guess I thought he would at least remember our due date and hoped that when the time came he’d acknowledge it.

So even in the processing of the loss (which was definitely set back by the failed IUI) I feel very alone and forgotten. I get a sense of, “why are you still being so angsty about this” from people whenever I do bring something up related to it.

I can’t handle pregnancy and birth announcements. I can’t handle seeing moms with newborns. I want it to be me so badly and every month it isn’t I feel like it’s less and less likely and the ache just gets deeper and heavier.

I know in the journey of all this I’ve all but forgotten God. I’ve pushed him off to a corner to try to deal with everything on my own; and so unsurprisingly he feels far away. As my pastor pointed out, “we shoo God off to a corner and then wonder where he is when we need him…he’s probably still sitting over there saying, ‘I’m here, I just gave you the space you asked for.'”

I’ve been trying to get back into reading my Bible (amazing how when I forget one day it completely throws me out of the routine even if I’ve been doing it consistently for weeks…) and I picked up a book on spiritual disciplines that I need to spend some time looking at. The sermon on Sunday was really applicable as well, he was talking about the function of lament as a means of helping us to respond well to despair; so perhaps I need to take some time to form my own lament in an attempt to reconnect with a God I believe to be good even if none of this feels good right now.

And I guess I also should just talk to my husband. He can’t fix it, but he can be there and I just need to let him.

grief and loss · Infertility · iui · trying to conceive

Grieving a baby that never existed

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It’s weird to grieve a baby that never existed. But we were so very hopeful this time around; given that it worked before, there were two eggs and a good sperm count, and everything seemed to be lining up so perfectly (again).

So when yesterday brought another negative test, I found myself in a very emotional place. I knew it would be hard if we weren’t successful, I didn’t expect the grief to feel so intense.

I grieve the loss of a life that never even was, the continued emptiness of my womb, the loss of all the plans of a pregnancy over Christmas and a baby or two in the spring. I re-grieve the miscarriage and I grieve in advance for the upcoming due date that will not have the joy of a healthy pregnancy to offset it.

I am sad. I am angry. I am disappointed. I am frustrated. I am empty.

And I’m going to feel very silly posting this if I simply tested too early with a cheap test and things come out positive tomorrow (the official 14 day mark) or AF never shows; but I really don’t have much hope for that at this point.

after miscarriage · grief and loss · Infertility · iui · pregnancy loss · sermon takeaways · trying to conceive

The valley of “should be”

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I can’t help but think about the fact that today I should be halfway through my pregnancy. We should already know our baby’s gender, we should be planning for baby showers and where to fit a crib in our apartment…I should be starting to show and…and…and…

I thought when my period came a few weeks ago that things clicked into place and that I was ready to be okay again. In some ways, I have been; I’ve at least been able to be productive and not zone out in front of the TV for hours on end (see previous post).

But every time I see a baby I want to cry. Every time I hear about another pregnancy it’s a gut punch. Every day of my cycle feels like it’s another day closer to be reminded of failure; because at this point I really don’t have a whole lot of confidence that we’ll be able to conceive completely naturally.

I’m just so tired of this being all consuming. But I honestly don’t know how to think about anything else.

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On a separate note, at least things are in process again with infertility treatments. It was super stressful for a couple weeks; I was beginning to be afraid that our new insurance wouldn’t be accepted anywhere (though technically I didn’t even know enough about our plan to get accurate information from any of the clinics I called).

But after a bunch of phone calls and (unnecessary) stress…I was able to switch our insurance ‘group’ to the one that is accepted at the clinic where our previous RE already works. I’m very hopeful that because she knows us she will just let us jump right in to another round of IUI with my upcoming cycle and not make us go through all the testing again; though if it’s a matter of getting insurance to cover things maybe she’ll still have to. I don’t know. I’m just grateful to be able to go back to her; it’s a small blessing in all of this.

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I’ll close with a couple reflections from one of my pastor’s recent sermons. He just finished going through Psalm 23; and the sermon on verse 4 (“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me”) had some especially helpful observations.

First was just the quote that he started with…an ancient proverb or something. “All sunshine and no rain makes a desert.” Enough said about that.

He also pointed out the following observation, something I’d never noticed before. The first three verses of the psalm refer to the Lord as “He.” (he leads me, he restores…etc) After the valley…after the first part of verse 4, David refers to the Lord as “you.” (“You are with me, you prepare, you anoint…). Walking through the inevitable valleys of life deepen our relationship with our shepherd and make it personal. We’re not just sheep being herded around…we are children walking through life with a father who pursues us with goodness and mercy. (that was in today’s sermon; the word for follow in verse 6 actually can be translated as “pursue.”)

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And as I pondered a title for this post I realized that the whiny first part is it’s own type of valley…so I guess I need to actually take what I just shared to heart. Hopefully it encourages someone else but apparently I also needed to be reminded of it again.

after miscarriage · baby EL · grief and loss · missed miscarriage · pregnancy loss · trying to conceive

When AF arrived

isabelrn2 Comments

Spotting started Wednesday night, full AF the next day.

I’m actually kinda amazed that it didn’t cause another emotional setback; in fact it did the opposite.

I think by my body physically telling me that it has moved past the pregnancy and is ready to try again…it somehow triggered my heart and mind to do the same.

I can’t forget what happened. It will always be a sad thing, I will always wonder about this child and grieve for the loss and for what could have been. March 6th (heartbeat), 21st (miscarriage discovered), 29th (birthday) and October 27th (due date) will always be days I remember.

But I don’t need to stay in the darkness. It’s time to move forward, it’s time to try again and hope again (scary as that is). And for the first time in 8 weeks, I feel like that’s actually possible and attainable; and it’s lasted more than part of a day so it seems that’s really where I’m at.

So while my uterus empties itself and prepares to rebuild; my heart and mind are doing the same.

I’m ready to live life again.

 

after miscarriage · grief and loss · Infertility

A catch up post

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It’s been a couple weeks since I’ve written anything. And I guess several things have happened in that time that I probably should have posted about but since I didn’t…this will just be a summary of the ‘highlights.’

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I went to see a Christian therapist a couple weeks ago. That was a total bust. I wanted to have a Christian perspective on things, but was still expecting a fairly standard counseling session. I’m pretty sure she quoted more verses and cliche Christian ‘maxims’ at me in less than an hour than the combined conversations I’ve had with people that I’ve gone to for actual spiritual counsel. Things like, “This was God’s best for you,” “God works all things for good,” “He knows the plans he has for you”, “He is faithful,” and “maybe this was him removing an idol from your life because he is a jealous God.” I probably talked less than half the time.

So that was a bummer. I think by the time I finally got to see her though I’d already started to feel like I was making some sort of progress (and the meds had maybe started kicking in), so I’m not sure I’m going to try to find another therapist or just see how it goes.

It did lead me to reach out to my pastor again though and we had a very good conversation last week that I’m still trying to work on processing/applying. Next blog post, probably. It needs its own space.

*****

My sister had her baby. He’s beautiful, and they are so tender and loving towards him. It was neat to see my sister just take on that role; it wasn’t one I could necessarily picture her in so it was cool to see that side of her blossom.

And she handled my visit with the same grace she used when she told me about her pregnancy in the first place. She gave me permission to be sad and to feel mixed emotions. She acknowledged them without even being prompted, she guessed some of the things I might have been feeling and made it completely valid to feel that way.

It’s amazing how simply being given freedom to have negative/mixed emotions just kind of makes those negative emotions less intense.

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Mother’s Day. Meh. Not much to say there. I was on call all weekend so I kept somewhat distracted. But it was still painful and by trying not to think about it I probably thought about it more.

Had a few people reach out; they acknowledged the losses and reminded me of my valid claim to motherhood even if it’s not visible to most so that was very sweet. My sister-in-law even checked in with my husband to see if she should get me flowers; so I had to try to be less annoyed with her for a few days…though she’s continued to make that difficult.

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She is probably going to have her baby this week. She wants to be induced before her due date because she’s “so over being pregnant,” she exaggerates every contraction and bemoans every interrupted night of sleep, and now that things are getting closer to happening she is “so nervous about all of it.” I just feel like it’s really hard to be sympathetic, I want to just be like: “Last time I checked, you absolutely wanted this.” Though I guess technically she wanted the baby so maybe she didn’t consider all the aspects of the process to get there.

I just feel like she’s going to be over-dramatic about everything. The pain of labor, the pain of recovery, the pain of breastfeeding, the challenge of adjusting to life with a newborn. And it makes me angry because it feels like a slap in the face because I’m willing to take on all of that and I still don’t get to.

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Still no period. It’ll be 7 weeks since the D&C on Friday; I’m not sure at what point I start getting concerned…though we’re between health insurance providers this month so there’s not much I could do even if nothing happens for a few more weeks. I don’t want to get my hopes up that we somehow managed to conceive again already; I doubt my body figured out that it needed to ovulate and with his swimmers being on the slow side it would be highly unlikely that they made it to an egg without assistance. We haven’t been consistent enough either. So I think it’s just a matter of continuing to wait.

grief and loss · pregnancy loss

Names

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I’ve chosen to give ‘baby EL’ a name. It’s something more for myself; I don’t think husband has any particular thoughts on the subject and I’m not sure bringing up the topic would help him in his own grieving process so for now I’m keeping it to myself.

After our first loss, I re-read “One Thousand Gifts” by Ann Voskamp and this quote really impacted me. It basically speaks for itself.

In the Bible a name…reveals the very essence of a thing, or rather its essence as God’s gift. To name a thing is to manifest the meaning and value God gave it, to know it as coming from God and to know its place and function within the cosmos created by God. To name a thing, in other words, is to bless God for it and in it.

So I gave that baby a name. Husband was convinced it was a boy, so I stuck to that gender for names. I wanted a name that would reflect he fact that this child was a blessing from God and that it’s short life was ultimately always his.

-Timothy David. Timothy: honoring to God. David: beloved.

Since I gave the first baby a boy’s name, I chose a girl’s name for this little one. This name is one that I have loved for some time for what it represents, but also recognize that it would be a hard name to give to a child who would live a normal life. But every time I read David Copperfield I am inspired by the character of Agnes-she just embodies goodness, purity, and selflessness. And that’s what the name means: pure, innocent. Rather fitting for a little one whose heart only beat in the safety of a womb.

-Agnes Claire. Agnes: pure and innocent. Claire: bright

I just hope that I don’t find out some day that Timothy is actually a girl and Agnes is a boy. But I imagine they understand.

after miscarriage · baby EL · grief and loss · Infertility · pregnancy loss

And it’s over

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Today my hcg is 1.

Most of me is relieved; I know it can takes weeks sometimes for those numbers to drop all the way, and obviously until it drops the body still thinks it’s pregnant and won’t initiate the regular cycles.

So we’re a tangible step closer to being able to try again. And that is a good thing.

But there’s still a new ache at having this final confirmation that the pregnancy is completely over. Obviously I knew that already. And I don’t want my body to think it’s pregnant when it isn’t. It’s not the same level of ache. It just marks the final physical end to this season and that makes me sad in a different kind of way.

““““““`

I’ve entered a “read everything and try to remember all the things I know to be true” phase and I’m trying to keep track of things that jump out to. Maybe I’ll post some of them another time. At least I’m wanting to do something again.

I’ve also gone back on antidepressants as of Friday night, and have my first counseling session and spiritual care conversation this week.

It’s beginning to feel a little less dark. So I am grateful.

after miscarriage · appointed time · grief and loss · Infertility · pregnancy loss

It’s not just our testimony

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I read something last night that was really profound; and at least for the moment has pulled me out of my funk just a little bit.

Found a series of ‘letters’ on a blog while browsing Pinterest and what I discovered in the one written to “my future mom self” was this gem.

“I know you always imagined what an amazing testimony you would have one day, but it wasn’t just for you. It was for your children too. Because of their story, they will never doubt God as their Savior and King.”

That stopped me in my tracks. This journey of struggling to conceive and of now multiple pregnancy losses is only making it more and more evident that any children we may be blessed with are perfectly timed and perfectly planned by God.

And that’s not just for my husband and I to be able to say, “look at God’s faithfulness and goodness in what he did in our lives.” It’s so we can tell our precious children that not only were they wanted and prayed for and that they are loved by us more than they can imagine…but that God in his sovereignty has chosen them and has a very specific purpose for them that involved them coming into the world at the exact time they did.

I guess in light of that it’s a little harder for me to be angry that baby ‘waterbear’ was not that child. I can still be sad, and I still will be for a long time…but I think there’s a little less anger now and I can start rebuilding my trust in God’s faithfulness.

(Disclaimer: obviously God has a purpose for every life. Every child is ordained by him and is equally valuable in his eyes. I’m not discounting that. But it seems that this truth should sink a little deeper and feel a little more tangible for a child who comes after loss and after infertility.)

Link to article: https://www.in-due-time.com/fertility/a-letter-to-my-future-mom-self/

after miscarriage · grief and loss · journal entry · pregnancy loss

On the ugliness inside

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I feel like I’ve moved into an ugly place.

Not only am I finding myself thinking and feeling some rather unattractive things, I’m also confused about why I’m still feeling so miserable. I wonder if there’s a sadistic part of me that wants to stay unhappy. I’ll have a good day that is followed by more than one bad day; almost as if I’m rebelling against the attempt at being happy by intentionally focusing on what is making me sad.

So that in itself is ugly. I mean, how shallow and pathetic is it to make myself think about how crummy everything is? I know I have so much to be thankful for, I know that my spiritual framework should be starting a rebuilding process and that I should be focusing on God’s blessings and goodness and leaning into him as I grow through this.

But I seem to be counting my misfortunes instead of my blessings. 

And on top of that, my attitude towards other people who have what I don’t is becoming callous and bitter. I found myself annoyed last night by my sister-in-law’s response to some painful Braxton Hicks contractions instead of compassionate and sympathetic. All I could think about was how selfish she was being by making a big deal out of something that I’d give an awful lot to have. And as she cried through the fear and the pain I was trying to keep from having a meltdown over the unfairness of it all and angered by her eagerness to have this part ‘over’ when it wasn’t all that long ago that she was desperate to have it too.

I don’t want to pray, I don’t want to read my Bible, I don’t want to try to journal and process this out (other than my blog posts) because I think maybe I’m not ready to let go of the hurt and anger.

Losing a pregnancy after infertility has revealed some really ugly layers of my heart and I’m not really enjoying that very much.

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But I have decided in light of all this that it’s time to make an effort to get “better.” There may be a sadistic part of me that likes being miserable but I know I can’t stay here. So I’m working on finding a therapist and going back to counseling, and have started the process of meeting with someone from my church’s care ministry.  I’ve also reached out to my doctor to ask if it’s wise to resume my antidepressants.

And maybe once we hit Thursday (the 5 week mark; the point at which the time of grief is equal to the time of joy) something will just shift and I’ll subconsciously just start to move on. Who knows. The mind and heart are strange beasts.

after miscarriage · grief and loss · Infertility · journal entry · missed miscarriage · pregnancy loss

4 weeks later

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It’s been four weeks. In one week, we will have known that our baby had died for the same amount of time that we thought we were going to be welcoming that same baby in October.

Strange. It’s been a blur and it feels like it was just yesterday; how has the time spent grieving already almost passed the time rejoicing?

In terms of processing/functioning, the roller coaster has leveled out a good deal.

  • The ‘ugly crying’ episodes are fewer and farther between; even crying has lessened. Monday was rough though; it was emotionally exhausting returning to my doctor’s office for a follow up appointment and I’m so tired of having ultrasounds of an empty uterus.
  • The anger rears its head occasionally but even that has turned into more of a “Really, God? Why?,” “I just wish you had allowed things to be different,” and a more resigned “I still don’t understand why you would give us a baby that you knew we so deeply wanted and then just take it away.”
  • The depression is less intense; I’m able to function a little bit better and have found that sometimes I actually almost want to do things (like art or reading or going for a walk). I still don’t really do much, but at least I can imagine having enough energy and desire to pursue my interests.
  • I did notice over the weekend that it actually made me upset to be starting to feel better. I guess it was a fear (unfounded) that not being so sad anymore meant I somehow didn’t really love my baby all that much. Chalk it up to the myriad of weird emotions and stigmas attached to early pregnancy loss.

But all that aside; the aching emptiness is still there. And I hate it. I hate that in one fell swoop one of my deepest purposes was sucked away and that I’m left in the aftermath bearing an empty womb and an empty space in my heart that will always belong to a little waterbear that we will never meet this side of heaven.

Honestly, I’m still too raw to even hope for the next time. In a sense, there is hope and there is an eagerness to be able to try again (the waiting for a new cycle feels like such a waste of time)…but the greater part of me is still numb to the possibility of trying and afraid of what might be ahead-months of infertility or more devastating loss.

After all, God never promised a rainbow baby after a miscarriage or infertility. Some people don’t ever get their rainbows. At least not in this sense. So I’m trying to stay realistic but also trying not to lose hope that he will show us grace and demonstrate his faithfulness to us in this specific way.

It’s a weird place to be.

I’d much rather just be 12 weeks pregnant. But I suppose that’s a duh.