I don't want to be the exception.

In most areas of my life I work hard to be the exception. That might mean the way I do things looks and feels different than others, but I value that uniqueness. 

The one area I wish I WASN'T the exception is regarding my fertility. I wish I followed the "normal" route of getting pregnant. I wish it didn't involve tests, blood draw upon blood draw and emotionally altering medication. More so, I wish taking a positive home pregnancy test brought forth immediate glee. Instead it's bundled with worry and anxiety.

Most of my friends (actually, a majority of the female population) take a home pregnancy test and if pregnant, schedule an appointment with their doctor 2-4 weeks later. At which point they get their first ultrasound and if their lucky, hear the heartbeat.

My journey looks quite different. If and when I get a positive test, I go to the doctor on that day and get blood work done. They test my pregnancy hormone level as well as progesterone and estrogen levels. Then I go on a hormonal cocktail of meds that are suppose to help sustain the pregnancy (which is silly because they never do their job!), and I return for the same panel of blood test 2 days later. The pregnancy hormone is suppose to double (at least) between blood test. My situation goes one of two ways:

1. My pregnancy hormone level increases a smidge, but doesn't double. Then I'm forced to wait another two days for another blood test which shows my pregnancy hormone decreased = miscarriage.
OR
2. My pregnancy hormone is already declining by the time my second blood draw is taken = miscarriage

Having been pregnant so many times I know when I'm pregnant even before peeing on that dreaded stick. In fact, I tend to not test right away because of fear. Fear that I will get a negative result AND fear that I will get a positive result, which always ends the same, in a miscarriage.

As a matter of fact, this last cycle I waited a long time before peeing on that dreaded stick. I knew I was pregnant. I had all my normal symptoms, but it took me many days before getting brave enough to face my reality. My intuition was spot on, when I got the "2 lines" I shouted the F-word because in my gut, I already knew the outcome. 

Today I found out my pregnancy hormone has decreased and I have a pending miscarriage. Unlucky, #13.

It's ironic that my last blog post was a journal entry from last December - after experiencing my 10th loss. 

“It’s like Groundhogs Day - repeating the same chain of events over and over. I wish for a different outcome, yet I’m left with the same experience. I’m left grieving a lost baby and grieving what little faith I have in my body.”

So while I work hard at being the exception in most areas of my life, I wish getting pregnant and sustaining a pregnancy was boring and normal. Unfortunately, that's not my reality. I guess I need to find a way to value the uniqueness that is my infertility journey and not allow it to be my life sentence.

“I will walk by faith even when I can not see.”

— 2 Corinthians 5:7

A forgotten journal entry.

Truth. 

A year ago today I found out I was having another miscarriage. I'm usually really good at remembering when my miscarriages occur. As the anniversary of each lost baby gets closer my body remembers, it recalls the sensation of loss deep in it's bones.

This anniversary is different. To be honest, I forgot this happened a year ago today. My body didn't remind me by giving my a deep sense of grief like it normally does. My mind failed to replay the memory in my dreams. 

Do I care less about this pregnancy?  

Are my pregnancies starting to matter less because I've experienced so many?

Am I become numb to this infertility journey? 

Reading my journal entry from a year ago was eye opening to me. I'm reminded of a quote my friend shared with me, "Grief never ends, but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith. It is the price of love." 

So although my body and my mind didn't remind me of the anniversary of losing my 10th pregnancy, it doesn't mean my grief has ended. No! My grief has simply changed, it looks and feels different a year later. 

 -----------

Journal Entry: December 18th, 2015

10 miscarriages.

Today Josh and I are left grieving another baby.  Another pregnancy, another baby that went straight to heaven.  It's odd to reflect back on our other 9 losses.  Somehow this one feels different.  My emotions are slightly more neutral, almost like I've been in this exact place before.  Oh right, I have.  It's like groundhog day - repeating the same chain of events over and over.  I wish for a different outcome, yet I'm left with the same experience. I'm left grieving a lost baby and grieving what little faith I had in my body.

It's not a coincidence that a lovely friend of mine sent me a necklace this week that is the daintiest guardian angle wing.  With it, her wise words:

"Grief never ends, but it changes.  It's a passage, not a place to stay.  Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith.  It is the price of love."

So I'm gonna put one foot in front of the other, take one day at a time, making my way along this journey.  I know that God is tenderly holding my babies in heaven.

Side note: I also know God won't judge me for the McDonalds large fry and strawberry milkshake I'm about to devour.

What did he just say?

You might recall this old blog post where I wrote about Aiden's school project where he insisting he had a sister. Fast forward to last evening, a similar moment stopped me in my tracks and I had to question, "What did he just say?"

Let me get you up to speed... 

I've had 12 miscarriages, 5 of which occurred before my pregnancy with Aiden. Of those 5, there was one in particular that was far enough along that we heard the heartbeat multiple times and had a couple ultra sounds before the dreaded news. Check out an archived blog post where I share more details on this emotional miscarriage. 

After having a D&C, we found out that pregnancy was a little girl who would be in Kindergarten this year. I often wonder what kind of little brother Aiden would be if that pregnancy, or any of the other before his, had been viable.

Now back to last evening... 

Aiden and I were snuggling, watching the finale of The Voice, when a commercial highlighting a baby product came on. He said, "I'm not a baby anymore." To which I responded, "You're absolutely not!" After a few moments I asked, "Do you want mommy to have a baby?" He sat with that question for a while. I then said, "Maybe a baby brother? Or a baby sister?" To which he said, "No, I already have a sister. I have a big big (with arm gestures) sister. She lives with Jesus." His response caught me off guard and I'm pretty sure I held my breath for more than a few seconds.

What did he just say? Maybe I didn't hear correctly.

He must have picked up on my silence because he repeated, "Yea, she's my big sister and she lives with Jesus." I then asked, "Have you seen her with Jesus?" To which he responded in an assuring voice, "Yea." 

I so desperately wanted to inquire more about this proclamation. I wanted more details to fill in the gaps of the thoughts swirling in my head. Alas, my moment passed and in true 3-year old form, he changed the subject.  

I'm not proclaiming Aiden has spiritual powers. It's very possible he heard me say something a long time ago, just one time, about his big sister who lives with Jesus. With him, that's all it takes. He hears something once and his little elephant brain remembers it.  

However, I do believe that moment was no coincidence. It forced me to think about that pregnancy and remember my daughter, who I often don't allow myself to think about because the pain is still very raw. 

I may only have one child on earth, but I have 12 in heaven. 12 pregnancies that I usually view as failures. Last night was a good reminder, although they were not viable pregnancies, they are anything but failures. They are each evidence of growth, making up the woman and mom who I am today. I'm glad God put Aiden in my life and uses him to remind me of things like that.