Lost…and found. (I’m gonna talk miscarriage so if you’re rather come back tomorrow – that’s cool)

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss and Remembrance Day. And, I know, nobody talks about miscarriage and babyloss. But today, I can’t help myself.

If nobody talks about how a miscarriage threw their life for a loop how would anyone else know it’s ok to feel the same.

If nobody talks about miscarriage, how do you know some people just keep keeping on, and that’s ok too.

If nobody talks about miscarriage, how do you learn that it happens to lots and lots of women and you’re not alone. YOU’RE NOT ALONE.

My first miscarriage in a word? Sad.

Chest-achingly, life-alteringly sad. I don’t even know if those are words but you get the picture.

It was one of those ultrasound moments like you see in the movies when you think everything’s going along tickity-boo and then it just isn’t.

We walked in laughing and joking about Baby Olive and walked out as shadows.

For the way I go on and on about it, you’d think I lost a fully cooked actual take-home baby. Or was 24 weeks along and could almost taste the final trimester. But I wasn’t.

It was just shy of 10 weeks. Still, it felt like the world caved in. I think the long IVF cycle that preceded the pregnancy didn’t help matters. 75 days of down-regulation before the big drugs started meant I had been working on this pregnancy for 3 months before the actual fertilization took place.

My heart was 100% in. I had created a whole life for us as a family of 4 in my head and then, POOF it was gone.

I did not bounce back. I didn’t ‘get over it’. I had no desire too. And too be honest, I still don’t. That’s not to say that I didn’t heal, didn’t move on. I have done both. But I still mourn the loss of the pregnancy and today, that’s ok. I remember that I had hopes and dreams tied to that pregnancy and when it ended, I lost those too. It still makes me sad.

Now that there’s some time between that moment and the present I can see there were some things gained.  I gained perspective. I gained empathy. I gained the courage to push a little harder to find a new path to where the hopes and dreams waited for me.

We tried again. We lost again – very early on. We were ready to stop. Too much. It was all too much.

And then, it wasn’t. We decided to try one last time. Just to know for sure. Just because I needed to know we were really done.

We weren’t. We welcomed Obi.

At the time, I thought I would never make sense of what happened. This is what I think now.

If Olive had come to be, there would never have been an Obi. Olive had to be lost so Obi could be found. Obi needs us. And we need Obi. This was Olive’s gift to me.

I wish I had known Sweet Olive. I really do.

I’m also glad there’s such a thing as Pregnancy and Infant Loss and Remembrance Day. It tells the world there are people like me who remember lost babes like Sweet Olive. It honours women by granting ‘permission’ to talk. It lets me tell you about Olive so you remember too.

To mark the day, I went out and got myself a little something. The pic isn’t true to colour, as my reflection in the silver gives it a pinkish hue. It’s a little Olive branch ring. It’s just a little token, but it, like this day, holds a great deal of meaning for me.

Image

If you want to read a lovely article from the New York Times about Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day, click here.

If you’re interested in reading more about our IVF journey, head over to invitroveritas.wordpress.com.

If you found your way here because you’re remembering a pregnancy or infant today, I’m so, so sorry for your loss.

1 Comment

  1. Amanda ~ MommiesFirst

    October 16, 2013 at 4:21 pm

    I’m so sorry for your loss! Thank you for sharing this. It is so important!

    Reply

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