We came home from New York after another cancelled IVF cycle, and as I sifted through the mail, I found a holiday card… the last one of the season. I opened it up, not giving it a second thought, and there was a pregnancy announcement. Early ultrasound pics and all. I started 2020 with the intention to live my best life alongside infertility and grief. Today I feel lost. My emotions around the cancelled cycle, this pregnancy announcement, and future treatment all feel… very heavy. I’m acknowledging my feelings, and I’m hopeful that writing about them may help me process all of this.
To tell the truth, as much as I really, really wanted to be happy for the pregnant person, I also wanted to scream profanities and throw the card across the room, curse God and once again wonder why I can’t be like them. I ran to my husband and said indignantly, “Guess who ISN’T pregnant? Me. just me. I’m the only one who isn’t pregnant.” We speculated about this announcement. Were they trying? Was this expected? I said that it was probably a surprise – because that’s how things seem to go. Everyone seems to get pregnant without a hitch. Without even trying that hard. Without any interruption to their lives, much less any medical intervention. Everyone but me, of course.
I realize what I’m describing is what people call victim mentality. And yes, sometimes I just need to wallow in self-pity before I pick myself up again and again, because these people who are announcing pregnancies left and right, and going on to have uneventful experiences, are people who I have to face, not just acquaintances on social media. I have to bite my lip to prevent from crying as I congratulate them. Yet it’s more complex. I also have to hide my fear and anxiety, the trauma I’ve experienced from pregnancy loss. The sheer terror that I feel, on top of thinly veiled envy, when someone announces at 6 weeks gestation or shares ultrasound pics from 8 weeks. The images and memories that come up in my mind. I know first-hand how much can go wrong.
I’m feeling a strong sense of deja vu as well.
Almost every time I’ve gotten pregnant, it has been early in the calendar year.
I was cast in a dance concert when I found out I was pregnant with our girl in January 2018. This was our third pregnancy, and I was afraid to tell anyone. But I had to tell the people that cast me, because the show was 4 months away at that point, and if I did stay pregnant, it would clearly impact their pieces.
I told everyone, sent an email, most pieces were re-cast, and then we lost her months later.
Another dancer got pregnant on accident and waited until it was “official just in case something happened” i.e. 12 weeks/second trimester to announce in March 2019. She texted everyone. It reminded me so much of the email I sent a year earlier, talking about timing as my pregnancy progressed and not being able to dance but wanting to help in other ways. It’s an email that probably nobody but me remembers.
And now another surprise announcement.
It has been nearly 2 years since I announced my own pregnancy to this group. It’s distressing for me to think about how much time has passed, and how many treatments we have endured since then. And still we don’t have a baby.
Sometimes I look back and try to remember what it felt like to be 16 weeks pregnant. I was afraid at the beginning of the pregnancy, but by then, my fears had nearly subsided. I was naive and believed what most like to say, that once you’re past the first trimester, you’ve entered a safe zone.
Then there is the guilt. I don’t want to be like this. I don’t want to be resentful, jealous, and bitter. I wish that I could be fully happy for people who are easily able to have biological children. What a gift it is. It’s like a special club that is closed to me, no matter what I put my body through, how much I sacrifice, how hard I try, how much I hope and pray for my status to change, and how much I visualize myself entering the club. I can’t force the doors open. I can’t buy my way in. No amount of hard work on my part seems to open those doors. Yet, I watch as others pass through effortlessly.
There have been times when I thought I might get in. I got to the top of the steps, touched the door handle, was able to get a small glimpse inside. Each time, I seemed to get a little further along. The last time that I was *almost* in and was swept back down the stairs and knocked on my ass, I wasn’t even surprised. I expected it.
I will see this pregnant person today. I’m not going to say anything. I’m going to try to get through the encounter without crying. That’s just where I am today. Maybe tomorrow will be easier.
If you have never lived through pregnancy loss or infertility, please know that they both fuck with your mind. I’m not always able to look on the bright side, or count my blessings. I’m often sad and anxious. I realize that I have gradually isolated myself over the past few years, as medical diagnoses were delivered, bills piled, treatment became more intense, and time marched forward faster than I imagined possible. I often hesitate to describe our experience to friends and family because it is incredibly complex. But I am so appreciative of anyone who has checked in with me, and who has expressed concern and support. Most days I feel like hiding in a corner or burying myself under the covers. But it’s lonely over here in the corner.
If you are reading this and know of someone wading through the shit that is infertility or pregnancy loss, know that a simple gesture – a text, email, or offer to meet for coffee – can go a long way. Odds are they are lonely and already feeling like the odd one out. Go one step further and read about infertility and pregnancy loss. Researching these issues might help you understand what your friend or family member is facing. For more information on how to support a friend facing infertility, check out this article. If you want to know how to help a friend who has experienced pregnancy loss, I think this resource is helpful. There is a separate page for late miscarriage. As someone who has survived a late miscarriage, I can say that there are nuances that not many are aware of, such as the physical experience of labor, and other difficult and upsetting events and circumstances that often accompany a late loss.
A Life Reclaimed 