The other day I caught myself wondering, do our lost babies count? Does my suffering count?
I know, crazy thinking, right? But hear me out.
So many women/couples try 8 or 9 or even 12 pregnancies before they stop trying or get their one. So many women go through IVF just to try to maintain a pregnancy. I know we all reach our enough at the time that is right for us and so it’s different for everyone. Yet, our history includes 2 chemical pregnancies and three “real” miscarriages 3 of them stopped growing before they even hit 7 weeks, with the heart rates actually stopping (i.e. fetal demise) for two of them at about week 8. And while we terminated one at week 14 and technically in the second trimester, but we knew from 6 weeks that it would not develop into a healthy child. Only once did we have a “healthy” baby, which also ended up dying.
So, some days I cannot help but wonder does all of this even count?
To virtually everyone in my real life (asides from Mr. MPB of course), I am not a mother. To everyone else in my life, I do not get to partake in the pregnancy conversations because I do not “have” children. Just the other day I watched two women have a conversation about pregnancy, I wanted to say something and yet I didn’t. I felt like my opinion wasn’t worthy. No-one said or implied anything like that, but yet I still felt that way. I felt like, a 4 or 5 month pregnant lady who doesn’t know us well enough to know about our losses doesn’t want to hear about me and my version of pregnancy. I felt like my story didn’t justify my involvement in pregnancy talk.
And then I started questioning, do chemical pregnancies count? Sometimes I think they do. Our very first pregnancy was a chemical pregnancy and I thought my world was crashing in on me. Yet, at the same time I also did not have enough time to get my hopes up and to get super attached. Both Mr. MPB and I now refer to our chemical miscarriages as our “easy” ones – they were a walk in the park compared to our “real” ones.
For that matter, do miscarriages even count? A lot of people who hear of our losses always ask how far along were you? As if somehow losing a child early in pregnancy makes it hurt less. I don’t know, maybe it does? I look at women and couples who lose their babies in the second and third trimester and I’m always just so devastated for them, I cannot even begin to imagine experiencing a loss at that point. I honestly just don’t know.
So, where does this leave me? How I do participate in pregnancy conversations? Do I just ignore my pregnancies? Do I just pretend it didn’t happen? Do I just let myself assume that my pregnancies aren’t enough in others eyes?
Honestly, part of this was simply that I was fearful of negative and unsupportive comments. Having experienced many hurtful and insensitive comments (some intentional and most not), I have become almost fearful of potential comments that just leave me reeling.
And at the same time I felt all kinds of weird insecurities about my losses, as if somehow I haven’t suffered enough. As if somehow because no-one saw our babies, they didn’t even exist to anyone else. Really, more than anything I felt myself feeling unworthy. As if my version of pregnancy means that I don’t get to participate. My pregnancies didn’t last long enough for people to recognize our babies or my experience. And what hurts the most is that I am left feeling like our babies didn’t live long enough to count.
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After writing about this interaction and my thoughts on it, I see just how crazy my thought process was during this one simple interaction. No-one said a word to me about my losses not counting, yet this is where my mind went. I know this is at least in part, if not entirely a result of the fact no-one in my real life has ever recognized our lost babies or our experiences. No-one wished me a happy mother’s day last year and no-one talks of our babies. Literally, not one word. This has to change – society has to change. Our miscarriages, both the experience and our babies should not be a taboo subject.
I also realize that this new found self-doubt is a result of RPL, our losses and my decision to leave work an the resulting my resulting identity crises. I know without a doubt that the last two years have shaken me to my very core. Prior to this experience I was oozing with self-confidence, some would say professionally I may have even verged on arrogant. And so here I am now, doubting myself and my experiences in a way that I never would have before. Honestly, I have to stop letting these thoughts in, because I know better! All of this, absolutely all of it does matter and there is no place for doubting my experiences, my path to motherhood, and my babies. Because you know what, it all matters! Each and every piece of my personal history matters, and our babies’ short lives matter. I have to stand up to anyone who suggests otherwise, even if that includes standing up to my own self-doubt!
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One of my biggest struggles in the last few years has been learning to let go. Learning to accept what is, for what is, rather than trying to change it.
I’ve mentioned before that I work hard to avoid the traps of the what if game, but sometimes I still do fall into the why version of the exact same game. Another one of my struggles has been trying to figure out the why. Why is this happening? Most days I wonder why us? Some days I wonder why me (because when I’m feeling extra crappy I tend to think that I’m all alone in all of this, as if Mr. MPB and all of my friends out there aren’t also experiencing the same hurt)? Some days I wonder why our little babies had to die. Why my body couldn’t work the way it is supposed to. Why are we the ones walking the adoption path? Why does miscarriage happen to people who simply don’t deserve it? Heck, why does miscarriage have to happen at all, because honestly, no-one deserves it.
And every time I start asking why, I almost always end up trying to find the meaning in all of our pain and hurt.
My rational brain thinks that if we are going to go through this, there must be something I can learn from it. There must be some meaning behind the last few years of our lives. Otherwise, seriously, the world is playing some sort of cruel joke on Mr. MPB and I. For the life of me, I cannot seem to accept that the last few years have simply been a karmic joke to a puppet master pulling the string behind my back.
And of course, when my mind goes here, the next logical place for me to wonder is into the world of religion. I’m not a particularly religious person, while I was brought up in the church and I believe in a lot of the Christian ways of life like do good unto your neighbour. That said, I do not have a strong tie to the idea of a creator who is guiding us through our lives. I respect those who do, but it’s not my cup of tea.
As I try to see something beyond my current field of vision, I wonder, do I have to be religious to search for a deeper meaning? For the most part I think not, but I also think on some level have a religious faith would help me in my quest for meaning.
For me, trying to see meaning in something that just makes no sense is hard. I keep looking for logic where there is none. And looking for logic where there is none has the same results as continually slamming my head into a wall – it’s a pointless activity that just gives me a headache.
So, given my believes, it means that I simply have to accept the lack of logic. I simply have to accept it is what it is, and it is out of my control.
And yet, that said, I will continue to look for meaning. I cannot help but want there to be more to this then just dead babies and a broken heart. For me, maybe my meaning is that:
- I can contemplate for how my life has been enriched by knowing each of our babies, even just for a little while.
- I can take solace in the fact that by sharing my story I may just make a difference in someone else’s life and help them know that they are not alone.
- I will continue to use our experience to educate others in the worlds of miscarriage, abortion and adoption.
- I hope that I will appreciate the small things with our future child(ren) in a whole new way and on a whole new level then I would have before experiencing so much loss. Though all of this loss I have learned to refocus my life and my priorities away from work and onto our future family.
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My Perfect Breakdown 