My husband and I have been trying to conceive for four years now. Four years of negative pregnancy tests; month after month of being hopeful, only for that hope to be painfully crushed.
After six failed cycles of Provera and Letrozole and one failed Intrauterine Insemination (IUI) I needed a break from the hormonal rollercoaster caused by all of the drugs and injections for these procedures. At the time I couldn’t understand why this was happening to us. All of the other couples we knew seemingly conceived within a few months of trying, some even planning when to fall pregnant to avoid labouring in the summer. It felt like the universe was playing a cruel joke on us and we couldn’t do anything about it. The failed IUI procedure was the tipping point for me — it was the first time I let myself cry because it cemented that it was impossible to have the family of my dreams before I turned 32.
While I was dealing with another, more pressing health issue, we decided to try Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) at the insistence of my in-laws given that there was nothing to lose and it could help with my other health issues. The herbal tablets and powder were much more pleasant than taking pills that manipulated my hormones to induce ovulation, and the acupuncture, albeit a bit stressful, helped my body to relax. I learnt a lot about my body from our TCM practitioner that helped me understand my cycle better and made me appreciate my body more.
As I started to get better, we decided to have a break from all pregnancy related ventures, including the TCM. My husband took his long service leave (that he had been saving for when we had a child) and we spent the next three months at home together. Before his leave ended, we both decided that when I was feeling up to it, we should consider moving onto IVF given that all other attempts had failed.
After having that conversation, I started to feel dull lower-pelvic cramping. That night I had the worst stomach cramp of my life and couldn’t move for 15 minutes — I thought this was just a sign of a bad period to come. The next morning, we shopping and I started to feel unwell, to the point where I couldn’t walk without leaning on my husband’s arm. When we got home, I decided to take a pregnancy test before going to the GP and, to my surprise, it was positive. I took another one and it was positive again. I was floored, and when I took the tests to my husband, he reaction mirrored mine. Honestly, we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. We shared the news with our parents, who were quietly overjoyed, and some of my very close friends who knew about our fertility issues.
I immediately started imagining a different future, where I didn’t need to go through IVF to have a baby. I researched and downloaded a pregnancy tracking app — the ones where they show you how big your baby is for each week you’re pregnant. We started to call our little bunch of cells “Peanut”. My cramping had stopped but there was a niggling feeling that something wasn’t right. As the days went by, my morning sickness symptoms started to fade and my aversion to garlic, which started off really strong, was almost gone. I tried to push my doubts aside but then I started spotting.
A few days later I miscarried at home.
Early pregnancy losses are often not spoken about. We don’t often hear women or their partners announce their pregnancies until they reach the 12 week mark. About 1-in-4 (more likely 1-in-3) pregnancies result in miscarriages, and in most instances you weren’t even aware that your friend, loved one, co-worker, colleague was pregnant to begin with. These women and their partners suffer in silence and are expected to continue on as if this was just a little blip in their lives. I am fortunate that I am not working right now, but I cannot imagine calling my team lead, who had no idea I was pregnant, to then let them know I’ve lost Peanut.
It’s been close to two months now but I still find myself glancing at the baby clothes section of every store I go to imagining what could have been. I’m not sure what our next steps are, and if I’ll ever conceive again. Irrespective of what happens, I’ll be forever grateful to the friends and family that simply asked me “Are you okay?”