This new year has not started out the way I was hoping it would have for my family. Earlier this month, we found out at our 8-week ultrasound that our 3rd baby did not have a heartbeat. This news hit hard. Harder than I had imagined.
You see, my husband and I were diagnosed with secondary infertility five years ago.
Secondary infertility is when you can conceive your first child with no problems, but then you are unable conceive a second child naturally.
This is not the unexpected tragedy that helped me heal, but it was a tragedy of another sort.
It took us three years after having our first child to discover that we were no longer able to conceive on our own, even though my eggs and my husband’s sperm count were fine. We thought it could just simply be our age.
So we sought out help from a couple fertility clinics.
After a few attempts with IUI (Intrauterine Insemination), we were able to have our
second child. We tried for a third child a year later but were unsuccessful.
Four years after that attempt, my period was unexpectedly late.
I am barely 43 years old and was just shocked that we got pregnant, especially after doctors had told us we cannot conceive naturally. We cried with tears of fear and shock. How our world would be turned upside down with a third child.
After a few weeks, I accepted the fact, and know that we can make this work. My heart was overfilled with joy rather than fear. We were going to share the exciting news with our loved ones after the ultrasound appointment.
But we didn’t get the news we had expected.
After learning about the miscarriage, I just wanted to crawl under a rock. My husband and I spoke of it that night and I cried, cried hard. But then we stopped talking about it and went on to the next step which was to have a D&C (dilation and
curettage) procedure.
I didn’t want the miscarriage to pass on its own; Waiting for it to pass would just make it that much harder.
I had the procedure done a few days later. Physical recovery was ok, but the emotional recovery has been heart wrenching. Even though my body was recovering like I had given birth, my heart was so heavy. Eight weeks in my body, a size of a kidney bean was still life to me. Even though he/she didn’t have a heartbeat, it was still my baby.
A baby I would never hold.
It’s only been two weeks since I was told of the miscarriage, so the feeling is still raw. I thought I could have closure once the D&C was done, but I still feel a void inside.
Then, January 26th, 2020 happened: the tragic helicopter crash that took nine lives away from this earth and shocked the world.
There were parents and kids in that helicopter. While I don’t know any of them personally, I can connect with them as a parent. I cannot imagine losing one of my living children or my spouse.
My heart aches even more for these families who have lost their loved ones in this unexpected tragedy.
Sunday was a very somber day in our household as a result. My husband and I are still in shock by this terrible event. For one day, I was focused on someone else’s pain, not mine. The following morning I woke up and could not believe that the news of the crash was true.
For once this month, I woke up thinking about someone else’s loss, not mine.
My loss is so minuscule compared to the loss to these families. It took an unexpected tragedy of this magnitude for me realize that when I think I have it bad, someone else has it worse.
I question why my baby was taken away from me, but I know these families and loved ones of the nine killed that day will never know either. My deepest condolences to these families who are left with bigger voids in their hearts.
