Finding purpose after a miscarriage - I will make this life count

Every morning since July 25th, 2019 I have written, "I will make this life count," on the top of my journal. That was the morning after my husband, Andy and I received heartbreaking news. 

Our fertility journey started way back in 2013. After years of trying everything, we were finally blessed with our miracle baby, William after 2 rounds of IVF. 

This time we were older, wiser, a little more nervous but just as hopeful. Like most infertility journeys, ours was a bumpy one.  When my son was just 6 months old, they discovered a grapefruit sized tumor next to my uterus. The first oncologist I went to, told me the only way to remove it was a complete hysterectomy. I fought hard to find a doctor and solution that kept my dream of having more children alive, but that’s a story for another day. 

After recovering from 2 major abdominal surgeries in 10 months, I finally geared myself up to try IVF again. We were just 1 week from transfer when I was sent for a mammogram to check out something questionable. That turned into months and months of repeat mammograms, until I was finally given the all clear. They decided it was most likely density caused by all the fertility hormones that were coursing through my body. 

This was it. We were finally going to have the little boy or girl, to complete our family and a sibling for our now 3 year old. When you’re growing up you imagine what your family will look like. I adore my older brother and wanted nothing more than for my son to have someone to go through life together. 

After months of mock trials, and biopsies, we found the day. THEE DAY.  Shots were given and a room full of people transferred a perfect little embryo. A few days later I found out that, I was pregnant. 

Over the next few months, everything looked great. My morning sickness was brutal and I gained about 10 pounds overnight.  I didn't mind, because I knew it meant, I had a healthy baby growing inside of me.  My blood work, labs, everything looked perfect.  Years of infertility taught us to try not to ride the highs and lows but try and stay positive, hopeful but yes, guarded. 

I walked into the office that morning for my weekly ultrasound. I was greeted by a staff, that had turned into an extended family. They had seen me through some of my darkest days and they were also responsible for making me a mom. 

Andy was home with our 3 year old, so I was alone. I was used to it.  I had to go to a lot of the visits by myself, because they don’t allow kids in the office.  During the exam I chatted with my nurse and PAC.  Then her tone and face changed and she said the words that still bring me to tears typing them, “I’m sorry I can’t find a heartbeat.”

I shook my head, and asked “what does that mean?”  I knew, but I didn’t want to know. She repeated Laura, I’m sorry but we can't find the heartbeat.  The baby is the same size it was last week. You lost the baby.

I laid there, covered in nothing but a paper gown, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. How is this possible? This time it was gonna work. We already heard the heartbeat at previous appointments.  I had finally let myself get excited.  I bought my first maternity shirt.  I started telling my closest family and friends. I started planning the nursery, in my head and on Pinterest.  I imagined a sibling for our son, a baby in my arms and our family complete.

When I finally opened my eyes, I looked up to the warm, familiar and comforting face of my incredible fertility doctor.  As impossible as the day was, he and his amazing staff  heard my cries, felt my pain and comforted me.  I can’t imagine how impossibly hard their jobs must be.   As I tried to pull myself together, to call my husband, my PAC shared her story with me.  She held back her own tears, trying to comfort me. That meant the world to me. When you get it, you really get it. 

I could barely get out the words to tell my husband. I don’t remember what I said or the drive home. I knew I couldn’t go in the house and see our son.  We had him spend the day with friends and we drove to the beach.  Most of the drive was silent. I just kept repeating, this was supposed to be our baby. 

IVF is mentally, physically, emotionally and financially exhausting. It took us almost 4 years to have our son.  Year passed and we were older. Was this our last chance? Is this it?  

I walked along the beach that day, holding my husband’s hand and watched other families play in the sand. I tried to hide tears behind my sunglasses. I told him that I don’t know if I have the strength to go through this again, but something has to come out of all this.  There has to be a bigger meaning, lesson, something.

I spent the next several months healing and tried to make a decision to move forward and I couldn’t. Over the last 6 years, of sharing my fertility journey, connected me with women around the world. Many of them confided in me, told me secrets or details that they hadn’t even shared with their parents or spouse.

I realized how many women suffer in silence, feeling completely alone. They try to navigate all the ups and downs of infertility without as much as a friend to talk to.  Infertility can be lonely, isolating, and for some reason taboo to even talk about, but it shouldn’t be. 

On the beach that day I vowed that I would make that little life count.  My mission is to help other women navigate infertility so they don’t lose hope or themselves along the way.  You are loved, supported and stronger than you know. 

Xo

Laura 

p.s. I put together some of my top tips for reducing stress, along with my favorite quotes that helped me on my journey. Check them out HERE

Also connect with me at www.drlauracostello.com