We had two healthy girls through two separate cycles of IVF: Lydia and Emmy. Both times, we transferred two embryos, and both times, only one embryo made it. It gives us comfort to know that Lucy is with those other two lost embryos in heaven.
The third and last cycle, we transferred our fifth and last frozen embryo. Everything went as planned. Instead of waiting for the blood test, I peed on sticks and got a BFP (big fat positive)! The blood test also came back positive, and the second beta-HCG doubled, which was a sign all was good.
At some point, my numbers didn’t double as fast as they would have liked.
I was still pregnant, but the doctors prepared me for what they thought would happen next. I held onto hope and my baby for another week or so before the cramping set in.
I knew I was losing her, but I wanted so badly to hold on. I lost her on a Monday. I cried myself to sleep for weeks, months afterwards. I remember grieving before the miscarriage happened, but once I physically wasn’t holding her where I thought she would be safe, grief took on a new form.
I was shocked and in disbelief. I didn’t want to accept it. I wanted something or someone to blame, even it was myself or the timing we chose to make this happen. With IVF, you have so much control until you have none. I was naive as I had never experienced a loss before, just the inability to conceive, which holds its own emotions.
My first symptom was nausea from the crying and having to share the news with family and friends. We had our support group praying over this baby before she was even in my womb; she was so real and had been loved for years already by Dan and myself.
The worst pain I felt emotionally was this tug-of-war with my girls here on earth. One moment, I wanted to hold them tight, and the next I just wanted to be alone. The deep sadness I felt hurt the whole family. I stopped caring for myself as I should have, and that turned into not caring for them as I should or normally would have.
I developed anxiety about leaving my kids and didn’t want to work anymore. I watched my two co-workers have their babies on the same day. I hid it well, but I was a zombie. I could have thrown in the towel, but I think the forced rhythm of having to get up and ready for work saved me from a much worse depression.
Waiting on Sunrise 