The first time I discovered I was expecting, I had just returned home from work. As I changed into something more comfortable, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed my chest looked different—larger, in fact. Could it be possible? Could I genuinely be pregnant after just one month of trying?
Despite promising myself that I wouldn’t rush into taking a test for at least a week, I found myself at the local drugstore, purchasing one. When I saw two lines appear almost instantly, disbelief washed over me. I realized I should have waited for Tom to come home so we could share the moment together. What if I had done the test wrong? Was it even possible for me to be having a baby?
I quickly called the 800 number on the box, and when the voice on the other end confirmed I couldn’t have messed it up, I let out a squeal of joy and accepted her congratulations. I was elated! Tom was on a business trip and wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours. As I waited, I gently touched my belly and whispered, “Daddy’s home.”
Our excitement turned to heartbreak when, at ten weeks, our ultrasound revealed our baby but no heartbeat. I put away the congratulatory cards and the letter from our insurance company stating I was preregistered at the hospital for a May delivery. That was November 1996.
I clung to stories of women who had miscarriages and soon thereafter welcomed healthy babies. A few months later, we thought we were on our way to a happy ending when I saw two lines on a pregnancy test again. This time, Tom and I decided to keep it a secret until we were further along.
Sadly, just two weeks later, we found ourselves crying again. I started to believe that my dream of motherhood might never come true. I sought comfort in stories of women who had faced multiple losses only to go on to have beautiful families. I also reached out to support groups for those who had experienced pregnancy loss; I needed reassurance that I would be okay and that a baby was in my future.
Even though my doctor suggested seeing a specialist, we chose to remain with our current practice. I was determined not to be one of “those” women. This was just a bump in the road. Our baby would come. That was February 1997.
As summer arrived in New York, Tom and I were thrilled to see another positive pregnancy test. We were in the process of moving out of the city into a house, painting the spare room baby blue in anticipation. But that pregnancy also ended in miscarriage. I had now become what the medical community referred to as a “habitual aborter”—a three-time loser. My OB-GYN referred me to a specialist, and it was August 1997.
I actively sought out stories of women who had endured several losses, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to remain optimistic. Just days before Christmas, I received a call from my fertility specialist’s office. After undergoing genetic testing and other assessments, we were trying to conceive with medical intervention for the first time. The nurse confirmed I was pregnant, but the numbers didn’t look promising, and I was asked to return after the holidays for further testing.
Four losses in 13 months left me utterly devastated. A few weeks later, my mom called to share that her friend’s daughter had finally conceived after years of infertility and a heartbreaking loss in the second trimester. “Isn’t that wonderful, Emily?” she asked.
“Well, it’s wonderful for her,” I replied flatly.
“Doesn’t it give you hope? This proves that it can happen for you too.”
I begged her not to share any more stories of women achieving their happy endings; I could no longer bear to hear them. I knew her heart was in the right place, but my own heart was breaking.
My sisters and friends struggled to find the right words to comfort me, and I became less enjoyable to be around. I cried easily, and Tom was the only one who truly understood the depth of my sorrow. I appreciated his support whenever we encountered pregnant women or babies, but I also felt guilty for not being able to give him a child.
After one last round of intervention, we decided to take a break. I embarked on a 30-day prayer vigil, seeking guidance and peace. I had always considered myself more spiritual than religious, but desperation drove me. Each day, I stopped at a church near my office to sit in quiet reflection. By the end of those 30 days, although I wasn’t pregnant, I felt a newfound sense of tranquility.
Tom and I began exploring adoption options and opened ourselves up to enjoying our life as it was. I had changed; the losses still stung, but joy was beginning to return to my life.
Weeks later, to my shock and surprise, I learned I was pregnant for a fifth time. Eight months later, I held my baby in my arms for the first time, two years and one month after our first miscarriage. What once seemed impossible had finally come to fruition, and it was sweeter than I could have ever imagined.
This is a journey filled with heartache and hope, and if you’re navigating similar challenges, know that you’re not alone. For more insights into home insemination, check out this excellent resource on genetics and IVF. You can also find valuable guidance on artificial insemination kits that can help you on your path to motherhood.
Summary:
The journey through recurrent miscarriage can be heartbreaking and filled with uncertainty. Emily Johnson shares her personal experience of hope and loss, detailing her struggles with multiple pregnancies and the emotional toll they took. Ultimately, she finds peace and joy through adoption and discovers the unexpected blessing of becoming a mother after years of heartache.