Tag: healing

When I was two years old, I would yell out the window asking the neighborhood children who were walking home from school to come play with me. My parents decided to try for another baby when they saw how lonely I was. Millie has two brothers, two amazing brothers, and she’s definitely not lonely.

Unknown to us at the time of Crosby’s conception, both boys were born with a genetic syndrome called IFAP that they will endure their entire lives. I have a 50/50 chance to drop an egg with the compromised X-chromosome so it would be considerably irresponsible for us to have another baby naturally, due to this genetic condition (You don’t know what you don’t know but once you know, there’s no more unknowing).

Let’s talk about a 4th child, because we have been for over a year. Chris was not on board because we couldn’t guarantee that the baby would be a girl (Millie wants a sister) or most importantly, that the baby wouldn’t have IFAP. When we were at Crosby’s annual genetics appointment, I asked the doctor what our options were for growing our family without this syndrome. To Chris and my surprise, the genetic doctor was extremely optimistic about our chances of having a baby without IFAP through a form of IVF, genetic implantation. The guarantee of uncompromised chromosomes made us both considerably more interested in growing our family.

I’ve been told, “You’re crazy!” “You won’t fit in a regular sized car.” “Four children is too many!” And maybe I am, and maybe it is, but I can’t shake the feeling that we are missing someone in our family. Chris tried convincing me that the longing I felt was me missing my sister (who passed away in 2019) and while that is true, there are more reasons why having a fourth would complete our family.

Reason No. 1: We are Christian and we believe wholeheartedly that growing God’s Kingdom is of great importance. We are in a loving marriage and have been blessed with a beautiful home and finances that can support another member. We also have great family support; my mom moved up to Ohio from Virginia to be close to our family.

Reason No. 2 : I would do anything for Millie and she is adamant that she wants a sister. I understand why; I had a sister. I had the experience of sharing and stealing clothes, sticking up for her when others weren’t so nice, late night conversations about boys and our parents, and rules and breaking those rules. I had experiences as an adult with my sister; asking her to be my maid of honor, going out to bars and nightclubs, decorating our first apartments, and of course lots of shopping. If I am able to give Millie a sister, I want to.

Reason No. 3 : A kind of different reason (and maybe it’s not so different if you’re in a family afflicted with a genetic syndrome), but another reason why I would like to have another child (and specifically this way) is the knowledge that is possible to have a baby without this compromised chromosome. Absolutely nothing against my beautiful children with IFAP (we love you exactly the way you are). Chris and I have had many conversations about the possibility that our current children will resent the fact that this sibling would not have the syndrome; that we made a “healthy” child. Would they think that this is our “favorite” child? I think if it were a boy, there could be issues. Like, in some way our boys weren’t good enough and that is not at all the case. I want to experience this IVF process myself so that one day I could speak to my children about how to responsibly grow their own families, first hand.

So Chris called and set up a consultation with one of the clinics of reproduction and gynecology, and we had a virtual consultation about what we wanted and needed to grow our family. Our first meeting went really well. The doctor listened to our needs and was very affirming that we would be great candidates for this PGM choice. He explained how RGI would harvest my eggs and collect Chris’ sperm and after six days they would send the specimen off to the lab to be biopsied to tell us if any embryo was growing without the compromised chromosome. We would then implant an embryo without the compromised chromosome in hopes for a healthy baby. I questioned, “What happens to the embryos that have compromised chromosomes that we chose not to implant?” The answer was, “That’s your choice” and that is the moral dilemma that we are dealt. Those embryos, if implanted, would become people; babies; real life humans. Notice I’m saying if implanted. The reproductive doctor said he would not recommend these embryos for donation or implantation due to the genetic complication however, I’m thinking about my boys, Wells and Crosby, and how even though they have this syndrome, how perfect they are, and how grateful a family would be to have a child regardless of their syndrome. So, when does a life become a life? Are we OK discarding the compromised embryos? Are we okay discarding the healthy embryos we wouldn’t be using?

The next step in this process was going to RGI for an ultrasound screening to make sure that my ovaries and uterus looked okay for this procedure. I was a little taken back by the fact that I had to get a vaginal ultrasound while on my period! Normally, the OB does not want to see you while you’re on your period so I asked “What are you seeing while I’m on my period versus when I’m not?” and the doctor explained to me that this was the start of my cycle and the best way to know what’s going on is to have the most information possible and this gave him information about my follicles and lining that he might not otherwise have. Gross.

I went to this appointment on my lunch break (hindsight probably not the best idea) but I’m so low on sick days. Before I was taken back to the examination room, I took a video for Mill’s “maybe baby sister”. The lady at the reception desk started to tear up and said, “Oh my gosh, those videos will be so beautiful to share with your baby.” I got emotional thinking about what was to come.

I was taken into a room where two nurses were prepping to draw my blood. I was skeptical about having them do a blood draw when I wasn’t scheduled for one or gotten any sort of preauthorization from my insurance. They handed me a pamphlet that said this genetic blood test would be $300 out of pocket. I told the nurses that I did not feel comfortable doing the lab draw today and they audibly scoffed as they walked me back into the lobby. I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me.

I was asked to follow a nurse to the OB room and as soon as I was alone, I called Chris. I was bawling when I told him that I felt unprepared for this appointment. He assured me that we would just get the information and nothing had to be decided that day. He was able to calm me down before the doctor came in. I laid on the table with my feet up, bleeding while I was waited. The doctor told me that I had 11 follicles on my left ovary and 15 follicles on my right, which made him incredibly optimistic that I would have lots of eggs to harvest. I was stunned when he said, “This is excellent. All of these follicles will produce eggs and you can have as many healthy babies as you want.” I’m sure he meant for that news to bring me joy and that many women would be ecstatic hearing that however, I just started to cry. If I have all those eggs and I can have as many healthy babies as I want, why did two of them have this terrible syndrome and my daughter may be a carrier?

My heart hurt. I know the boys will have so many questions for me as they get older especially once they start realizing how different they are from their peers. I will say this again, I wish I could’ve known about being a carrier for IFAP before we started family planning but I don’t regret having my children or the people that they are because this is a part of them. I just wish we would’ve known that I had this syndrome so that we could have safely brought our sons into this world without having the daily struggles that they will have for the rest of their lives.

Next in the process were lots of blood draws – some I don’t even know what for; my genome mapping, infectious disease, etc. My 500+ panel (a carrier screening of mutations in DNA) came back completely perfect- ironic because I am a carrier of a chromosomal abnormality, because of it’s rarity, it’s not a mutation that’s checked on the panel. At one draw, I heard the tech sitting behind the desk say, “It was the ninety’s; everyone had crabs!” Ew.

Many hours were spent on the phone talking to our insurance company and the reproductive facility to find out what was covered financially and what would be out of pocket expenses. Ultimately, we found that once we hit our deductible of a couple thousand, everything else would be covered. I continued to check, double check, and triple check our coverage so there would be no hidden fees. We are so blessed to be in a position to be able to afford this process.

Chris scheduled his appointment to get his sperm analyzed and frozen for the week we got back from Disney. I was excited to go on a family vacation and also excited that when we got back, serious strides were being made in hopes of baby number four. While packing for Disney, I made sure to include a new package of pads in my suitcase because I hadn’t started my monthly cycle and I knew for sure I’d start while we were on our trip. Ugh, the worst; no one wants to be on their period on vacation. Throughout the whole trip, I never bled. I didn’t even spot. I chalked it up to the stress of the holidays and planning a family trip. The weirdest thing happened while we were at Disney, I heard my grandma say, “The best thing about being pregnant in December…” I told her right then, “Maw, I’m definitely not pregnant.” I don’t know what prompted her to say that but I reiterated to her many times that we were not expecting.

Once we got home from Disney, I was a week late starting my period. A couple more days went by and still, zero cramping. I was starting to get concerned so I brought it up to Chris and he calmed me down by reminding me of another time I had been late to start my period and how everything turned out fine (it was only a few months after Crosby was born and I was breastfeeding round the clock). Two days after our conversation, as I was getting ready for work, I realized that I hadn’t yet taken my morning pee and I had an unopened pregnancy test in the bathroom cabinet. I decided to test, what could it hurt? I knew I wasn’t pregnant and thought that the negative test would put me at ease. Of course when you’re thinking about using the restroom, you have to go even more so I ripped the test open and without hesitation peed on the stick.

Almost immediately it read positive. When I was pregnant with Mill the lines were so faint, barely there. This result was bold and very much positive. I genuinely didn’t know how to feel because I was in complete shock. I continued to get ready for work like a walking zombie; I can’t even remember what I chose to wear. All I could keep repeating in my mind was, “We are going through the genetic implantation process, we are going through the genetic implantation process, we are going through the..” and SURPRISE we get pregnant again the old fashioned way. My OCD and anxiety were not allowing me to be anything other than devastated because this was not the “plan”.

Chris was downstairs filling up my water bottle for work and when I came down, he could tell something was the matter. He pulled me aside and I showed him the positive test. I couldn’t even look at him; I kept thinking about how much he didn’t want another child this way. My doubts were clouding my brain. To my surprise, he pulled my chin up and smiled. He chuckled and said, “I expected this. It’s going to be okay.” I fell into his chest and he said, “It’s going to be fine.”

I called my best friend Lindsey because I knew she would understand my dilemma. She’s a mom of a son with a genetic birth defect, she has an autoimmune disease, and she knows my heart so intimately because of our thirty year friendship. She was so supportive of anything I said and felt. She reminded me of the autonomy I had over myself and that I wasn’t alone. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be pregnant, it just wasn’t the responsible plan I had created for growing my family.

I waited until 8am, frantically called my OB, and they instructed me to go to the outpatient lab to get my HCG levels tested. I told them that this was not how I wanted or planned to get pregnant and I wanted all my options as soon as possible. My HCG results came back over 600 which was perfect for a five week pregnancy. I explained to my nurse that I wanted genetic testing done as soon as humanly possible because of our history with IFAP syndrome. She explained that to get into the MFM geneticist, we would first have to have an ultrasound in the books and one was scheduled for two weeks later.

Once the ultrasound was scheduled, I reached out to our IVF liaison to let them know I was pregnant “the old fashioned way”. I was disappointed telling them because it’s not what we planned and I hate letting people down. I was so surprised when they were incredibly supportive and congratulatory. They said, “Just let us know if we can help in any way.” Their kindness brought me to tears.

I started to feel excited for this new addition. I bought a Coach diaper bag (boujee, I know), the sweetest crocheted stork to use for the pregnancy announcement picture, and a mail-in blood test kit that I could take at 8 weeks because that would be quicker than the OB’s tests. Gender would tell us some of what we needed to know ie. a girl would at most be a carrier.

Chris and I told our out-of-state friends who happened to be in town that we were expecting. I told my friend Anna because we were going to be celebrating her wedding in Vegas and I didn’t want her buying any drink vouchers for me. I told my friend Madison from work because she asked me if I could do a leadership committee after school the next year and I had to tell her why I couldn’t make that commitment. Everyone we told was so excited for us which helped my mental state because internally, I was terrified that I was giving yet another perfect baby this horrible, genetic syndrome.

The day of the ultrasound, I was anxious to hear the baby’s heartbeat. I took a video for Millie’s “maybe baby sister” and walked in the office with butterflies in my stomach. To my surprise, this ultrasound looked different than any of the others I’ve had. The ultrasound tech asked me, “How sure are you about your schedule?” My response, “Pretty damn.” She said that the embryo sack was there but not a fetal pole yet. She said that I would need to have another ultrasound done before I could be seen by MFM and I was shattered.

I called Chris and said, “A six weeks fetus looks like nothing! Literally nothing! Why is anyone arguing about abortion before six weeks when it was just a little, black speck?!” The doctor called me the next morning and explained that there was one of two things happening; I was either off on my dates and this pregnancy was not as far along as I thought or this was an unviable pregnancy. My OB explained that I would either start bleeding or I wouldn’t and she set an appointment for another ultrasound two weeks later. I was shocked with how nonchalant she was and I honestly, how I was. I’m such a control freak but I knew I had no control over this.

A week went by and there was no bleeding. I was still pregnant and I was starting to feel more confident that I was wrong with my dates. While I was teaching the following Monday, I felt a familiar gushy feeling in between my legs. My mind immediately started panicking but I had a class to teach so we kept singing about the lunar new year. Between classes I ran to the bathroom and sure enough I had a quarter sized drop of blood in my underwear. The part of me that knew something was wrong was internally fighting the part of me that thought this was normal; incubation blood – it wasn’t that much.

I didn’t bleed anymore that morning. Not until 4pm when our staff meeting ended and I sat on the toilet and a clump of blood the size of a grape was sitting at the bottom of the bowl. I took a picture of it and sent it to my OB, am I losing this pregnancy? Thankfully, the nurse wrote back quickly and said that this wasn’t as much blood as I was thinking it was and to reach back out if there was more bleeding or I developed a fever.

I drove to pick up Crosby from my grandmas house and almost had to pull over, I was sobbing so hard my vision was blurred. I had crying welts all over my face when I saw my Maw rocking a sleeping Crosby. She immediately asked, “What’s wrong, honey?” And I squeaked out, “I think I’m losing this baby.” She cried with me. I had never told her I was pregnant but yet she knew.

Prayerfully, no more bleeding happened that night and there was no blood the next morning either. I was beginning to think that the nurse was right; maybe it wasn’t as much blood as I thought. I taught my classes all day without bleeding, I picked up my kids after school; Crosby first, then the bigs, and I was still good. Once I got home, I started making dinner – Taco Tuesday, when I felt the familiar rush of blood.

I went to the restroom and it was the same amount of blood as before, not too much but enough to make me worried. I finished making dinner but I could barely eat; I had no appetite. Chris cleaned up and I gave the kids a bath; they always get so messy on taco night. It was an early bedtime for the kids because I had 125 buckeyes to make for school (I promised my students, 480 total, that I’d make each of them a homemade buckeye if Ohio State won the National Championship – I’ll never do that again.) As I was coating the peanut butter balls with the melted chocolate, I started to feel intense cramping. I had to stop what I was doing in the kitchen and I laid down on the couch. The cramping continued and I put in for a sick day; I was feeling really miserable and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get the buckeyes done, let alone teach. Chris turned on, Suits and I laid on my side, praying that the pain would go away.

I remember saying to Chris, “These feel like contractions.” The hope of a new life in our family was slipping away and I could physically feel it. Fearfully, I got up to use the restroom, sat down on the toilet, and felt something really strange. I looked through my legs and was stunned by the sight of a horrific, coagulated blood clot the size of a cucumber, hanging out of me. It was so much. I stood up. I can’t accurately describe how it felt other than I felt all of it, like an after birth. I remember screaming, flushing the toilet, and crying into Chris’ chest. Our baby was gone.

The cramping immediately subsided. That euphoric feeling after you give birth and all the pain goes away? This was the same in that the pain went away but I felt empty and miserable. I called my OB and they instructed me to get my HCG levels checked again. I did. It was still rising. But not as much as it should have. No one tells you that after you miscarry, you continue to bleed for weeks. The smell of the blood was different than period blood and it made my stomach churn. I had to go back to work (I have zero sick time after three maternity leaves) while bleeding out the pregnancy. I got a UTI, which I have after every delivery, and the doctor chalked that up to the miscarriage. The next Taco Tuesday, I had a panic attack and sat on the floor in the kitchen and cried. I can’t remember a whole lot from the weeks after because I think my brain was protecting me from the mental pain.

I went back to the lab four more times during the month of February. My HCG had to decrease from over 4,000 to under 5. If my body wouldn’t do this naturally, I would have another ultrasound and possibly a DNC. Thankfully, my body understood the assignment and almost month later, my HCG returned to normal. Finally, the nurse at the OB’s office called me and said, “Well, I guess this saga is over. A miscarriage doesn’t mean you’ll miscarry again. It happens in nearly 1 in 5 pregnancies. Something must have been off in the chromosomes. You should have a period next month. Reach out with any questions.” This saga. Yeah.

After the kids go to bed at night, Chris and I can talk about grownup things. I remember him saying, “I can’t understand why all these bad things keep happening to you.” All I said was, “I keep waking up everyday, just like you.” I was struggling with guilt – women who get further along, those are the ones that should be grieving. Me? I was only 8 weeks and 4 days. I have three beautiful children. Why was I struggling to get out of bed? I didn’t feel like myself. I lost twenty pounds in less than two months. I saw two pregnancy announcements on Instagram who were as far along as I was and I wanted to shake them; don’t they know at eight weeks you could lose it?! Someone at work said, “When are you going to have a fourth child? You need a SATB choir!” My heart instantly broke yet I wore a smile like a mask. I reached back out to my OB and asked if they had any recommendations for therapists specializing in miscarriage.

I was first referred to an outpatient clinic that met virtually 6 hours a day, for nine weeks; one hour for individual therapy, one hour for couples therapy, one hour was group therapy, and then three hours of grief curriculum – every day. I told intake, “Thank you but I can’t do all of that. I have a full time job and three children.” They responded that this treatment is for women who can’t function because of their loss, many of them take FMLA to complete this program, and after an intensive 9 weeks, they are rehabilitated. I politely told them that if I found myself debilitated by grief, I would give them a call back and I thanked them for the work that they do for the women who need it. I felt guilty for wasting their time.

I reached back out to my OB’s office and asked them to refer me to a less intensive therapy. Like, a once a week for an hour type of deal. I was informed about POEM (perinatal outreach and encouragement for moms). They first matched me with a therapist who was Christian and had grief counseling on her “about me” page. During our first session, she told that everything happens for a reason. I miscarried because God wanted me to push into him and I wasn’t reading scripture enough. She recommend a devotional I had already read. I ended up canceling my next session with her – not because I don’t value scripture! But because I don’t believe the Lord had anything to do with my miscarriage. I believe that loss is of the world and not of Him at all. I believe Jesus wept with me and He was not condemning me for not reading more of the Bible. Still, I felt guilty for my lack of study.

I felt guilty for the moments that I wished we would’ve gotten pregnant through genetic implantation instead of naturally. I felt guilty that I had ever considered terminating the pregnancy because it wasn’t what we “planned”. I felt guilty that I lost a sibling for my children. I felt guilty because my husband didn’t want a baby naturally, but then I got pregnant and his feelings changed—only for us to lose the pregnancy and put him through an emotional rollercoaster. I felt guilty for doing a crap job teaching because my head was all over the place. I felt guilty for getting my nails done, dying my hair, and getting laser hair removal during the first weeks of the pregnancy when I didn’t know I was pregnant. I felt guilty that I wasn’t taking any prenatal vitamins before I got pregnant. I felt so much guilt because in my mind, I failed.

I contacted POEM again and they matched me with a different therapist; one who was familiar with miscarriage. Her “about me” said she was a mother, that she worked with NICU parents, had PTSD expertise, and specialized in grief counseling. Our very first session, she listened to me and validated my feelings. She helped me through navigating reaching back out to RGI in hopes that we could get back to where we were in planning for our future family. She told me that we would get my mind healthy for another pregnancy. I am so grateful to her and our continued work.

While I deeply grieve the loss this pregnancy, I don’t feel comfortable referring to a future baby as a ‘rainbow baby.’ No shade to anyone who uses that term because everyone heals differently and I can appreciate that. I want to honor my next experience (God willing) in its own space, but I also want the next pregnancy to be its own journey; without it being defined by the one before it. Heck, I don’t even wear the used hospitals gowns when I deliver because what if someone died in them? A new life deserves to be welcomed without the shadow of loss tied to it.

Since starting to open up about this loss, I have realized many women who I love and look up to have also had similar experiences. Before I experienced a miscarriage, I used to think, “Why wouldn’t mothers want the support of their friends and family and talk about it?” Well, now I know. It hurts. And it’s personal. And I’m moved to tears of the vulnerability of the women who have spoken about their losses with me because it’s made me feel so much less alone.

I haven’t been able to blog about anything else until this one was finished because the blueberry inside of me deserved a post on this feed. It’s only been a few months but I am starting to heal – heal in the fact that I can read this without sobbing and throwing my phone across the room. I am forever grateful for my faith, my husband, and my children.

To my children, someday you will read this and instead of it giving you a real life experience of life through genetic implantation, this teaches a different kind of life experience; loss. Incredible loss.