Monday, February 23, 2015

"When do you stop"

When do you stop

This was a text I received from one of the (single) handful of friends I know in real life (IRL) who knows about my pregnancies, the morning I informed her that this last one is looking like it's headed towards miscarriage.

I don't think any of my readers  - particularly those of you who are struggling with RPL - would be shocked as to why this text is so profoundly upsetting to me, particularly as I sit here trying to process another loss.

First of all, there's the word "stop" in there.  That's a verb.  It suggests I am in control, which couldn't be farther from the truth.  Most of my readers know that my husband and I haven't exactly been trying very hard to achieve pregnancy.  I don't use OPKS (which put me at something of a disadvantage for the dating purposes of this current pregnancy).  Hell, we were on a break as long ago as last summer, when we conceived Celine. 

You all also know that I have been working hard with the help of my therapist to imagine my life with only Niblet.  I think I have been doing a fucking stellar job of it if you ask me.  We're cleaning out our office to be a nice office, as opposed to a nursery.  We finally brought a cat into our home, who rocks my world and sleeps with me.  My husband is now in a new job and we're adjusting our lives accordingly.  I am not lying when I say that I have managed to find joy again in some of my days post tfmr.

That word STOP makes my blood burn.  It suggests that I am not doing enough to prevent my pregnancies.  It implies that maybe I should get my tubes tied, or dear husband should get a vastectomy.  That somehow we are complicit actors in this hand of recurrent loss that we've been dealt.  Maybe I'm just a tad irrational right now given my current condition, but I am furious at the suggestion that I am somehow to blame for the circumstances I find myself in.  

This is the life of someone who lives RPL.  We are so connected to one another through the internet, that we sometimes forget the average person walking down the street will never begin to comprehend it.  

The text itself also magically highlights my innermost long-term thinking in all of this.  Because, the truth is, I can't just fucking turn off my desire for a baby like a light switch.  Sure, I can be realistic, and I can be guarded, but is it too much for me to have any shreds of hope?  That maybe, just maybe, since I conceived two genetically normal babies, I can do it again?  That maybe, just maybe, I can hit the lucky roll of the genetic dice as per the suggestion of my RE? 

The general saying of RPL survivors is that you keep trying until the risk of harm from losses is greater than the potential for a good outcome.  There's no mathematical formula for this, it's very personal, and it could change by the minute.  But I know deep in my bones, as I contemplate my next steps -  for this pregnancy and beyond - that this blog isn't over.


  1. Keep fighting. I've been prenant 3 times at 40 as well. My re threw me to the wolves with a high fsh and an undetectable amh. "Good luck" she said with the tone of that character in Liam Niesen's Taken movie. I have every reason to believe I will never bring home a baby and every time I pee on a stick and see that + sign I begin preparing for that us that will confirm my fears. I pretend it doesn't hurt because I was prepared but it always fucking hurts. Yet in the shadows of all my misery hope is still prsent. Maybe I'm a fool but I'm not giving up. Neither should you.

    1. Thank you for this. The more I dwell on it, the more I realize how destructive it is to live without hope. Hope isn't foolish.