About Me

Here is my first post on this blog - a window into my frame of mind when I began to capture my thoughts.

Mother to one child, Niblet, a delightful young girl.

Wife to a cool dude. He is patient and kind.  He plays upright bass in a band.  I think he's hot.

Worker justice activist, recovering ballerina and enthusiastic Zumba instructor.

I survived a Partial Molar Pregnancy in July 2012. The D&C from that miscarriage caused me to develop Asherman's Syndrome, scar tissue that sealed my uterus shut and rendered me infertile.

Seeking diagnosis and treatment for Asherman's taught me the most important lessons I would ever learn about the importance of advocating for yourself when dealing with doctors.  Because sometimes, they suck.  And sometimes, they are fucking wrong.

I was finally treated by an amazing RE in Boston and was pregnant again in 2013. That pregnancy ended in miscarriage, along with another D&C.

Nine cycles later, with the help of some Clomid and an IUI, I was pregnant again. That one didn't make it either, and I experienced my third consecutive miscarriage in April 2014.

Four months later I found myself pregnant again.   My 5th pregnancy.  Which would end in unfathomable heartbreak.  Our baby girl - who was chromsomally normal - was lost as the result of a random, rare (1:10,000 odds), horrifying birth defect.  After being told that she was healthy, and after finally embracing the joy of our pregnancy in the second trimester, we had the rug lifted from under us.  We decided to end her suffering and say goodbye.

Nearly four months later I found myself pregnant again, and experienced yet another miscarriage.  Either my fourth or fifth depending on whether I chose to count an unconfirmed chemical pregnancy from early January.

Then I had a series of chemicals.

I have the tally at 8 consecutive lost pregnancies.  I wear a bunch of stacking rings on my middle finger, my to grieve these babies that were not to be (and tell the universe to fuck off as beautifully as possible).

I felt pretty damn youthful and optimistic when I started on this road.  I just turned forty-three. I can honestly say I have been to hell and back.

I  learned that my FSH was 3.4 at the time of my first miscarriage.  After my third miscarriage my FSH was 18.5.

Based on my FSH, despite the fact that I have spent much of these past few years pregnant, some doctors have told me to give up on ever having a baby with my own eggs.

One of my REs believed that if I could keep plowing through the heartbreak, I might end up lucky.  Because she believed that for me, taking home a healthy baby comes down to a statistical roll of some lucky dice.

I spent five years of my life either pregnant, miscarrying, or waiting to be pregnant again.  Before the last two CPs I was working with my therapist to end this journey and live in gratitude for the amazing daughter I have.  Well, the gratitude exists to the moon and back but I want another baby. More accurately, I found myself completely unable to adjust to my new normal as a woman not trying to have another, and still desperately craved another baby with every fiber of my being. So we began a new chapter, egg donor IVF.

A conversation with a psychic medium had confirmed that the door to my having a healthy biological child is closed.  I sought the loophole:  I've begun exploring donor eggs...  We used donor eggs to create embryos that were PGS tested...


And it worked.  The crazy plan worked.  After a blissfully healthy and relatively uneventful pregnancy for an AMA mamma, I delivered Nutmeg (aka Samantha) in January of 2018.