During the final week of September, 2009, I discovered I was pregnant with my second child. My husband and I had only been trying for less than six months, so were elated and grateful for our future with two children. Things felt like they'd aligned and all was right in our little world. Then, just a few days later, I discovered I'd lost the baby. It's one of the worst memories of my life and, still, there's some things you can only learn about your marriage after a miscarriage that I'm thankful for; things I maybe wouldn't have otherwise known if I hadn't experienced something so heartbreaking.
After I'd been situated in the farthest corner room — the room I decided was meant for the loudest cryers — my doctor came in and laid his hand on my shoulder. The rest, as they say, is a blur. His lips moved and he explained what had happened, but I couldn't hear him. I turned to my mom and cried so hard I could've died from broken heart syndrome, right then and there. Just mere days before my daughter's third birthday party, I was scheduled for the removal of my child the very next day. It was Tuesday, September 29th, 2009 and I remember it like it just happened because, before I ever met my baby, I loved her.
In the days and weeks and moths after I sunk into such despair. Essentially, I became another version of myself; one that resembled the woman who'd already fought severe postpartum depression (PPD) and survived (barely). At some point, my partner and I would decide to try again and for nearly two years (just when we were on the verge of fertility drugs), we failed and failed and failed. I'd go on to have one other miscarriage thinking I'd never give birth to another child again. The pain was unbearable as everyone around me seemingly got pregnant at the drop of a hat.
There's a lot I've learned through all of these difficult experiences, mostly how my relationship with my partner would expand and grow in ways it wouldn't have without all the loss and grief. Others would try to be there for me, but he was the only one who shared in a similar pain. Of course it's not the same because I'm the one who'll forever feel that loss from within, but he hurt, too. I held onto that and if you're going through the same, you should, too. It might be what saves you when everything else feels lost.