This post was created in partnership with Fertility Out Loud but opinions are my own.
I don’t think I’ll ever stop grieving my babies, and I am perfectly okay with that.
I recently had a conversation with my 80-year-old neighbor about pregnancy loss – as she spoke of the babies that she had lost decades ago. She started to cry – fifty years later, she still mourns their loss. We hugged and grieved the babies we never got to hold. In that beautiful moment, she validated for me that it was okay to grieve my babies forever because that means that I will love them forever.
I don’t know another type of love that is this powerful.
During Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month, it’s important to recognize that so many others in the fertility community experience loss. That’s why I’m writing this post to provide support to those who need it.
The mother/baby bond doesn’t start when the baby is born, it starts with two pink lines, or it starts with the first embryo picture before an IVF transfer, or even with your first IUI.
The love for an unborn child is intense from day one of visualization, whenever that begins for you, and no time in the world can ever change that. That’s what pregnancy loss is to me. It’s not just grief reserved for those who miscarry. It’s for those of us that have believed we were pregnant to the moment that we learn we are not. That is pregnancy loss.
I still remember my first IUI, after three years of trying to conceive and dreaming of a baby, I finally had my first real chance. I followed all the instructions to a tee and did all the “extras” like acupuncture, herbs, warm socks, and every other ritual I could find. We were nervous about paying for a procedure without a guarantee, but we believed it would “all be worth it.”
During my two-week wait, I acted as a pregnant woman. I didn’t lift anything, I didn’t drink alcohol. I looked on Pinterest for nursery designs. In those two weeks, I was pregnant in my heart and in my mind.
Until Aunt Flo came on Thanksgiving, and my entire world shattered – it was my first pregnancy loss. That was the beginning of a very long journey of loving and losing babies.
I proceeded with four more IUI’s, a few IVF cycles, an endometriosis diagnosis followed by multiple surgeries, which all led me to donor eggs, and as fate would have it, even my first egg donor ended up having fertility issues.
The loss I felt after years and years of heartache isn’t something I can properly articulate, but if I had to explain it, I’d say it felt like someone was constantly holding a beautifully healthy, smiling baby in my face, in my house, in my kitchen, in my car, etc. so that I would fall deeper and deeper in love, and then abruptly taking it away. And not just any baby – my baby.
People would constantly ask me… “How do you keep going after so much loss, Victoria?” and the answer was always simple to me – because I loved my babies, and I would do anything for them.
I was extremely fortunate to get pregnant with my daughter from my very first IVF transfer, with the help of a second egg donor. I remember sobbing happy tears when I saw her embryo picture for the first time – “my beautiful baby” I screamed! And then she was born, and all the love collided into the biggest fireworks show of my life. She was “all worth it” and then some, but it didn’t end there. I loved her so much that I wanted to give her a sibling. Even though I knew how hard it could be to jump back into treatment, I was ready to throw myself to the wolves again, for love.
And so, I did.
I did two more IVF transfers with the two embryos we had remaining and both ended in failure – two more pregnancy losses. I’m not sure which loss was harder, the first or the second. The first one was hard because I was 100% sure it worked, because I got pregnant on my first egg donor IVF transfer, so why wouldn’t it work again?
I still don’t know why. It wasn’t for lack of love, that’s for sure.
The second one was hard because it was our last remaining embryo – our last chance to give my daughter a full genetic sibling which double downed on my grief in a way I never saw coming, because this wasn’t just my loss now, it was hers too.
Those were my precious babies, a boy and a girl with such vivid faces in my dreams, rooms in my house, etc. I even named them.
I named them both Luna – two embryos, one soul. I have a Luna moon permanently tattooed to my body now. I wear a necklace around my neck with two names – Florence, my child in my arms, and Luna, my baby in the sky.
She is etched in the concrete of our driveway forever, just as she is etched in our hearts.
I haven’t stopped loving Luna, and I never will. I loved Luna so much, that she tried one more time to be with me. Earlier this year, I had a spontaneous pregnancy with my own eggs, that ended at miscarriage around 7 weeks. An unexplainable beautiful, yet heartbreaking miracle.
Now, she’s our angel whom we talk about all the time. My 4-year-old daughter constantly reminds me that Luna is in the sky watching over us, and I believe she is right.
How to support loved ones through pregnancy loss
My advice is simple. No different than how you’d support someone who lost their child, their spouse, or their mother. Although this loss may be invisible to you, I promise you it is the most visible thing in this grieving mother’s life. Acknowledge the baby, send flowers, show up with donuts, or casseroles, or whatever. Just show up. Their loss matters too.
I encourage you to support those who may be struggling with loss or experiencing the uncertainty of going through fertility treatments to start or grow their family. That’s why I’ve partnered with Fertility Out Loud – an online resource and community that provides people with guidance, resources, and support. I’ve linked a few Fertility Out Loud resources below.
Join the Fertility Out Loud community on Instagram: https://bit.ly/3Tirj8r
Read articles from others who’ve been there: https://bit.ly/3CB9ED9
Take the next step by finding a specialist with Fertility House Calls: https://bit.ly/3AN3fmW
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