Updated: August 6, 2020
Originally Published: October 31, 2016
As I prepared to once again position myself in those uncomfortable stirrups for yet another fertility test, the physician—who was unfamiliar to me—casually remarked, “So, I understand you’ve had a few losses?”
I hesitated before replying, “Well, I had a chemical pregnancy in May, and our initial IVF attempt didn’t take.”
He responded, “So, yes, that means you’ve experienced a loss.”
That word stung. Until that moment, I hadn’t fully processed the reality of what I had gone through. I had thought of it solely as a “chemical pregnancy,” a term that seemed to diminish the emotional weight of what had happened. This was indeed a pregnancy loss, a miscarriage. We had experienced an early miscarriage.
Perhaps it was the terminology that kept me from acknowledging my feelings about losing our first and only baby. But as I reflected on his words, I understood he was right. That tiny embryo, just over four weeks old, had indeed made me a mother.
When I learned that our second IVF cycle had succeeded, I became acutely aware of every choice I made—what I ate, how much I moved, and whether I was getting enough rest. I found myself contemplating the implications of carrying a baby, even if it was a minuscule one. I imagined how I would handle work if I gave birth in January, even though a part of me feared that this pregnancy might not last.
With my hCG beta levels being low, I knew that everything could change by the following Tuesday. This was the Friday before Mother’s Day. As I navigated this uncertainty, I found myself questioning if I would still be considered a mother on that special day. Those who were aware of our pregnancy wished me “Happy Mother’s Day,” and my husband gifted me a plant to honor my new role.
I became obsessed with pickles and noticed symptoms I’d never experienced before, along with that positive beta. While it was early—only four weeks—I felt something. Whether those sensations were from the progesterone shots that IVF requires, I couldn’t say, but they felt real at that moment.
In those brief days leading up to Tuesday, I felt a connection. I began to embrace my identity as a mom. Despite some signs that warned otherwise, the unpredictable nature of pregnancy kept my hopes alive. That weekend, even as I experienced some light bleeding and held my husband’s hand while tears filled his eyes, I remained optimistic about my status as a mother.
After my appointment at the clinic, I sat in my car and broke down in tears. The floodgates opened, and I couldn’t stop crying. Perhaps it was the physical discomfort from the procedure or the emotional weight of the moment, but it was then that I truly grasped the reality of my pregnancy loss.
I held onto hope for four days between blood tests, clinging to those three weeks since the embryo’s conception. This is one of the remarkable aspects of IVF—you can witness your baby at just two days old. Ultimately, it was enough for me to mourn the little one I had, and the potential life ahead.
Hearing the doctor say the word “loss” was painful yet necessary. It reminded me that, for a fleeting moment, I was a mom. And for anyone who has walked a similar path, let me remind you—you are a mom too.
For more insights on the journey to motherhood, consider checking out Make A Mom’s resources. You can also visit Intracervical Insemination for expert guidance on this topic. Additionally, Medical News Today is an excellent resource for information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, the journey of motherhood begins in various ways, often complicated by loss and hope. Acknowledging the emotional depth of these experiences is vital.