Updated: Aug. 6, 2020
Originally Published: Oct. 31, 2016
As I prepared to settle into the fancy stirrups for yet another test that might confirm my struggles with infertility, a doctor I don’t usually see asked me, “So, I understand you’ve experienced a couple of losses?”
I replied, “Well, I had a chemical pregnancy in May, and our first IVF attempt didn’t succeed.”
He responded, “Okay, so yes, that counts as a loss. You’ve experienced a loss.”
That word, “loss,” hit me hard. Until that moment, I hadn’t fully connected what had happened in May to the term loss. I had always viewed it as a chemical pregnancy, but hearing it framed as a loss made me confront the reality that I had indeed lost a pregnancy — a very early miscarriage.
Perhaps it was the term “chemical pregnancy” that made me feel as if my emotions weren’t valid enough to express how devastated I was about losing our first and only baby. But as I reflected on it, I realized he was right; that tiny little baby, only 4 weeks and 2 days old, made me a mom.
When I found out our second IVF had worked, I became hyper-aware of what I ate, how often I stood, and whether I was getting enough rest. I couldn’t help but think about this tiny little being growing inside me. I even daydreamed about what it would be like returning to work if I had to deliver in January, despite a nagging feeling that things might not go as hoped.
My hCG beta levels were low, and I braced myself for the possibility of bad news that coming Tuesday. This was the Friday before Mother’s Day. I pondered whether I would still be a mom on that special day. Those who knew about the pregnancy wished me a “Happy Mother’s Day,” and my husband surprised me with a plant to commemorate my newfound motherhood.
I found myself craving pickles as if it were a full-time job. I had symptoms, albeit mild ones, that I had never before experienced, along with a positive beta test. It was early, so I couldn’t expect many symptoms, but those I felt seemed genuine. Whether they were just side effects of the progesterone shots we IVF patients endure, I wasn’t sure, but at the time, they felt like real pregnancy signs.
In those fleeting days between that Friday and Tuesday, I felt the warmth of motherhood beginning to blossom. There were signs warning me otherwise, but with pregnancy, uncertainty is a constant companion. I held on to hope, even during a weekend when I experienced light bleeding, sitting next to my husband as I saw the tears in his eyes. Still, I remained optimistic about staying a mom.
After my recent appointment, I sat in my car and sobbed uncontrollably. The tears seemed endless. Perhaps it was the pain of the test, but I also think it was the moment I finally accepted the reality of my pregnancy loss.
For four long days between blood tests, I clung to hope. Well, really, I had been nurturing that embryo since day two of conception. That’s one of the beautiful aspects of IVF — you can see your baby at just 2 days old.
It was enough time to grieve the baby that was, and the one who could have been. Hearing that word “loss” was painful, but it also helped me remember that I was a mom, if only for a brief moment. I was a mom. You are a mom.
For more insights, check out our post on home insemination at Intracervical Insemination. If you want a deeper understanding of the process, visit Make a Mom, an authority on this topic. For comprehensive information about IVF, see the Genetics and IVF Institute, an excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, navigating the emotional journey of infertility and pregnancy loss can be heart-wrenching. Confronting the realities of loss can be difficult, yet it’s essential to honor those feelings and acknowledge the moments that make us mothers, even if they are just for a minute.