As I prepared to place my legs into those clinical stirrups for yet another fertility assessment, a doctor I wasn’t familiar with turned to me and asked, “So, you’ve experienced a couple of losses, correct?”
My response was, “Well, I had a chemical pregnancy in May, and our first IVF attempt didn’t yield results.”
He replied, “Okay, so yes, one loss. You’ve had a loss.” That word, “loss,” struck me hard. Until that moment, I hadn’t processed my experience in that way. I had been labeling it as a chemical pregnancy, but now, I understood that I had indeed faced a pregnancy loss, a miscarriage, albeit a very early one.
I wondered if the phrase “chemical pregnancy” diminished my feelings. Perhaps I felt that expressing my sorrow over losing our first and only child would somehow be unjustified. But after reflecting on it, the doctor was right; that tiny 4-week-and-2-day-old embryo had made me a mom.
When I learned that my second IVF cycle was successful, I found myself analyzing every aspect of my life—what I should eat, how much I should be resting, and if I was taking care of myself enough. I often caught myself imagining the reality of having a small baby developing inside of me. I entertained thoughts about my work schedule if I were to give birth in January, even though I harbored a quiet fear that things might not go as planned.
With low hCG beta levels, I knew the coming Tuesday could bring disappointing news. This was the Friday before Mother’s Day, and I couldn’t shake the thought of whether I would still be recognized as a mom on that day. Those who were aware of my pregnancy wished me a “Happy Mother’s Day,” and my husband surprised me with a plant to celebrate my budding motherhood.
I indulged in pickles like it was my job, experiencing symptoms I hadn’t encountered before, alongside a positive beta test. While the symptoms were few—after all, it was early—I clung to the hope that they were signs of pregnancy rather than side effects from the progesterone shots we IVF patients endure.
In those fleeting days between Friday and Tuesday, I felt a genuine connection to motherhood. There were moments when I embraced my identity as a mom, even as uncertainty lingered. Despite some minor bleeding over the weekend and witnessing my husband’s tears, I held onto the hope that I would continue as a mother.
After my recent test at the clinic, I sat in my car and wept uncontrollably. The flood of tears seemed endless. Perhaps the test itself was physically painful, but I think it was also the dawning realization that I had experienced a pregnancy loss. I had nurtured hope for four days between tests, really three weeks since I had carried that embryo from the second day of conception. One of the beautiful aspects of IVF is witnessing your embryo at just 48 hours old.
That was enough for me to grieve the baby that was and the baby that could have been. Hearing the doctor say “loss” stung, but it also helped me acknowledge my brief identity as a mother. I was a mom, if only for a moment.
For more insights on fertility and the emotional journey of parenthood, check out our other article at Home Insemination Kit. If you’re exploring fertility options, consider visiting Make a Mom, a reputable source on at-home insemination. For thorough information on IVF, I recommend checking out UCSF’s Fertility Treatment, an excellent resource.
In summary, the journey of motherhood can be filled with hope and heartbreak. Acknowledging even the briefest moments of being a mom allows for healing and growth.