I Never Got to Hold Six of Our Babies. Our Miscarriage Story.

It's been one year.

On October 20th, 2017, I woke up nauseated and ended the day heartbroken.

For years, we thought our Beanie may be an only child. By choice. We truly did not want another child. Our little trio felt complete. Then our thoughts started to change. When our daughter was nearing her third birthday, I noticed a tiny inkling within myself that maybe I did want another baby. But I didn't mention it to my husband as he was so resolute about her being enough. But after a few weeks of my own awareness, I thought I recognized a shift in his thinking as well. We never keep things from each other but we had both been so steadfast for three years that she was our one-and-only that a change in thought seemed like a betrayal of the other's wishes. So we danced around the topic and never addressed what either of us were thinking until it came out one day in February:

"I want another baby."

I don't remember who said it first. It was like we both did at the same.

Or we telepathically sent it to one another.

The tension shattered between us and we laughed with joy to know we had both been thinking the same thing for months. We have always been in sync and in this circumstance, it was no different.

We were going to have another baby.

But we wanted to be certain I would be done my schooling before it happened, so I stayed on birth control for a few more months while I plugged away at my program until I got to a point where I knew I could finish it before our baby was born, if we got pregnant right away.

Which we had little doubt we would.

Our daughter had been conceived on the first try off of birth control, shocking us both. I had had some irregular periods and other problems throughout the preceding years and my doctor said I likely had a "lazy" ovary and that I may not be able to get pregnant easily because of it. Instead of feeling down about the news, we took that information at face value, steeled ourselves against disappointment, and made plans to get a puppy in the meantime since it would likely be a few years until we conceived.

However, fate would have it that on the day we were to pick up our new furry love, I would find myself sitting on the bathroom floor at 5 in the morning, staring at two blue lines in utter disbelieve calling frantically for John who scrambled out of bed thinking something was wrong only to stop short and instantaneously puff up as big as an ox with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face. I was bawling my eyes out. Happiness, fear, uncertainty, apprehension. I was standing on the edge of the rest of our lives. I was going to grow a human inside of me. For as much as we wanted a babe, I was terrified. In my mind, we had had a year at least. The quickness of it had thrown me off. And now we were getting a puppy. A puppy and a babe in the same day.

Oh boy.

After the initial shock wore off, I was elated.

We kept our pregnancy a secret except to our closest friends who would know in the first moment I declined a drink. Might as well tell them.

We told our families at almost eleven weeks. I had gained about twelve pounds by that point. Nausea had me constantly eating bread and crackers in an effort to keep it at bay. I told my family on the day I graduated from university. I wore unbuttoned jeans to my ceremony because none of my dresses fit and I had been too tired and sick to remember to buy another one before our whirlwind trip to Edmonton for grad. Talk about fancy. We told John's family the next day when we arrived home. Keeping it a secret sucked. But we chose to in case I had a miscarriage.

How carelessly we threw around that word then, as if it never had a real meaning.

I know its definition too well now.

We were right to expect me to get pregnant easily again. Two months after I stopped birth control, I got the pink lines I'd been waiting for. And aggressive morning sickness. I didn't even think to test yet as my period was only two days late and we didn't test with our daughter until I was five weeks, but as I was brushing my daughter's teeth that morning, a rage of nausea hit me so hard, I practically threw myself at the toilet. I tested the next day and there it was. Faint, but there.

I tested twice more that week and they were stronger each time. And the nausea grew. We've always harboured a suspicion that it was twins. That morning sickness came on like a tsunami.

My husband wasn't home for any of it. He was coming home on the 24th of October. Sharing the happy news with him over the phone just wasn't the same. It felt like it wasn't totally real unless he was there. I was counting down the days when he could come home and kiss my tummy and tell the babe how much he already loved it.

On the night of October 19th, I started to have mild cramps, but nothing of concern really, as I knew my uterus just needed to do it's thing. On the morning of the 20th, I woke up feeling queasy but not too bad. We had a nice normal day, except my cramps were a little more persistent. Then they got worse into the late afternoon. By the time I tucked my daughter into bed at 6:30, I knew something was wrong. That's when I saw blood. The torrents of pain and anguish that ripped through me that night can never be put into words. At 10, I went into my daughter's room and placed one hand on her sleeping cheek and the other on my tummy, knowing that this would be the last time they'd be together. I sobbed soundlessly in the dark.

After a sleepless night, I went in to the emerg the next day and everything was gone. My husband didn't even get to say "hello" to the babe we would never hold. I was six weeks and two days.

We had no idea it would happen five more times this year.

Six babies we'll never see. Six babies we'll never hold. Never kiss. Never touch. Never meet.

To say that the last year since our first loss has been hard would be an understatement. Not only do we not have a new baby for my husband and I to love, but our daughter's only wish is to have a sibling, something she asks for daily, and we can't give it to her. Sometimes she playfully mentions "when I have a baby sister..." and discusses all the wonderful things she will do for her as an older sister. She will be the best sister, given the chance. Other times she cries with hopelessness that she'll never have a sibling to love. Like the day they discussed brothers and sisters at school and it was discovered that she was the only one in her whole class without one.

And I thought my heart couldn't break more for her.

She has been asking for a baby since she was two and a half. Half of her life at this point. She's picked out names, discussed what sort of stuffy she wants to get it when it's first born, and even planned Halloween costumes for this unborn sibling of hers. We want so badly to be able to grant her her one wish.

With every pregnancy of mine, she seems to know. She switches from "when I have a baby" to "when my baby brother or sister is born" in her speech. She cries out randomly and hugs me for days after I've lost another, even though I've never said a word to her and keep my emotions level.

When I lost one in May in the middle of the night, I was laying stoically on the couch, devoid of emotion, when she woke in the morning and walking into the living room without a sound, she wordlessly kissed my tummy before giving me a hug.

The weirdest time, and John can attest, was when she had been at preschool all afternoon and I had napped and was still laying on the couch (apparently I do that a lot) when they came in the door and she came bounding up to me and put her face on my tummy and said, "hello, little baby, did you have a fun day in my mommy's tummy?" Then she skipped away.

That was three days before I got a positive.

We know it's bizarre and illogical. But there it is.

After all this, we're not giving up.

We will have another. We're good at the conceiving part, but it's the keeping it part that I've been failing at. And that's how it feels: that I'm a failure. I know that's not true at all. Miscarriages happen. 1 in 4 pregnancies. Most people don't seem to realize it's so high. Most people don't realize they've miscarried. But I watch my cycle like a hawk and I test at the slightest discrepancy in pattern.

My blood work through my doctor came back perfect. In terms of bodily health and numbers, I am pristine. But as each miscarriage happened, I found it harder and harder to stay positive, eventually slipping into a depression that, coupled with newfound anxiety, has made keeping a babe even more difficult. I know the root of my problem is stress. When a body is stressed, cortisol is released and as cortisol and progesterone are made from the same building blocks, my body simply cannot make enough progesterone to support a pregnancy since my cortisol production is in hyperdrive. It just must not be enough to catch on a blood test-- my "normal" numbers needed for my body to function properly may deviate from their standard.

That's my theory, anyway. That's why my focus lately has been to de-stress. I need my body back in balance. I need to be my best self not only for my daughter now, but in order to have a future son or daughter.

Burning yourself out isn't cool, kids.

We have been referred to a fertility clinic to help us in case there are more underlying problems than just my stress levels. Our first appointment is in November. When we were referred in May, we thought "surely we'll be pregnant by then, that's six months from now." And yes, we were pregnant in that time, but it resulted in two more losses.

On a leap of faith, and because it certainly wasn't going to hurt if someone could potentially help me, I signed up to be part of a study for women who are experiencing depression after miscarriage. If you are someone in that position and are interested in taking part, please contact me and I'll get you all the information.

But our time will come. I know it. And if things just don't work out our way, we are thankful every day that we have our daughter. We are lucky to even have her as I know there are so many parents without a babe earthside who want just one to hold. And we hold her close.

I share all of this with the world, not for sympathy, not for attention, but for awareness, in part.

This can happen to anyone.

I'm okay with discussing this topic but many aren't and too many suffer alone. I wish the silence surrounding miscarriage would disappear.

If you are someone who has experienced loss and have no one to talk to, I'm here. I'm always here for anyone.

The other reason I share this is so that our babes are acknowledged. They existed for a brief moment. They are loved.

They are our children we never got to hold.