3 Days of Joy - 6 Years of Grief

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant.  We had been trying for so long.  We'd seen doctors. I'd taken fertility drugs that made me feel something other than myself, but I did it because I wanted a baby.

It seemed I was a healthy person overall before the moment I decided to try and get pregnant.  Ostensibly, as soon as that choice was made, my life fell apart.  We couldn't get pregnant. I was then diagnosed with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome.  My body was indisputably raging an all out mutiny against the thought of being pregnant.  My cycle vanished for months.  I had been regular before, not anymore. I was told I wasn't ovulating anymore.  Seriously?  I decide to get pregnant and my body stops doing THE ONE THING it needs to do for me to get pregnant?

The fertility drugs fixed that.  They kick started my ovaries into ovulation mode.  So we tried again. and again. and again. and again.

One night around the holidays we were planning to go out with some friends and have dinner.  I love wine and was planning on having a glass or two with my meal.  Cognizant of the fact that we had been trying to get pregnant, I decided to take a test before going.  I didn't want to chance drinking if I could possibly be nurturing a tiny little fetus inside me.  I honestly was not expecting it to be anything other than negative.  But, it's better to be safe than sorry.

It was positive.

I was pregnant.

We took a cliche "we're pregnant" picture and sent it to all of our family.  They knew the struggle, they knew the yearning, they reveled with us.

The friends we had dinner with had bought a stuffed monster for us that they had been hanging onto for this occasion.  They gave it to us at dinner.  My sister-in-law sewed 3 adorable onesies for my babe.

3 days later, it was over.

3 days later the doctors told me the chances were that every pregnancy I'd ever have would end the same way because of what the PCOS did to my body.

I had hope and joy and everything I ever wanted for 3 days.  Then it was ripped away from me in a bloody massacre.

I felt like a piece of me died with my baby.

I still have the monster.  I still have the onesies.  I still have the grief.

I just wanted to share this part of my story today.  Writing all this down, reliving it, unearthing the grief is overwhelming.  Unfortunately for me, my grief has yet to be dealt with. I'm in the process and will share that eventually... just not today.