Jaden (USA): The Broken Pieces
On August 10th 2017, my period was two weeks late. This wasn’t unusual, so I didn’t worry much about it. I had a spare pregnancy test under my bathroom cabinet so I decided to take it, almost certain that it would come back negative like all the others before. When my three-minute timer buzzed, I took a deep breath and flipped over the test to reveal the results. I was surprised to see two pink lines; I just sat there in shock… I showed my husband the result and he nervously asked if I was serious, before a huge smile spread across his face. We talked about everything we would need to do.
A few days later I started spotting but, from what I had read, thought it was normal. However, the following day I started to bleed heavily. I rushed to my doctor’s office and they drew my blood. I waited nervously all day for their call but heard nothing. The next morning I tried again repeatedly, anxiously chasing the results, but couldn’t get through. Finally, they called back and said: "you've had a chemical pregnancy and we need you to come back for more blood work". I was so devastated that I blanked out and didn't notice that the woman was still talking, but I did as they asked.
On September 2nd, I went into the clinic for my last blood draw. That afternoon, I received a call from the nurse, who indicated that my levels had gone up to 314 and asked if I might be pregnant again. I was so confused and wondered if they had been wrong about my miscarriage. I had an ultrasound, which showed that I was a little over four weeks. Naturally, I was excited and happy – but nervous! I went about my day and my husband and I kept it a secret like the last one. A week later, I started to bleed again and I went in to explain my situation. The nurse drew even more blood and confirmed that I had miscarried for the second time.
I was heartbroken and cried for days thinking ‘why me?’. My husband and I talked about waiting a month or two before actively trying again but agreed that we wouldn't exactly prevent it from happening by using protection.
2018 came around and I noticed that I was sleeping more and my boobs were killing me; I just assumed it was my period coming. When it still didn't show up after three weeks, I tested and on January 2nd I had two pink lines for the third time. I immediately called my doctor’s office to schedule an appointment. I was on the books for January 18th but later that day I knew something was wrong when I started cramping; followed by blood.
I wasn't disappointed or surprised by this point and I just let it happen. I went to my appointment and told them that I had miscarried and just wanted to see what was going on. They said that it could be something in my genetics, low progesterone, or even my weight. They filled out a form and drew more blood. I called the next day and my HGC was negative, as I had expected. She told me: “for future pregnancies call and come in right away so that we can check your levels, and make sure they are doubling like they're supposed to. Also, we will keep an eye on your progesterone so that if it’s low we can prescribe you some."
I thanked her and hung up and looked at my husband, who was holding my hand. I told him that we needed to take a break from trying, so that we could give my body time to get back to normal.
Now a month later and, to be honest, I've had the worst seven months of my life. I can’t help but feel like a failure. As a woman, I can't do the one thing I was created to do. I feel like I'm living a nightmare when I think about it. When I look at my husband and think about what an amazing dad he would have been I start crying; babies would have made him a big softy. As for me, I hope that the guilt I feel that maybe I did something wrong will go away. I love my babies and I miss them like crazy even though I only had them for a short time; it still counts. No matter how many times you go through this, each time is a different kind of hard and entails different kinds of emotions. One day I will get my little family; hopefully it won't take another eight years...