One

I can't even count the times during the last three months that I have considered starting a blog and then chickened out. I guess it comes down to feeling vulnerable and wanting to hide. However, as I find myself more and more secluded due to my grief, I need some sort of outlet. I'm not sure who will eventually end up reading this. It may just be me. It may be family. It may be long-lost friends. It may be someone going through similar situations who wants to know that they are not alone (I'm right there with you and have spent HOURS scouring the internet for a glimmer of hope that I am not alone).

Well, here goes.

The main purpose of this blog is so I can document my journey to become a mother (to living children). I haven't shared my infertility journey with many people. I just haven't thought it was anyone's business. I'm not going to go into much detail in this post, but I'm sure I will revisit this topic many, many times. Basically, my husband and I can't conceive on our own. We spent two years trying before we were tested and sent off to a fertility specialist. Since we are both young, it was kind of a blow to the ego to know that your body can't do the most important job it has. We were lucky and got pregnant with twins after only three cycles of Clomid, Ovidrel, and IUI. I was asked countless times if twins run in my family (translation: Did you do fertility treatments?). I always responded by saying no, but it has to start somewhere. Unless you were in my family, I didn't tell you the truth. I felt ashamed that I had done fertility to get pregnant. I don't know why. Regardless, we were so blessed.

Now going back to my body being defective... After a pregnancy that was going alone incredibly smoothly with no signs of danger on the horizon, I lost the babies when I was five and half months pregnant. My cervix gave out (we think), and I couldn't keep them in. Way to go, body. Way. to. go.

I will come back and talk in extreme detail about my children and their births, but for now, I'm going to keep it brief. They were beautiful and healthy and there is absolutely no justification in my mind as to why they had to die. I am bitter and angry.

Losing my daughter and my son is the most incredibly traumatizing and devastating thing that has ever happened to me (with my mom's sudden passing a very close second). We wanted those babies so badly, and we were so close. I am racked with grief and depression now, since I should be delivering my babies next week (I was due March 18th, but with the size they were when they were born, I know I would have delivered three weeks early). It isn't fair.

In the midst of all of these negative feelings, I find myself strangely hopeful. Husband and I decided to jump right back into fertility treatments after we talked with my OB and high-risk doctor and put a game plan in place for if I get pregnant again (cerclage at 14 weeks, progesterone shots starting at 16 weeks). We met with our fertility specialist last Friday, and we've been given the go-ahead to do IUI this cycle. (I am TERRIFIED.) Of course, he had to discuss my "options" if I do get pregnant with multiples again. Since we're not sure if I delivered early because the weight of two babies or if it's something else, he went on a long discussion about reductions and whatnot. All I could think while he was talking was, "Oh sweet Jesus. I do not want to have to resort to that." He's also sending me for blood work because he suspects that my cervix didn't kill my babies. He thinks it might be a blood or autoimmune disorder. If I come back positive for any of that, add many, many more shots to my daily regimen if I get pregnant. We will see if he find anything. (And notice, I say IF I get pregnant. After all, there are no guarantees in life.)

So here I am, day two of Clomid. Oh, how I didn't miss you. I'm already having hot flashes, so I guess it's working. I go in for an ultrasound to check my follicles next Wednesday and then we'll hopefully proceed with our insemination a couple of days later. I'm not really holding my breath that this thing will work, but I have to hold on to at least a little bit of hope since we can't afford to move deeper into infertility (IUI with injectibles cost thousands of dollars a month. IVF is ungodly expensive.).

As our fertility specialist said, all we can do is cross our fingers, hold our breath, and hope and pray that everything works out.