So says the barren woman

Two months ago, I miscarried my second pregnancy within 6 months. It was a tough knock--a sadness that literally felt as if it was burning in my heart. I hurt deeply. Nevertheless, it was something I had to feel or else I might not have been able to move past it. And yes, I have moved past the loss. I did what I have always done in tough situations--picked myself up, dusted myself off, put a smile on my face, and moved on.

What else is there to do?

But sometimes I wonder whether there might be something wrong with me--that I am somehow in denial, too shallow, or don't want to be a mother as much as I think I would--because I don't seem to carry the weight of infertility like others friends, who find themselves in a similar circumstance and are haunted by it. I don't feel as though my life will have been less significant without the experience of motherhood. I am also confident that Max and I are, and would be, a happy and fulfilled family even if we never have children.

Don't misunderstand me. I know that being a parent is a life-changing, irreplaceable experience and one that I would like to have someday. But if motherhood doesn't happen for me, I do not feel as though I would be living an inferior life...just a different one.

Is this so shocking?

Family of two

A few weeks back, Max and I sat in quaint little lounge along the shores of Thessaloniki. My cousin, Penny, who was born and raised in Greece, joined us on our date. My pregnancy inevitably became part of our conversation during the course of the evening.

"Max and I hope that I can deliver a healthy baby " I said. "But if something goes wrong and I miscarry, we will be ok."

"We're a happy family, just the two of us," Max chimed in. "I married Diane because I wanted her to be my wife. To have children with her, would only be the icing on the cake.

"And there is always adoption," I added.

Penny's eyes welled up with tears. This sort of philosophy regarding children and marriage is almost unheard of if her culture.

"I like how you feel about this. You words are beautiful to me," she began. "But, to be honest, it's almost unbelievable to my ears. Here in Greece, most couples would say, 'if you can't give me a child, then what's the point?' And adoption isn't often considered."

I know Penny's claims aren't far from the truth. In countries like Greece and Egypt, having children is held with the utmost importance. My own Greek father, in the distant past, went as far as to question the femininity of a woman without a family. And while his viewpoint has softened over the years, he still doesn't quite "get" couples who say they are happy without children. I suppose it's hard to for him to break away from how he was raised.

Which is yet another reason why my husband amazes me. Even though he is an Egyptian man, raised in Greece, Max doesn't hold the same beliefs and cultural norms as others like him. I believe him when he tells me that he didn't marry me just to have his babies or that he is happy with his family of two. Moreover, unlike some of his relatives, Max is very open, if not enthusiastic, about the possibility of adoption.

Really, where did this guy come from? How did I get so lucky to snag him?

So while my husband and I are saddened and disappointed by our recent loss, we still revel in our love for one another, finding both solace and strength in the depths of our commitment. We've decided to just put any baby-making pursuits on hold for the next several months, and reevaluate only when the time feels right.

Your words of condolence, support, and encouragement have meant so much to Max and me. Even though I am still wrestling doubt and sadness, I am determined to find a positive and hopeful spirit again. Your words make me feel like we have a personal cheering section that is rooting for us, and this makes my heart beat a little stronger. Thank you.

The post I didn't want to write

My doctor could no longer detect a heartbeat today. It appears I've lost another pregnancy. What else is there to say?

I wish I had happy news to report. My blood tests came back today and the results confirmed the Dr. Sych’s fears. My HCG levels are too low to support the pregnancy. The doctor and I will meet tomorrow for a final ultrasound and to talk about the next steps.

I probably will not write any more on this topic after today. I need to accept this reality, privately grieve the loss, and move on with life as quickly as possible.

I have carried this baby only five weeks, and knew about the pregnancy for only two. And yet, I had my heart fully vested. I cannot imagine how women feel when they miscarry late into their first trimester or even longer. I also wonder how women endure multiple miscarriages because I’m not sure I could do this again.

Thankfully, my husband returns home on Thursday morning. Then Friday, Max and I have decided to go on a little getaway to Strasbourg, a picturesque city in France. It’s fool hearty to believe a brief respite will take away the sorrow we are both feeling, but it will be a nice reminder that, no matter, we still and always will have each other.

A heavy heart

Today’s ultrasound didn’t look promising. The doctor says he had hoped the exam would have shown more progress in the last week. And although he claims all hope is not lost, this is not a good sign. He has asked me to come back for another blood test on Monday to check my levels again, but it will probably be Wednesday before we get the results.

Unfortunately, Max is away in Brazil until next Thursday, and I had to share this unhappy development with him over the phone. We are both sad and anxious, but also realize this is completely out of our control. It’s certainly a hard pill to swallow, but we will get through this—whatever happens.

Thank you for your kind thoughts and well wishes over the last few days. Rest assured, I am doing fine. You’re a wonderfully supportive community and it helps that I can share both my ups and downs with you.