The gifts of now-time. Super-fertility. Surrender and pursuit.

So much depends upon the strength or weakness of a pink line. $33 worth of home pregnancy tests later, I now know for certain that the line is getting lighter, not darker. What most likely is happening is a chemical pregnancy, another term for a very early miscarriage.

And so.

The ocean metaphor really helps me. I will picture myself on the shore of a wild ocean. Walking, swimming, into the waves. Getting knocked down, hard, again and again. The ocean doesn’t love me. The universe is not looking out for me. This loss isn’t personal. It has simply happened.

Or I will picture myself out in the middle of the ocean, the shore nowhere in sight. I am swimming, and I am tired—I’ve been swimming for so long! But I can’t see the shore. I want more than anything to be able to snap my fingers and be on the shore (be with my child) but there is no way to get to the shore except to swim and swim. The other thing about the shore that I like to keep in mind: I won’t be able to see it until I am very close to it. In the meantime I have to swim motivated by faith alone.

Do I have faith that we will have a family? I have decided that I do. But only because I know we will have a family, one way or another, if we don’t give up–not because the universe is looking out for me, and not because I am special. I am not special. I am just another person–which is enough. Which is valuable. I have to value myself.  If I keep all of this clear in my mind, if I hold onto my intention, I can go forward. What is painful is living through the time between now-time & family-time, not knowing when now-time is going to end, and getting older. But I also don’t want to miss out on the gifts of now-time as I am living in it. What a waste that would be.

I read something today that really helped me. It was the first time in ages that obsessively trolling the web–message boards, articles–has given me something I think I really needed to hear.

Every RE I have talked to, including Dr. Schoolcraft, has said these words to me: “You’re really not infertile.”

When they say that, I want to jump up and hug them for understanding my body. I do not feel, nor have I ever felt, infertile. I feel the opposite. I have a healthy libido (even while having all these losses!) and DH and I have an extremely active sex life. My hormones feel strong and normal to me, and all hormonal test results have reflected that. My CM is off-the-charts, and I ovulate regularly and strongly. We get pregnant as soon as we try, on our own, and have now gotten pregnant without trying at all twice.

A BBC news article (summarized here) concerning a very recent study suggests that women with recurrent pregnancy loss may be what they call “super fertile.” Researchers discovered that women who have RPL might have wombs that allow embryos to implant, no matter what–whether they are “good” or “bad” embryos, RPL women’s wombs will allow those embryos to implant and will begin to nurture the pregnancy. Women without RPL, on the other hand, have wombs that will not allow “bad” embryos to implant at all. It is an extremely new study, and the test group was very small, but on a visceral level, this makes so much sense to me. It is the first time I have felt that the research has matched up with my experience and what I know about my own body!

I was dysfunctionally sad and depressed and crying for a couple of days, this time. Had some fabulous anxiety, my dear old friend. Lost sleep. Felt tricked. Felt it was cruel. But now I’m not feeling those things. I just don’t want to. I want to be excited about our upcoming move to Long Island. I want to start the work-out and supplements again (had to stop them, just in case), and I want to celebrate the love and desire between me and DH. We have an amazing relationship and I want to honor that.

I am glad that I documented all this—at the very least, maybe by reading about the extreme ups and downs of this fifth loss, women who are being jerked around in similar ways will feel less alone, and perhaps can take it less personally. It isn’t personal. I wouldn’t even call it “bad luck,” because that also implies a judgment. It simply is. And in response, we have to learn to harbor and nurture two seemingly opposite forces within ourselves: surrender and pursuit. Surrender and pursuit. Both at once. There is beauty in that effort. Maybe even happiness. It seems to me like the most advanced teaching there could possibly be, how to live the combined essence of surrender and pursuit. I might not be the fastest learner, but I am trying.

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