Goodbye little star, I thought it was our time…

No, no miracle. I guess it is a fitting day to find out–Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Baybina still at 6 weeks, and no heartbeat. I am deeply sad, all the way to my bones, and I just keep wanting to hold this baby. It will be taken out of me on Monday. D & C. My second one. No to barbaric Cytotec. No to waiting to miscarry naturally. D & C so that they can test it and maybe find out for sure whether or not it is a Trisomy baby.

In the meantime, I feel physically sick to my stomach, probably the hcG, and actually threw up this morning for the first time. Bloated. Have crazy backache that I’m soothing with a heating pad at night. I feel so gross. My body just feels toxic.

I would have liked to have had the D & C tomorrow, but my new OB is not available to do the surgery until Monday, and I want him to do it, because I know him now, and I know he is a good surgeon. I want to feel that my uterus is in good hands.

Both he and Dr. Shapiro seem to think that there is not much chance I’ll pass anything before Monday. But if I do—ziplock baggie and refrigerator, and then drive it to the OB’s, I guess. These are things I’ve had to think about before. Cheesecloth over the toilet to catch it, sterile container, etc. I had no idea I would be back inside this incredibly painful situation, thinking about such things.

I thought when I chose donor egg I was choosing the healthiest path, the path of healing. It never occurred to me in a million years that it would be the path right back to my worst nightmare. I thought this was my time. You all thought this was my time. DH thought this was my time. My mom thought this was my time. How can this actually be happening? A woman who has gone through it 5 times taking on a miscarriage through DE?

The only thing that gives me some solace is—if it is a problem with this one egg of the donor’s—to think that I have taken on the miscarriage for her, for the donor, so that she doesn’t have to experience it herself. I have taken on her “one.” Because I am strong enough. And maybe she wouldn’t have been. I don’t know. Maybe that’s silly. But I need all of this pain to be for something. Some reason. Some good in the world.

I know some of you have been worried that I haven’t had enough tests done on myself—I promise you that I have, at multiple RE’s now, in Manhattan and in Denver. But my new local-monitoring RE, Dr. San Roman, is going to go over the massive volumes of test records with a fine-toothed comb, with fresh eyes, and see if he there is a need for any other test.

DH has of course also been tested for everything under the sun, about three times now. I am asking Dr. Shapiro about this extremely rare single-gene problem that can sometimes be traced back to the male, and if there is any way to test for that, discover that—I’ll let you know what he says.

But so far, I have three doctors saying that they believe this is most likely a random genetic problem, a trisomy, and that it does not mean that the other two embryos are abnormal. My nurse at RBA is checking to see if other recipient couple’s of this donor’s eggs have had miscarriages, or successful pregnancies—I will keep you posted.

I appreciate the input about immune therapies, but there is no indication that my body is “attacking” embryos. It seems to me that I might have the opposite problem: my body takes in and nurtures and tries to grow whatever comes into my uterus—“super-fertility” it has been called (though this theory has hardly been researched enough, at this point).  But anyway, my IVF embryos all tested as chromosomally abnormal, and more than that, I’ve had two blighted ovums, two chemicals, and one that was something in between—the vast majority of research shows that these early losses are due to faulty meiosis when a chromosomally damaged gamete meets up with another gamete.

Also, although I’ve had five losses, they were about 14 months ago at this point. My fifth loss was in August of last year. So I’ve taken a great deal of time to heal my body and my mind. I don’t think this is a case of traumatized body-memory.

After I found out today, I went to a sunny parking lot and walked and walked until I could stop crying. I’d called my supervisor to tell her I would be late, and had sobbed so hard on the phone she could barely understand me. So I walked and walked. I went to coffee shop and ordered an Americano. I tried to fix my nearly unfixable makeup. I got it together and then—unbelievably—I came in to work.

I am tough. I am tougher than I ever thought I would be, in this life. I fucking came in to work! I’m proud of that. Proud that I’ve been coming in on all of these other hard days, too.

Proud that about a year and a half ago, when I was doing my second-year internship, I kept my therapy appointment with a particularly troubled patient who was 300 pounds and armchair-bound in her living room. I was losing a chemical pregnancy during that appointment—I’d started to cramp earlier that afternoon. It felt like very bad period cramps, so I just took a bunch of painkillers and went to see her. I went to see her because I knew she really needed me. During that session, she talked to me about her 42-year-old daughter, who did cocaine during her early pregnancy and chain-smoked throughout, and who had just had a perfectly healthy baby girl. I sat through that. I forgot myself and listened to that. I didn’t scream. I didn’t leave. It was one of the strongest things I’ve ever done.

Today, a resident who has brain-damage, who can only say “Ahhh-ooo-ooooo” in a sing-song voice, played a game with me. She pretended to grab at me like a scary Halloween monster as I passed her wheelchair, and I pretended to be scared and run away. She found this so funny that I did it with her again and again. I felt so alive and happy in that moment. The residents, the patients, they are always my medicine. I’m going to take comfort in them.

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33 Comments

  1. Words can’t express my sorrow for your loss. Yes, as I follow your story and read your past experience, I think, wow, you ARE an amazingly strong, resilient woman. The word courage is repeated over and over in my mind as I read your post. You have so much courage. I am praying that your longing for a child is met in your next cycle. I believe it’s possible for you!

    Reply
  2. Oh, friend. You are so strong. So so strong. What you said about protecting your donor – taking on her “one” for her – is absolutely beautiful. It brought/is bringing tears to my eyes. She is so lucky you chose her. And your future babes will be so lucky you chose them. I will light a candle for Little Star tonight. And for the others. xo.

    Reply
  3. Karen

     /  October 15, 2013

    I am so terribly terribly sorry for your loss. Abiding with you.
    Karen

    Reply
  4. I am so so sorry. Although those words are not enough, know I am thinking of you and sending love. You are brave. You are strong. You are resilient.

    Reply
  5. Thinking of you dear. Take care. xoxo

    Reply
  6. lisa

     /  October 15, 2013

    So sorry to hear about little star passing and your loss.

    Reply
  7. Breezy

     /  October 16, 2013

    Oh how I wish I had words to comfort you and take your pain away. I found you by googling about Dr. Schoolcraft, whom I am currently seeing. I have “only” had two miscarriages. We have named them both. I fully believe we will meet them on the other side. I will hold them, smell them, play with them. I told my husband today “I only wish I could see their faces, in a dream or something.” I checked my email all day to hear your report. When it didn’t come earlier in the day, I knew something did not go well. We are with you in spirit my friend. I appreciate your honesty, strength, and tenderness.

    Reply
  8. I am so sorry. You have done all you could. I have some ideas, but I will save those for another day. Today I just want to say I’m sorry and I’m thinking of you.

    Reply
  9. So very, very sorry, my friend. How unfair life can be. I’m keeping you in my thoughts.

    Reply
  10. Amanda

     /  October 16, 2013

    I am so sorry. So incredibly sorry.

    Reply
  11. Kali

     /  October 16, 2013

    “I thought when I chose donor egg I was choosing the healthiest path, the path of healing. It never occurred to me in a million years that it would be the path right back to my worst nightmare. I thought this was my time. You all thought this was my time.”

    Me too. I had, and still have, these thoughts and similar ones. I came to donor egg to solve my fertility problems, not take on another woman’s.

    It’s an almost more poignant betrayal, a DE miscarriage. It’s supposed to be the solution, not more of the same.

    My due date is in two weeks. It will be rough. I come here to see your strength and be inspired by it.

    Reply
    • Kali

       /  October 16, 2013

      And I am so, so sorry for this loss. I didn’t say it in the message above explicitly but of course, I am heartbroken with you.

      Reply
  12. Mrs. McIrish

     /  October 16, 2013

    Like Kali above, my due date from my DE miscarriage was this past Friday. I, too, thought DE was the easier route. But I found my DE BFN and miscarriage to be far worse than all the negatives I got with my OE. Sadly, I feel REs sell DE as the holy grail and it is just another fight. Sure, some get lucky out of the gate but others continue to suffer time and time again. Big hugs to you. I’m so sorry you have to wait until Monday for the D&C. It’s just cruel.

    I know you feel you’ve had enough testing so I won’t beat that horse right now.. But I’m glad Shapiro is putting you on lovenox the next time. If the chromosome testing is normal, you might want to look at IVIg or intralipids. I know Shapiro doesn’t believe in immune therapies but Toledo does. Just a suggestion.

    Reply
  13. Oh man. I’m so sorry honey. God bless you your story brings tears to my eyes. You are so strong to be able to deal with all of this. I pray that one day you get your take home baby ❤️

    Reply
  14. Tess

     /  October 16, 2013

    You are very strong, and very brave. Just hold on through the storm.

    Reply
  15. Iam so truly truly sorry. You are so strong, I wish so much you didn’t have to be xx

    Reply
  16. Oh my heart. I am so sorry about your little star. How absolutely devestating. Be gentle with yourself.

    Reply
  17. Melana Kopman

     /  October 16, 2013

    You are a remarkable person. Plain and simple. I know the coming days will be very difficult so I hope they pass quickly. You and DH will be in all of our thoughts.

    Reply
  18. This thought:
    “The only thing that gives me some solace is—if it is a problem with this one egg of the donor’s—to think that I have taken on the miscarriage for her, for the donor, so that she doesn’t have to experience it herself. I have taken on her “one.” Because I am strong enough. And maybe she wouldn’t have been.”

    This thought is so selfless and inspiring. It shows the true grace you are capable of while under such traumatic stress.

    I’m so sorry your little star didn’t make it.

    Reply
  19. SG

     /  October 16, 2013

    Goodbye little star, I’m so sorry you didn’t make it. And I am so sorry for you and DH for your loss and I pray one day you will hold your little star in your arms. Much love to one of the bravest, strongest women I know.

    Reply
  20. I have no words for how heartbroken I am for you. Please know I’m sending so much love your way. Your strength has certainly shown through this past week.

    Reply
  21. I am so sorry for you loss. I wish I had better words. You are unbelievably strong. And it sounds like your doctors are confident that this is just a case of unbelievably bad luck. It is smart to look into other pregnancies from this donor. If you find good news then just remember that even healthy young women can have abnormal eggs here and there – there is every reason to believe that the other embryos are healthy. Also smart to have your six rechecking all your tests of your lining – sounds like you have all your babies covered. Thinking of you!

    Reply
  22. I’ve been out of town for work and not able to post till now.
    I am so, so sorry. It’s all been said by the wonderful women above, but I wanted to add my condolences. I cannot imagine how hard this is, and how strong you have been to get through it.
    I don’t know what else I can say, but I’m thinking of you today and as you go forward with healing and with a new plan when ready. Again, this is so unfair, and I am so sorry.

    Reply
  23. I’m so sorry to hear this. I love the idea that you are being strong for your donor. I believe that. Take good care of yourself as you heal.

    Reply
  24. I am so, so, sorry for your loss. It is so unfair and you show unbelievable strength in trying to see the good out of the pain.

    Reply
  25. Sarah

     /  October 16, 2013

    I am heartbroken for you. I am also impressed with how open, and strong you are in sharing this experience with us. We would all feel a little less alone without you sharing your story, as very few of us have anyone in our everyday lives that can remotely relate to what this feels like, and how it able to take control of your life. Thank you for being so brave, and pushing forward. I saw a print the other day that seems fitting- “God gives his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.” I am soo sorry for your loss, and am soo confident your time is just around the corner. In the meantime, please be kind to yourself, and try to focus on the good. It is there… ie- you sound like you have an amazingly supportive husband!! Thank you for giving us strength. Hugs to YOU.

    Reply
  26. Thank you all for loving me so well. I am so weary. You keep me strong. Make me feel lighter. DH and I, we hug you. xxxxx

    Reply
  27. I am so, so sorry to read your news. Sending you so many good thoughts.

    Mo

    Reply
  28. hope

     /  October 18, 2013

    I am so sorry. This is heartbreaking. Sending you healing hugs…

    Reply
  29. JustUs

     /  October 20, 2013

    So sorry my heart is breaking for you. There are others (like me) who stumble upon your blog because we are suffering similar loss, and reading your story makes it feel much less lonely. Just wanted you to know what you have done for others by sharing. I wish you healing and recovery from what i know is agony – like others above i admire your strength.

    Reply
  30. I am so sorry for the loss of Little Star. I will never, ever, EVER understand why some people endure such an inordinate amount of pain. You do it with grace, but you shouldn’t have to at all. I am hopeful for your other embryos, I am hopeful for your healing, and I will be thinking of you on Monday as you endure yet another D&C. Big fat hugs to you, friend.

    Reply
  31. Congratulations on your rainbow!! I just wanted to say thank-you so much for sharing your story. Reading this it feels like my journey. I’ve also had 6 miscarriages, 4 natural and 2 with donor egg. We had maternal cell contamination with normal girl result. Yes I could totally relate to your post on that because it happened to me. I wanted so much to have an abnormal result so we would have an answer as to why,So we had to do PGS and sure enough in our remaining frosties, there was one abnormal and 3 normal. Trying lovenox and prednisolone with PGS tested embryo for my upcoming FET on Feb 23rd. You have given me so much hope! I was scared that I would miscarry normal baby but after reading several posts on your blog and success that you had with lovenox, I am feeling cautiously hopeful. Bigs hugs!

    Reply

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