Family update: Thank you for all your caring comments this week. My dad is recovered from his pneumonia scare and is out of the hospital back at the Alzheimer's care facility. My mother-in-law is also back home. Hospice has set her up in the main room downstairs and she is receiving nutrients and meds through a feeding tube. It's hard to say how long she has left. There's no predicting death, other than it will come sooner or later for all of us.
There have been many tears shed, and there are many more to come. But we, that is, my immediate family, are doing well. We feel lucky that we are physically close to our parents, and that my husband can take care of his mother (and father, who is completely overwhelmed by current events) without too much financial pressure. We feel lucky that I have a job that covers about 80% of our bills, and that we have been frugal enough in the past that we can afford to choose between family and work. We feel grateful that we are healthy, all three of us, and most especially our kid. In many ways my husband and I closer than we have every been, and it is strangely lovely to have someone with whom we can share our most traumatic life experiences. I think it's what we all hope for when we get married.
There has been so much going on and many transitions coming. And people have been so kind, offering to help in any way they can. There is so much sympathy to had, it one cares to reach out for it.
And I realize, not for the first time, that as hard as this is, what I went through with the miscarriages was worse. I felt more inconsolable sadness, more depression, more loneliness and more hopelessness. And here are the reasons why:
• Losing our parents is part of the "natural" order of life. Of course there is no such thing as a natural order, but us humans we like to comfort ourselves that such a thing exists. While it is sometimes hard to remember, we should all be so lucky as to bury our parents, rather than the other way around. And while taking care of them is often a burden, it is also a gift, both to our parents and to ourselves. And the vast majority of people will go through the experience of losing their parents, so it becomes a kind of collective human experience.
Alternately, not being able to the have a child, or children that we dreamed of and hoped for, is not "natural." Yes, infertility affects up to ten percent of couples, so technically, it's not uncommon. It is still not a common denominator. And in fact, a majority of that ten percent will eventually have children. That means that eighty to ninety percent of the population doesn't have a clue what you are going through, and in fact, has never even thought about it. And if they have thought about it, it's about "feeling sorry" for the random infertile couple that crosses their path. To most people, it's something that happens to other people, not to themselves. Of course there are lots of exceptions. Many people "get it" even though they have never experienced infertility themselves. But in my experience, it's definitely not the majority. So it gets lonely. Recurrent miscarriage is not a shared human experience.
• Miscarriage is something that happens when there is something "wrong" with you. Everyone wants to know why this is happening to you so they can look at their own lives and make sure it won't happen to them. There must be a hormone imbalance, or bad plumbing, or an age problem. I could see people feeling a little relieved when they found out that I have mild case of PCOS and was forty when I had my last miscarriage. There was something that put me in a different category than them.
People like to blame infertility on age, but here is something most people don't know: A hundred years ago (before birth control) the average age of a woman having her last child was 42. THE AVERAGE. Those women just started having kids at 23 and had 10 kids in between the first and the last (just maybe a bigger nightmare than infertility.) Yes, miscarriage happens more after the age thirty-six or thirty-seven, but every doctor I had believed that I could have a successful pregnancy if I could still get pregnant, because IT HAPPENS ALL THE TIME!
•We are allowed to talk about our ailing parents, and about the sadness of Alzheimer's and dementia. And again, it is a shared experience, most people can chime in with a story about their parents or grandparents. But we are not allowed to talk about miscarriage. Many people don't want anyone to know that they have lost a pregnancy, because they are ashamed or do not want to be pitied. But are we ashamed when our parents die? Do people pity us? When I share that I have had recurrent miscarriages, some people look at me like I have just described my most recent bowel movement. I don't really care if I make people uncomfortable anymore. Usually my miscarriages come up when they are asking a question or making a comment that begs the answer, like telling me how spoiled only children are, or asking me why I didn't have more. I've never been offended by people asking me about why I only have one, so why should they be offended if I tell them the reason why? The bottom line is that it is not really acceptable as a topic of conversation; it makes people squirm. Which makes me feel sad and alienated. During my miscarriages, the losses dominated my thinking, yet there were very few venues in which I could talk about it.
• People think you're crazy. How can you grieve something the size of a peanut? I can't tell you how many times people have said to me "But your miscarriages were early, right?" Which could be translated as "Your miscarriages couldn't have meant much, since you were barely pregnant, and so why is it such a big deal?" So what is my problem? Why was I foolish enough to think that that little heartbeat was actually going to BE a child? That I was actually going to have BAYBEE? Silly me.
• I've heard before that miscarriages are the loss of a future. A future that we are just on the cusp of, and then that future gets snapped away. Psych. Usually miscarriers wil go on to have another child, but sometimes we do not. For me, I have this sense of being stuck on the edge. I know I can't move forward, but have a hard time turning all the back to where I was before. There is a sense of not finishing something that I started.
• Despite the fact that I think comparing pain is silly, in the end, I realize that having one fantastic child greatly eases my sadness. However, there is one thing about secondary infertility that sucks bigtime. If we are involved in our children's lives we are forced to be around other families constantly. We are forced to not only be around them but to talk to pregnant women about their second third and fourth children. Like everyone dealing with infertility, secondary infertiles have to watch as others easily attain their dreams of family. But in addition, while playing with our children at the park, or attending our kids soccer games, we are forced to listen dumbly to conversations about sibling rivalries and adjustments to the new baby. And we must look interested, or feel judged. By being a mother, other mothers include me, even though I do not relate to their situations. Secondary infertiles are subjected to women's angst ridden monologues about whether they should have "one more," while we are left wishing that it could be that easy. Some people feel that the fact that we have one child makes us open to their commentary about only children. We are also subject to their fertility suggestions - "have you tried one those thingamajigs for telling when you're ovulating?" I've always wanted to say, first of all, getting pregnant isn't my problem, dumbass, and second of all, they are called Ovulation Predictor Kits. Just in case you want to give any of your fantastic fertility advice to anyone else. But I could never say that because people would have thought that I had gone off my rocker. That I had just turned into an angry and bitter infertile pariah. And they might have been right.
It all boils down to loneliness. My miscarriages made me feel more different and detached from a "normal" life than ever before. Time heals wounds, it's true. Two steps forward, one step back. But this wound feels like a chronic condition. It crops up with periodic flair-ups that I just get better and better at managing.
Amen, amen. After years of infertilty and failed IVFs, we are adopting two children. Now I have to hear that old classic, "As soon as you adopt, you'll get pregnant." Grrr. I want to snap and tell them only 8% of adoptive parents go on to have biological children after infertility, but then I get accused of being bitter. So I don't say anything, just grin and bear it. But you're right, not matter how you crack it, infertility is lonely business...
PS Don't quote me on that 8%, I read it somewhere, probably Dr. Google, no telling it's exact accuracy!
Posted by: Nat | May 03, 2006 at 05:55 PM
PPS I'm glad that your father and mother-in-law are back home. Keep your chin up.
Posted by: Nat | May 03, 2006 at 05:57 PM
I'm glad to hear your dad and mother-in-law are doing better and back home. I think watching our parents decline is horribly sad.
I also think that secondary if is a terrible thing because I can choose not to be in many of the situations you talk about. You can't.
Miscarriages are so lonely and painful.
Thinking of you and wishing there was something more that I could say.
Posted by: millie | May 03, 2006 at 09:45 PM
What a wonderful post. When I read this:
"Everyone wants to know why this is happening to you so they can look at their own lives and make sure it won't happen to them."
...it was like a gong sounding in my head. This is exactly right -- true for infertility as well as miscarriages, though to a lesser extent, I imagine.
Posted by: Julie | May 04, 2006 at 05:28 AM
Well said. When I lost my little boy, a friend called in her condolences and started talking about her feelings over losing her father. I wanted to cut her off and tell her I knew she meant well but that comparing the two losses is in no way a fair comparison. I actually wanted to shout this at her but instead I momentarily tuned her out until she had said her piece. I know my loss is different. I know how intense the loss was. And, you're right, it is very lonely.
Posted by: zarqa | May 04, 2006 at 05:01 PM
I'm so sorry about your Dad & Mother-in-Law, and glad to hear they're doing better, but thank you, oh thank you for those words on miscarriage and infertility. I've just had my "one step back" this week with the most unmerciful fight with my mother who thinks that - after five years of TTC, 2 miscarriages and 2 IVF's - it's time for me to move on. Quite how to "move on" when any time I try to talk about infertility leads to people looking at me like I'm a weirdo and changing the subject as soon as possible, is another thing altogether. Obviously it's something that I should be ashamed of - and thanks to these reactions, it IS now something that I'm ashamed of.
Time may heal all wounds, but it also makes some wounds fester. I've lost friends, become bitter, and distanced myself from my family because of this sadness that I'm not allowed talk about.
At a family christening recently, my brother's mother-in-law said gently "this must be hard for you", and I suddenly realised that she was the first person ever to acknowledge our sadness and heartbreak. The fact that she was someone I didn't know very well made the silence of those "closer" to me all the harder to take. The tacit insistence that we should be cheerful all the time, that we're not crushed by our losses, that we're just so-darn-delighted to attend every christening and child's birthday party going has worn me down just as much as my infertility has.
Maybe I'll be able to take my "two steps forward" in a little while, but this week has been a bad one, and your post just about saved me from feeling like I was the only person ever to feel like this. Thank you again.
Posted by: Terry | May 05, 2006 at 02:10 AM
You are so right about all of it...feeling unnatural, like something is wrong with you, feeling awkward talking about it, trying to quantify the feelings of loss and loneliness. I don't believe you get over this, as you said, it's a chronic condition that you manage, sometimes better than others. I know you are cherishing the time you have with your parents.
Posted by: Donna | May 05, 2006 at 11:59 AM
Wow. Well put. As always.
Sorry to hear about the other family troubles.
Posted by: chris | May 05, 2006 at 01:44 PM
This is exactly what it's like. All of it. How well you write. How well you think!
Posted by: Menita | May 06, 2006 at 03:36 AM
You're so right, that people want to know, but they don't want to have to deal with the pain and the difficulty.
I hadn't before appreciated what you say about having to deal with other mothers' conversations. You're right, as primary infertiles we can avoid some of that.
Posted by: thalia | May 06, 2006 at 10:34 AM
This week I reminisced about last year's volunteer luncheon at my son's school, hoping this year would be better. Last year, his K teacher remarked to the crowd that she wished I had more and more children so I could be a K parent volunteer over and over again! I was mortified. I reminded her that I'd wanted more children, but I am SIF and can't; I am sure she knew that. She just blinked at me blankly, not apologizing in the least, then started in on the next volunteer project in the works.
I have found ways to be mortified at scouts, kiddie athletics, birthday parties, pretty much you name it. Sometimes I feel like I'm setting myself up for it just by attending, but I have to balance it against my kid having a life.
Posted by: Cricket | May 08, 2006 at 06:19 PM
"Miscarriages are the loss of a future."
Perfectly said.
Failed IVF cycles hurt, too, and the fertile masses don't realize that either. Not because we attain and lose a pregnancy, but our hopes and dreams are dashed to pieces.
Posted by: Linda | May 10, 2006 at 09:28 AM
Amen! This comment may be a bit late, but I've noticed a lot of the fertile masses don't want to talk about infertility. My family has a tendency to assign blame with infertility. And it hurts.
This may be a little late, but I've gone through 3.5 years of IUI and IVF with ICSI, and have had two stillbirths and two miscarriages. The last stillbirth was April 5th of this year. I'm 37 years old and not sure if we're going to try to adopt or try again, this time with donor sperm. The last stillbirth has been taking a toll.
Thanks for your post, it's so bang on.
Posted by: Evey | June 18, 2006 at 11:56 AM
I am really glad to her your parents-in-law are doing better.About the miscreages-the life is not full without them.And I also wanted to tell you that if you are going to trying to conceive the ovulation kits will help you alot.
Posted by: Cara Fletcher | March 31, 2007 at 02:15 AM
Thank you for sharing. It was well written and helpful to see that I'm not crazy for feeling similar things.
Posted by: Karen | November 25, 2007 at 04:41 PM
Im not one to judge or categorize someones miscarriage because of their age. Im 26 and keep having miscarriages. Im married for the second time and still have miscarriages. I had one last weekend of march 21. So age is the last conclusion that I jump to. My mother-in-law keeps asking, "So when are you all going to give me grandbabies. You all have been married for 6 years already?"----OMG! Believe me if I could I would be popping them out, but I cant seem to get past the first trimester. Eventually we will have to decide what to do; when to stop and change our goal; our hopes and dreams. My heart goes out to you, regardless of age, I know the infertility in which you crave to fix.
I also want to address the issue not mentioned how the insurance companies (whom which probably have a litter of children) have grouped fertility issues with tummy tucks and other "non-necessary" medical issues. What is that about? I wished that at least one of the people who decide on this was in our place. Our body may not shut down and stop working from not being able to carry a child-but it sure feels like our brains and souls do.
Posted by: Leslie Thomas | March 31, 2008 at 09:42 PM
I just finished having my second miscarriage (both before 8 weeks gestation) and I've been searching sites for information. We have a beautiful 3 year old but have been trying for the past year for another with no luck. You're story and humor has been the most calming advice/info I've read all day. Good luck to you and thank you!
Posted by: Barb | December 09, 2008 at 04:57 PM
You took my words and thoughts right out my mouth and many others who have gone and are going thru samething I to have a beautiful little 4year old and after her we tryed to have another child but I had 4miscarriagea I to get asked hurry up you need to give your child a sister or brother I wish some would understand that I never chose to have secondary infertiliy and I have to live with the pressure and guilt that my daughter may never have a sibling so for those with no understanding because you have not gone thru it yourself for just a momment put yourself in others shoes and stop asking thar dreaded question when are you going to have another one why don't ypu instead tell me how beautiful and wonderful your daughter is and then it would make me feel proud not so miserable and guilty because I failed to have another child .
Posted by: Elena k | November 06, 2009 at 04:43 AM