Rarely has there been such a contrast between my feelings with regards to two years. Last year at this time, I was looking back on a year that had been filled with joy, celebration and positive change. This year, I am looking back on a year filled with loss. Loss of family members, loss of hope, loss of innocence. A year in which I have lost an uncle and a beloved grandmother. A year in which my husband have lost not one but two babies in the space of just under six months.
We named our fist baby Jasper when we found out we were expecting him. He brought us such joy and hope. We found out we were expecting him just after the loss of my uncle, so the happiness he infused our life with was felt all the more. He was a very laid back baby and I felt he was at his happiest when I took the time to sit down with a book and one of our cats would come to curl up and purr away beside me. We lost Jasper on my paternal grandmother’s 87th birthday, one day after we had planned to reveal our pregnancy to my family at her birthday dinner. Very few people knew we were expecting a baby, but we had to tell everyone when we lost him because I was so unwell after. My grandmother was exceptionally helpful to me in my grief because she experienced the tragic loss of her third child. She was one of the few people who I felt truly understood how keenly I felt the loss of my precious little baby even after having him with me for just a few weeks, even after never having been able to hold him in my arms, or look into his eyes. It made the sudden loss of my grandmother a mere six weeks after Adam and I lost Jasper all the more difficult to bear.
When Adam and I found out we were expecting our second baby, we named him Chase. His name was short for ‘chanceux’, which is the french word for lucky and also a reference to the fact that we were fully aware that we would eventually end up chasing our little one away from trouble on a very regular basis. We found out Chase was on his way in mid-november and his pregnancy felt much more stable and healthy than Jasper’s had. Chase was a baby who liked it when I was on the move and particularly enjoyed it when I swayed to jazz music while listening to the radio and cooking on Friday nights. This may make it sound like my second pregnancy was active and bucolic and that I felt confident that all would be well, but let me tell you that second pregnancies after a miscarriage are nerve-wracking. You are perpetually afraid of finding blood in your panties or on the toilet paper or in the toilet when you go to the bathroom. You freak out if you feel fewer pregnancy symptoms on one day than you did the day before and you have to constantly repeat to yourself that recurrent early pregnancy loss is extremely rare (only about 1% of couples experience recurrent miscarriages). Throughout my pregnancy with Chase I had to constantly talk myself down from anxiety and worry. I even started pre-natal yoga at six weeks to help myself relax. Once I got through week seven, the week when we had lost Jasper, I relaxed a little and when I made it to week eight and a tiny little bump appeared in my midsection and I had experienced zero spotting and no cramping for two weeks, I finally began to believe everything would be well this time around. Then one day before week nine of my pregnancy I spotted at the end of the day. I called Adam in a panic and he came home from work. The next day when I was still spotting we went to the hospital and had an ultrasound. Chase had no visible heartbeat. Chase seemed like he hadn’t grown in two and a half weeks. The doctor was concerned and gave us a referral to a specialist who looks into cases of recurrent miscarriage. He told us he sincerely hoped we would not need to see the doctor and asked us to return to the hospital on Christmas Eve for another ultrasound, because sometimes babies can be surprising and a fetus with no visible heartbeat can have a good strong one a few days later. There was absolutely no change in our baby after two days. The little one we had been loving and cherishing for a bit over nine weeks had been dead for the last two and a half. I had a D&C on Christmas Eve, we came home, listened to Midnight Mass on the radio, went to bed and I cried myself to sleep. Being heartbroken and miserable when there is Christmas music playing on every single radio station just adds insult to injury, let me tell you.
It has been a week today since Adam and I said goodbye to our baby and we are, in some ways, more than ready to say goodbye to a year which has brought us so much pain and loss. In another way, we are moving into a year without those we have loved so much and lost. We are also moving out of a year where we were still filled with so much hope and confidence that what we had planned for our future would come about. We always knew I might not be able to become pregnant, we just never expected that I would be able to fall pregnant but not carry a baby to term or even to the point where we would be able to hear and see their heartbeat. I cannot put into words how utterly heartbreaking it is to stare at an ultrasound monitor, search for the tiniest sign of a heartbeat and then not see one.
2019 will be the first year Adam and I look to with no clear plan for our family. We know we are taking a break from growing our family but we do not know for how long. It will depend on when we see the specialist and then our decision will depend on what, if anything, he finds wrong with us. We are welcoming the break though, our hearts and my body need time to heal. We need time to live, time to be something other than a couple who is trying to build a family and not succeeding. We need time to grieve for our babies and all the hopes and dreams we had for them and finally, we need time to accept the fact that no matter what happens in the future, we will be okay. 2019 will be our year of healing.