Another June Angel

Post 4 of 31 for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month

“Miscarriages are labor, miscarriages are birth. To consider them less dishonors the woman whose womb has held life, however briefly.” ~Kathryn Miller Ridiman


After Sydney died, I knew right away that I wanted another baby. I physically ached to hold my baby. From a realistic perspective, I knew I wasn't getting any younger. I was 30 when Sydney was born. Eric was sort of on board, but needed some more time. I had some immediate health concerns after delivering Sydney, which ended up being caused by retained placenta. I refused a D&C, not wanting to further damage my cervix, and the medication I could've been given isn't used in women with a history of high blood pressure and pre-eclampsia. Fortunately, I passed the tissue on my own about 3 weeks after Sydney was born.

I started getting my ducks in a row for another pregnancy. First, Dr. Simckes suspected a bacteria called mycoplasma might have caused my pre-term labor, so he did testing for that, which came back negative. I also requested a full panel of bloodwork, specifically an anti-coagulant panel (for blood clotting disorders). This showed that I have a heterozygous mutation for MTHFR . Due to this, I was put on a daily baby aspirin and Folgard, which is a high dose of folic acid, B6, and B12. Finally, I consulted with a maternal fetal medicine (MFM) specialist, to get his opinion on what had happened and if another pregnancy was advisable.

After our appointment with the MFM, we were given the okay to try again when we were ready. Physically, it was fine to try again, but emotionally, we needed to be prepared for the roller coaster of a very high risk pregnancy after loss. I'm not the world's most patient person, so we decided to start trying in May. Amazingly enough, on June 10, 2009, Sydney's four month birthday, I found out I was pregnant on our first try.

I wasn't completely shocked that I got pregnant so quickly. Sydney was conceived during a time that I never would've guessed I would get pregnant. I was scared though and I only told a couple of close friends that I was pregnant. Eric and I were nervously excited. I calculated my due date and it was February 18, 2010, one year to the day we laid Sydney to rest.

Only a week later, I was at work and started having some very painful menstrual type cramps. I tried to ignore it because I've always cramped in early pregnancy and I wasn't bleeding at that point. Late that evening, though, I started bleeding very heavily and I knew that I was miscarrying again.

I was in disbelief that this could happen. Why did I have to have a miscarriage on top of losing Sydney? It only worsened my grief and convinced me that I would never have another living child. At that point, I'd had more losses than living children. I prayed and told God that I'd rather not get pregnant again at all if I only had to endure another loss. I was broken, emotionally. I felt broken physically.

It was an odd feeling, but having a miscarriage seemed to only deepen my grief for Sydney. Maybe it was because I felt like she was my last chance to have another baby and she was already gone. Maybe it was just the added grief of another loss and I was so focused on Sydney that I couldn't separate the two. Lately I've thought a lot about my two tiniest angels. I regret that we never named them. I suppose it's never too late and perhaps naming them could give me some closure or peace over losing them.

The First

Post 2/31 for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month

Eric and I were married on May 27, 1998. He had just turned 20 and I was 19. We both knew that we wanted a family, but we also wanted to wait a while. We lived with my parents for a few months, then moved into our own apartment. Within a few months of being on our own, baby fever hit me. We talked it over, went back and forth, and finally decided we wanted to have a baby.

Getting pregnant wasn't an easy task. In June 1999, I was diagnosed with PCOS. We tried Clomid and it did nothing. My doctor added Metformin to the mix and I finally started ovulating. On our second wedding anniversary, I finally got that long awaited second line on a pregnancy test. It seemed so perfect, to find out I was pregnant on our anniversary.

I called our fertility nurse and told her that I'd tested positive. She had me come in right away for bloodwork. I was nervous because the test result had been very faint. The next day, the nurse called and told me that my hcg level was only at 12. But it was still early, so I needed to get checked again on Tuesday to see if the level went up.

We didn't tell anybody what was going on. I went in on Tuesday for my blood test and waited. And waited. And waited some more. On Wednesday, I called the nurse and she told me that the level had gone down to 7. She called it a chemical pregnancy. All I knew is that I'd been pregnant and soon, I wouldn't be anymore. I was so upset, I had to leave work. I went home and cried all afternoon.

A few days later, June 2, 2000, I started to bleed. It was over. I had feared this happening when I finally got pregnant, but was in disbelief that it had actually happened to me. My little June Angel, barely a whisper and then s/he was gone. I've never forgotten my first little one and I never will.

Never forget

Tucked away in a box of old papers and pictures is an ultrasound picture from May 2000. It isn't a baby. At least it wasn't yet. It is an ultrasound picture of two follicles I grew that month, one of which fertilized and became our first baby. I found out I was pregnant on May 27, 2000, our second wedding anniversary. It wasn't meant to be, however, and just over a week later, I miscarried. I still think of that baby so often.

Once upon a time, I was infertile and thought I would never have a baby. It's hard to remember that some times, four babies--two planned and two unplanned--later. Getting pregnant was the hard part the first time. Staying pregnant--and healthy--became the challenges in subsequent pregnancies.

When I was 20 and Eric and I had only been married for a year, we decided we wanted to have a baby. Easy enough, right? Wrong! My periods were pretty well nonexistent at that point. My gynecologist at the time told me that I should go on the pill. Uh, I want to get pregnant, not prevent it. As is my nature, I began researching and began to suspect I had Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome. The more I read about it, the more I did NOT want to have it. My boss had just gotten pregnant and told me that I should see her OB/GYN because he was also a fertility specialist. I didn't realize then the impact my first appointment with him would be.

Within five minutes of meeting me, Dr. Simckes told me that I had PCOS. He hadn't done any tests or exams. He just listened. I told him about my history of long cycles which turned into no cycles, weight gain, and other symptoms. He told me what he would see on an ultrasound--ovaries covered in a "ring of pearls" or cysts. Sure enough, a little while later when he did an ultrasound, there was the ring of pearls. I cried. I was devastated. I always wanted to be a mom and suddenly, it seemed like it might never happen. Bloodwork confirmed what Dr. Simckes already knew and we decided to take a few months to think about a course of action.

A few months later, November 1999, Eric and I were in Dr. Simckes' office and I asked him for Clomid. He told me, you need Metformin. I said, no I just want to get pregnant, give me Clomid. Got the Clomid and nothing. I didn't even ovulate. Another month of Clomid left me with a large cyst on one of my ovaries and we had to wait for it to go away. I finally agreed to start Metformin while we waited. In March 2000, the cyst was gone and I started another month of Clomid. Imagine my surprise that month when I noticed my temperature chart actually show a spike instead of a flat line. I finally ovulated. Or, at least, we suspected I had because as Dr. Simckes would say, the only way to confirm ovulation is to get pregnant. I wasn't pregnant that month, or the next. But in May, as I said above, I finally saw that second magical line on the EPT.

Six months later, I was pregnant again. I hadn't even used Clomid. I ovulated on Metformin alone. Thirty six long weeks later (full of anxiety for both Dr. Simckes and me--I'm pretty sure I drove him nuts), my beautiful boy was born. I will never forget the moment Dr. Simckes held up my first born for me to see.

Here we are now, almost ten years later. That beautiful first born son of mine turns TEN on July 19. Three little sisters, a devastating loss, and hope--ten years of parenting wrapped up in four little faces, three I see every day and one I only see in my dreams, and two tiny angels that were barely a whisper before they were gone. I will never forget the journey that brought me to where I am now. How could I? For better or for worse, this is the life I was meant to live.