Now I have a label

Now I was a woman who had three consecutive miscarriages. That puts an official label on me.

Infertile.

I struggled with that word.

I could not believe I now fell into this category. I could not believe we were where we were. I could not believe we had been through what we had been through. This was going to take some time.

Infertile. I really did not want to be Infertile.

Our third loss hit me very hard. I was lost. It had been two weeks since my D&C and I went for my post-op appointment. My husband was there with me. It was a stormy April afternoon. My mood was terrible. The weather was terrible and all I really wanted to do was go home.

After this loss, we elected to have genetic testing done on our baby to see if a cause for the loss could be identified. Dr. D had the results. Trisomy 9. It was rare. There was really no chance this child would have survived any longer than it did. Part of me was relieved there was a diagnosis. No, I did not want there to be anything wrong with our child, but at least there was a reason. After two previous losses with no clear reason, at least this time there was a reason.

Dr. D wanted me to have a full 'work-up'. Lots of lab work to make sure I was OK. Was there anything that we could address with me that would help our chances if we decided to try again? And that was something we needed to decide as well. Would we try again? We truly did not know.

I had the lab work done. There were issues. But something we can manage. Not that big of a deal. I would need to take a low-dose Aspirin daily. If I got pregnant I would need to do daily blood thinner injections. Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but at least it was manageable. And something I could do to help better my chances of staying pregnant if we got pregnant again.

After my post-op appointment we were just headed back to work. It was still raining. My mood was still terrible. My husband and I went separate directions after the appointment. He headed straight back to work and I went to find my mom. She wanted to know what was going on. Then I was headed back to work too.

I talked to my mom for a little bit. Told her about the Trisomy 9 diagnosis for the baby. What the plan was for me and the lab work. Then I needed to get back to the office. But I really did not want to go. I was 36 years old and remember telling my mom goodbye, turning to walk down the hall and out of the building and desperately wanting to run back to my mom. I should have. But I didn't. Instead I got to my car as fast as I could and cried until I couldn't cry any more. I could not stop the tears and did not want to. They needed to come. Any they did.