The last couple of weeks have been a loopier and curvier roller coaster than usual. I had an anniversary on Monday, January 19th. Not the kind of anniversary that you look forward to and celebrate. Like other anniversaries, it is one that comes every year, but not one you pencil in on your calendar. You don’t need to pencil it in because it is burned into your heart forever.

I started my 20th IUI on 5 January 2015. Immediately following my appointment, I went to my calendar to see when my day(s) 28 and 29 were. I usually start on day 28, so if I don’t start on day 28 I will take a test on day 29. My day 29 was January 19th. As soon as I saw this, my heart started racing…almost beating out of my chest.  God welcomed my angel on January 19, 2014. I thought this was a sign. I was going to get a positive this January 19th and this day would get a new meaning for me. It wasn’t going to be so dark and dreaded for me anymore, because I would be able to celebrate life beginning on this day. During my two week wait, I was so hopeful. I just thought that this was meant to be. Finally, I was within just a few days and I got super anxious. By day 28 I was going to the bathroom every 30 minutes to check to see if my visitor had arrived. I had made it through day 28 and I still wasn’t having any immediate signs that I was going to start. I had the day off for MLK Day and I was meeting some of my girlfriends for lunch. Right before I left, I started cramping. I went to the bathroom and I was spotting. I totally lost it. I pulled myself together long enough to meet my friends and not be the “Debbie Downer” during our sushi lunch. When I got home, I just cried and cried. When Trav called me on his way home, I completely broke down and I continued to cry all night long. I did the usual, “Why me?, Why now?”. The only thing that does is make me more depressed. Luckily, I don’t have a lot of time to dwell on my latest disappointment because I have to start thinking about my next treatment cycle. I went for my baseline ultrasound on January 22nd and jumped right into treatment cycle 21.

I love the staff at my fertility office. I really feel like they are rooting for me and genuinely care about me as a person. Each time I have an IUI they all tell me they’ve got their fingers crossed for me and when I come back for my next baseline ultrasound because the treatment didn’t work, I can see a look of disappointment on their face. This last time I went in, my nurse joked about how she needed two hands to carry my chart and how I would soon become a “2 charter”. She totally meant well and was trying to make me laugh. The truth is, it was just another reminder of how long I’ve been doing this and the amount of times I’ve put myself through this disappointment. My 8 inch thick chart is documentation of my 21 IUIs, my 18 negatives, my cysts that hold me back from treatment, my miscarriage. It tells my story from the day we got our diagnosis to now. It also holds the first ultrasound pictures of Poppi. It isn’t all bad and I believe there is still time for my story to have a happy ending.

After some time and reflection, I accepted that no matter what happens on January 19th from here on out, it will always be the day I miscarried. Even if I would have gotten a positive that day, it would still be the day in 2014 that I lost my second child. Nothing will ever change that. I will never forget that day, because it’s not meant to be forgotten or replaced.

Early last week Poppi was sitting on her changing table and I was getting her dressed. She looked at me so serious and said, “my heart hurts” as she put her little hands on her chest. I kissed her “boo boo” and asked her why her heart hurt and she was just kind of quiet. A few seconds passed and then she says to me, “I want a sissy”.  It took everything I had to not completely break down in front of her. Was my pain and heartbreak resonating on her? Could she feel what I felt? I gave her a hug and told her momma was trying and the next words out of her mouth were telling me she wanted to wear her boots. That made me smile. I have no idea what triggered her to say those things and I have no idea if the two comments were related in her mind. Maybe I didn’t even hear her correctly. What I do know, is I’m going to keep moving forward. I’m going to keep getting treatments and I’m going to do whatever it is I can to grow our little family. As of right now, it seems like Poppi supports that idea. Although we will see if things change when there are a pair of tiny hands reaching for her prized possessions.

I completed my 18th IUI a week and half ago. I’m about three quarters of the way through the grueling 2 week waiting period to find out if this will be lucky number 18. The first two weeks of a treatment cycle kind of fly by, because you are constantly on a schedule and always looking towards your next shot, your next ultrasound, your next blood draw, your next procedure etc. Once the IUI is complete, the waiting period begins and you have nothing to do, but let your mind wander and boy does my mind wander. Sometimes I wish I could just turn it off and coast through the wait.

First, I begin thinking about the day I find out… Monday, October 6th is day 28 of my cycle and the day I will be instructed to take a home test. I found out I was pregnant with Poppi on January 6th. So, maybe this is a sign? Maybe the 6th is a lucky day for me? If I were to find out I was pregnant on October 6th, my due date would be at or around July 17, 2015. That would be mine and Trav’s 5 year anniversary. That would be such an amazing anniversary gift! Maybe this is another sign? Once I’ve finished obsessing about the above coincidences, I begin planning how I would tell Trav and when and how we would tell our family and friends. I picture Poppi in the classic “Big Sister” t-shirt and I contemplate the idea of a gender reveal party. I revisit my ongoing list of baby names that I continually update in the notes section of my phone and speculate whether Trav and I will have as tough of a decision as last time. I wonder if he or she will look like Poppi and whether they will be best friends. I think about the need to upgrade my single stroller to a double and visualize my backseat with 2 car seats.

 Now, as if all of that doesn’t drive me crazy enough I begin the stage where I resist over analyzing every cramp, ache, bout of nausea and many more “symptoms”. I used to regularly Google “early signs of pregnancy” and think that I had EVERY sign. I don’t Google that phrase anymore; mainly because I’ve done it so many times I know EVERY sign of early pregnancy. I also know that those could all be signs of your impending cycle. The funny part for me about over analyzing the early signs, is I felt none of those when I found out I was pregnant with Poppi or when I found out I was pregnant with Baby V # 2 and in the back of my mind I suspect my next time around will be the same. So, even though I know better than to do this, it is almost impossible to keep your mind from going there. I feel like it is a constant internal battle between what my mind knows and what my heart wants. A lot of the time, my heart wins. I picture my heart as this hopeless romantic. It doesn’t matter how many times it breaks, it still holds out hope time after time. My mind is the rational one; it is the little cricket on my shoulder that brings me back to reality. The more I allow myself to invest in the dream that this is the month, the harder the blow is when I find out otherwise. Even though it hurts, I’m grateful that I’m still hopeful. This process can easily numb you and even after 18 cycle months that have resulted in 15 negatives and a miscarriage, I still have the strength and hopefulness in my heart to try again. That’s not to say though, that if I don’t get my desired positive on Monday that I won’t be curled up in a blanket, shedding a few tears. After my short pity party, I’ll gather my composure and call the doctor to schedule my day 3 ultrasound and start focusing on the next treatment cycle. And then…I’ll do this all over again. BUT, lets hope this is lucky number 18 ;)

This week was as hard as I thought it was going to be. August 12th was a day that I was so looking forward to and it seemed so far away, but I was okay with my 40 week journey to get there. I was going to cherish every moment because I knew that this pregnancy would be my last. On January 19th, I stopped thinking of this day as a monumentous occasion and began dreading it with every fiber in my body.  I was 10 weeks and 5 days into what would have been my second and last pregnancy. I was so close to being out of the danger zone, but when I woke up that morning, before I even made it to the bathroom I knew that my worst fear was coming true. I was losing my baby. It was the worst gut wrenching pain I had ever felt and I’m not even talking about the physical pain. I didn’t just cry, I wailed. I heard sounds come out of me that I didn’t even know that I could make let alone ever let anyone else hear them come out of me. For days, weeks and even months I didn’t think that I would stop crying or stop hurting or ever be able to feel like a normal human being again. My entire world stopped, but everyone else’s kept moving and I didn’t know how to fit in anymore. I felt so broken and I felt like everyone else could tell or knew that I was broken too. I felt so isolated. I didn’t want to laugh or smile or even attempt to have a good time, so I didn’t want to put myself in any situation where I may have to attempt to enjoy myself in public. All I wanted to do was silently scream at God and ask, “Why me?” I was able to come to grips with the medical reason for why it happened, even though I had previously seen the baby on 2 ultrasounds and heard a perfect tiny heartbeat both times. I understand that there was most likely a chromosomal abnormality that prohibited the baby’s development. I get
that. What I couldn’t grasp…was why me. I thought that I had been through enough.


In late 2010 we were diagnosed with infertility. We were told that we had less than a 3% chance of conceiving on our own and that our only real shot at conceiving would be through hormone treatments and intra uterine inseminations (IUI) or in vitro fertilization (IVF) procedures. This was exceptionally defeating, but I made my mind up quickly and decided that I would do whatever it took to have a baby. I began daily hormone injections and had weekly blood draws and weekly ultrasounds to monitor my body’s response to the medications and to pinpoint the best time for the insemination. It was grueling and it sent me through the ringer emotionally, physically and mentally but I knew what my end result would
be and I knew it would be worth it. So, after 12 months and 10 IUIs I finally got the positive result I had been hoping for and on September 19, 2012 our little Penelope was born. All babies are tiny little miracles and ours was no different. In July of 2013 we went back to the doctor to try for baby #2. Poppi wasn’t even a year old yet, but we had no idea how long it would take us to conceive this time around. To our surprise, we conceived after 5 months and 4 IUIs. I literally thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. Not only was I over the moon about being pregnant again, but I was also ecstatic about being done with fertility treatments. No more injections, no more blood draws, no more planning my whole life around doctor’s appointments and procedures. We were going to be done. I got a positive test on December 5th, the day after my very best friend got a positive for her baby #2. I was beyond excited. I was going to get to experience what it was like to be pregnant with two of my best friends and get to share every cramp, twinge, craving, food aversion, cankles, bloating swollenness etc…you know all the good stuff. We had even discussed maternity picture poses to do together that we found on Pinterest. I had blood work done once a week for the next two weeks to monitor my HCG and it was rising just like it should have been. Around 6 ½ weeks I went in for an ultrasound and got to see the tiny little bean on the screen and hear the heartbeat. That is literally the best sound in the world to a new mother. You lay there holding your breath until you hear that beautiful sound. At week 9, I went for another ultrasound. Again, I saw my baby’s development and heard that wonderful sound. I left that appointment feeling confident and overjoyed. This pregnancy was going just like my last one. Unfortunately that confidence and happiness was shattered not even two weeks later. I had my doctor paged around 7 AM that morning after seeing the blood and he tried to keep my calm and give me other reasons for why I may be seeing this, but as the day progressed it got worse and worse and I had Trav drive me to the emergency room. After a little waiting and some blood work, they took me for an ultrasound. I didn’t even hold my breath waiting for the sound of the tiny heartbeat to break the silence in the room…I already knew. Everything after that, is just a blur. I was being handed pamphlets and prescriptions and lots of “I’m sorry”. All I wanted to do was go home and begin my grieving process and figure out how I was going to tell my closest friends and family. All I knew, was I wanted to do it quickly and all at once…like ripping off the band aide. The fewer times I was going to have to relive this, the better.


My friends and family were sympathetic and gave me the space that I needed. I had a lot of time to reflect and ask myself the hard questions like “Why did this happen?”, “Can I go through this again?” and “How do I get through this?”.  My hardest question to answer was whether I would be able to put myself back in a position where there was the possibility of going through this pain again. I kept thinking about whether I would be okay with having one baby and whether there would be a time I would
regret that decision. I have a beautiful, happy and healthy baby girl…should I stop while I’m ahead? Should I take this as a sign? Maybe God is telling me to stop. Someone I know who is also battling infertility had made the decision with her husband to not go through with any treatments. She thought that maybe she was testing fate or in a way “playing” God and that if she went through with something that wasn’t originally in her cards, that she could get dealt a hand that she wasn’t prepared for…like a baby with a disability. So, was I doing the same thing? That leads me to “Why?”. I can’t tell you how many people told me the same line, “Everything happens for a reason”. It’s a tad cliché, but it is
true. Finding that reason, though, was the hard part. I desperately needed to find that, I needed to make sense of all of this. In the following weeks and months while wallowing in my own self pity I could only find one explanation, I was only partially responsible for my destiny. I believe that my path has already been paved for me and it is what I do with the curves, speed bumps and pot holes that are thrown in front of me that I control. I made a vow to myself to accept my infertility and accept my miscarriage and own it, but not let it define me.


For a loooooong time I was very silent, almost secretive about my infertility. It just isn’t something that comes up in conversation while hanging out with all your friends. Especially when 3 of them just announced their pregnancies after only trying for 1 month! I didn’t want to be the buzz kill at the party talking about my angry ovaries and barren uterus. So, instead I buried all my feelings. All of the extra hormones surging through my body from my daily injections, not only gifted me with an extra 40 lbs of plumpiness, but it also took my emotions to new heights and not in a good way. I literally felt like I was losing my mind. I didn’t look like myself, I didn’t feel like myself and I sure as shit didn’t act like myself. The worst part, I couldn’t explain it. One night I literally started crying because while I was peeling a potato I dropped it. I cried over a potato hitting the floor. I was changing. I was changing into someone that not only I didn’t recognize, but my husband didn’t recognize either and we would get in arguments over how distant I was being. I was even accused of having an affair. I can’t even begin to explain to you how hurtful that was. The worst part wasn’t my husband thinking I would betray him or our marriage, it was that I didn’t even realize I was doing it and I didn’t know how to explain my behavior because I didn’t have any control over my body or my mind. I could not comprehend what was happening to me. I was having a hard time finding joy in anything. I was 100% consumed by my infertility. It was always on my mind and it
seemed like I was always reminded of the fact that I was baby-less. Every baby shower invite I got…I cringed, every Facebook post announcing a pregnancy…I got spiteful, every new baby bump at work...made me want to scream. I had become empty, bitter, callous and just plain angry. I needed a new outlook. My girlfriend’s baby boys were on their way and I made a conscious decision to turn that jealousy into something positive. I was going to love those baby boys and be the best aunt I could be to them…and that is what I did. I also started talking about my infertility and began allowing people to ask questions. I found
that I was not alone. There were people out there just like me, going through the same erratic and unexplainable emotions and having the same guilt as I did for feeling that way. I was finding people that needed me as much as I needed them. For the first time, I was accepting my infertility and accepting the fact that it was a part of me whether I wanted it to be or not.


I was starting to see the answer to my “Why?”. Maybe I was meant to help people with their struggle with infertility, by going through it myself… Maybe it is the same answer for why I miscarried… Maybe I am meant to help even one person with their struggle with a miscarriage… The only way I can do that though, is by putting myself out there and talking about it. I have to take down the walls and allow myself to be vulnerable. So here I am! My name is Jenny and I am a wife and a mother. My husband and daughter along with the rest of my family and closest friends are the most important things in my life. Pizza, peanut butter and reality TV are my guilty pleasures. I love country music and outdoor concerts. I love flip flops and being anywhere near water. I battle infertility and I have an angel baby that I will someday meet again.


Above I pondered whether I would be able to try again and I decided that I could and that I would keep trying until I was holding Baby V #2 in my arms. So, my journey is not over. A new chapter is just beginning.