When my husband was diagnosed with cancer in May 2020, one of our first stops was to the sperm bank – to keep a pre-chemo sample for safe-keeping. After spending the $1600 we were essentially told that the sample was not viable and wasn’t worth keeping at all. I felt completely shattered – it had always been my dream to become a mom and then not only were we now facing cancer…I was being told that parenthood might not be possible for us. Due to our quarantine while Micah underwent chemo, I was out of work – and the price of IVF or adoption was becoming totally out of our reach. He finished chemo in December 2020, and we were told to wait a year before we started trying (so our baby would be as healthy as possible). So we waited.
March 2, 2022 – the day after my 29th birthday – I got my first # BigFatPositive. I took three tests that day because I simply could not believe it. Positive, Positive, Positive. If you’re doing the math, they popped up just 2 months after our green light – Valentine’s Weekend, the same weekend we got our new bed. I kept making jokes that I would never live that one down. I never thought this would be possible for us, let alone so soon. I’ve wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but I didn’t – I didn’t want to jinx it.
March 15, 2022 – 6 weeks in, almost 2 weeks since I had found out. I started cramping and bleeding. I was admitted to the ER. We ran tests. At this point they called it a threatened miscarriage – meaning it could be one, but it could also be other things. I kept joking that if it turned out to be nothing, I was gonna send the baby to their womb – 5/6 weeks old and already threatening your mother??
March 16, 2022 – My first prenatal appointment. The doctor came in and said “congratulations” before we had to stop him and inform him of what happened the night before. He checked me and there was nothing really pointing one way or the other. He ordered us to go to the hospital for an ultrasound. They weren’t able to see anything, so they knocked me back to my OBGYN.
March 17, 2022 – We confirmed that I had indeed had a miscarriage. It’s also the anniversary of my grandfather’s passing. So…I kinda hate St. Patrick’s Day now. 40.7% Irish and it kinda feels like this day hates me too.
At least we know it’s possible for us now, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share this, but 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. I thought sharing might make someone else feel less alone, maybe me feel less alone too now.