From Miscarriage to Infertility: My Journey to Motherhood
Written by Colleen I.
I was one of the naïve ones who thought it wouldn’t be that hard to get pregnant. And when we started trying, it wasn’t. A few months in, we got our first positive pregnancy test. It was the fall of 2017, and we were thrilled! We had a scan for viability, and everything looked good. Another scan around 7 weeks revealed that tiny, flickering heartbeat. The holidays were approaching, and we started to tell some of our family and friends. It was early, but we were excited.
At the start of the new year, we went back to the doctor for our 12-week scan. The doctor started with the ultrasound on top of my stomach, where he expected he would be able to see the embryo by 12 weeks. I remember realizing something was wrong when he said, “Hmm, let’s try an intervaginal scan and see if we can get a better look.” He confirmed what I was starting to fear: the baby had stopped growing at about 7.5 weeks. I remember first being stunned, followed by frustration that I had spent the last five weeks thinking I was pregnant, when indeed, I was not. The doctor went on to reassure us that I hadn’t done anything “wrong,” that these things happen (often for “good” biological reasons), and that we could try again as soon as we were ready.
“Hmm, let’s try an intervaginal scan and see if we can get a better look.”
Since my body hadn’t recognized the miscarriage (a missed miscarriage), the doctor gave us three options: a medical induction with a suppository, a surgical removal with a D&C surgery, or waiting for it pass naturally. I opted for the medical induction as my body clearly hadn’t recognized the miscarriage at that point and I was ready to physically move on. My husband, Ben, and I were staying in NYC that month, so I walked to the pharmacy around the corner, filled my prescription, and went back to our AirBnB to get things started (certainly not an ideal place for all of this to be going down!).
The medicine seemed to work, and I started bleeding, although not as intensely as some of the stories I had heard and read about. I bled moderately for the rest of that week and thought I might have gotten lucky until I returned to the doctor’s office where a follow-up scan confirmed that the medication hadn’t worked. The embryo was still there. I once again was presented with three options. I opted to try the medication once more, reluctant for a surgery if I could avoid it. This time it worked, and boy did it work. I will never forget feeling like I was in full-on labor in the tiny bathroom of the AirBnB we were renting, the instant relief once everything passed, and Ben flushing the toilet instantly before I had a chance to look.
We spent the rest of that month eating our faces off in NYC. We emotionally and physically started to recover. We had to call and un-tell a lot of people that we were no longer pregnant, and I was grateful to Ben for making many of those calls for us. There were plenty of tears in those weeks, but we also started to look ahead to what was next and held onto hope that we would get pregnant again.
And we did! About 4 months later, we got pregnant with our now 2.5-year-old daughter, Skyler. I was fortunate to have a generally “easy” and uncomplicated pregnancy. She was born in February of 2019, and we hoped the worst of our pregnancy woes were behind us.
When she turned one, we started thinking about baby number two. I got my period back right around that time, and we started trying. In August of 2020, about 3 months later, we got another positive pregnancy test. We were excited but had also learned to be more cautious. My early blood work confirmed that everything looked good, and we scheduled our first ultrasound around 7 weeks. Because we were in Covid at this point, I went to the scan alone. I had opted for a radiology center in town rather than one of the hospitals, but as a result, had a tech completing the scan who didn’t feel comfortable sharing much of what she saw. But I could tell it wasn’t good. The baby was measuring at 5 weeks. No yolk sack, no fetal pole, no heartbeat. Just an empty gestational sac.
No yolk sack, no fetal pole, no heartbeat. Just an empty gestational sac.
My doctor called later that evening to confirm we had likely miscarried again. They had me return to the hospital for another scan with a specialist just to confirm, and we once again explored our options for carrying out the miscarriage. I opted, yet again, for the medication. Luckily the medication worked the first time around, and with far less physical strife. Perhaps because I had delivered a baby already, or maybe because I miscarried earlier in the pregnancy, it passed relatively quickly and easily.
I was sad and disheartened by this news but surprised myself by how quickly I distanced myself from the experience. There were certainly new and different variables than with our first loss. I had learned to be more cautious with my expectation in the first trimester, the baby had never developed a yolk sac, let alone a heartbeat, and we had a daughter already. But still, I almost felt guilty about how quickly I moved on. I know this is not everyone’s experience, and certainly early losses can be grieved as much as late ones, but this was how I felt. I was bummed to be back to the drawing board, but we’d been here before. We’d get pregnant again.
Only we didn’t. We tried for months and months. I went to acupuncture to help regulate my hormones, was exercising, eating well, and taking prenatal and other supplements - we just couldn’t get pregnant. It’s interesting to write about my miscarriages at this stage. While I used to feel more consumed by the pregnancy losses we had experienced, I now find myself more in the “infertility camp.” The losses, while always in the back of my mind, have become more of a distant memory as I grapple with new difficulties of not being able to get pregnant at all.
I remain hopeful because I know there is no single road to motherhood and many dear friends have graciously shared their journeys with me. I can’t emphasize enough how much strength has come from this network of women and their willingness to be vulnerable with their stories. As I write this now, a year after our second miscarriage, we are amidst an IVF cycle, grateful for the doctors and science that are helping to make this second child a reality. Two years ago, I would have told you we would never go through IVF. We wouldn’t need to. We’ve gotten pregnant naturally before. We could do it again.
As I write this now, a year after our second miscarriage, we are amidst an IVF cycle.
But pregnancy (and motherhood) is a process of learning and unlearning, assuming and unassuming. I am constantly humbled by this journey, by the magic and power of the body (and of science!), and by the strength of parents everywhere who endure challenges big and small in their quest to become parents. While my road to motherhood has been anything but the one I envisioned, I recognize it is uniquely mine. I am proud to have lived these experiences that remind me of humankind’s incredible ability to be simultaneously strong, tender, and resilient. And I will continue doing just that, giving myself grace when I need it, and looking ahead with hope and optimism for the future.
