So.

I think I stopped blogging here in order to avoid my problems.

I had another miscarriage.

I freaked out.

3 dead babies in one year, one me.

I made an appointment with a Dr. that specializes in these things.

We went home for Thanksgiving.

Came home.

Despite the horrible, horrible timing, we got pregnant again. (Fertility Friend gave me a Low score on the timing). A week before the RE appointment I found out.

Went to RE appointment.

RE suggests I have autoimmune issues based on my family history that are causing the miscarriages, and would like to do testing, however, since I'm pregnant again, we can't.

We test the Beta HCG.

20 DPO, 904

22 DPO, 3174.

Yep, pregnant.

Ultrasound at 6 weeks exactly shows a heartbeat, and a baby measuring 6 weeks exactly.

Dr. is still not optimistic.

I'm scared out of my gourd. It can't happen again, can it?

Can I possibly worry more about these symptoms or possible diminishing thereof?

I have another ultrasound a week from today. God, keep me sane in this interim.

So, we wait again.

Yeah, just got chart confirmation that the big O happened 2 days ago.

Now, my least favorite part of the game, the waiting to pee part.

Oh yeah, forgot to mention, last month was a chemical pregnancy too. BFP at 11 DPO. BFN at 13 DPO.

Score, dead babies 2, me 0.

sigh.

Information is good.

So I'll share.

I'm a 30-something married (7 years) old woman, who prefers to remain anonymous (so much for the sharing, right?).

My husband and I decided we were ready for kiddos last October, and I subsequently went of the Pill.

No pregnancy by February 07, so I started charting (www.fertilityfriend.com), and that month got my first ever positive pregnancy test!

So happy!

So excited!

Midwife office called, friends told, family already sending baby things!

Fast forward (time went really, really slow) to 9 w 4 d.

Tiny, eensy little bits of spotting.

Freak out.

Midwife called!

Ultrasound at noon on the next day.

Ultrasound.

No baby.

Bawled eyes out.

Hubby takes me to brew pub where we cry together over a couple of pints.

Stop by the liquor store on the way home for more fortification.

Stay home from work for a week or so.

Still no baby...yet nothing happened.

Call Midwife again.

She wants to schedule a D&C or have me take some scary drug if nothing happens soon.

That was enough to scare my body into miscarrying naturally, started bleeding that afternoon.

Damn, this is PAINFUL. Labor eh? ok...I can hack it.

(If I can have a baby)

Miscarry completely and naturally on my own, at home. HCG levels are back to normal 10 days later.

Wait a month to "recover".

Man this sucks. Big time. What did I do wrong? Why did my baby die? Why does my addict sister have 3 kids?

Fast forward to now, 3 months post miscarriage.

Baby? TTC again, charting. Fearful, scared of all the potential unknowns in this whole process.

Unpollinated.

I’ve been reading obsessively these past few days. Of stories that scare and inspire me equally. Hope and loss, faith and death, fertility and infertility. Where am I here, in this spectrum?
I read these blogs of lives I know not and cry and hope for them and know instantly that I fit. That I belong, yet that I don’t, for I have lost but one baby, and haven’t waded through years of babymaking efforts (fruit borne or in vain).

I have lost a baby. A baby mine in my heart only, for I carried him inside me for two months and loved as I could.

Yet told few.

Yet cried much.

Scared.

Hopeful, scared and wanting.

An answer? A baby? A return to to the innocent happy woman I was before my world came crashing down around me?

Sure. Why not. Give them all to me I say, let me not have to walk this path.

Yet, I sleep with my husband and dream sad things. Bad things. Of lost babies and paths not taken.

Of fruit died on the vine.

Unpollinated.