I have been through a lot in my life. Many things have made me stronger and assured me of my abilities to get through anything. Giving in to the pain of miscarriage or breaking down in front of others was hard for me. Sometimes I would sit alone on the couch while Ryan was at work. I would close my eyes and try to visualize the baby growing inside of me; organs developing, arms and legs popping out, I was willing it to survive. Other days, I would walk into our upstairs guest room. It was intended to be the nursery. I would picture where the crib would be, the changing table, the rocking chair. There were even a few times I pretended that I was softly rocking a sleeping baby in my arms often with tears streaming down my face silently begging God. This was a pain I really only shared with him. My vulnerable side was very rarely present for anyone else to see.
Our next step brought us to a reproductive immunologist; one of the best in the business. After more blood work and testing, we were informed that my situation was undiagnosable. I was among 1% of women who would receive no answers. Seriously? 1%?!? I started to become concerned that I was doing it to myself; that my inability to control my fears and anxiety was killing my babies. Maybe my inability to think “next time will be different” was causing what I considered, my failure. I read “The Secret” hoping I could learn better ways to put positive energy into the universe. I tried to take friends advice to just “stay positive.” I of course prayed, hard. But I began to lose hope. I started to feel like maybe God didn’t want Ryan and me to have children. Maybe we just weren’t meant for it.
Shortly after the loss of our sixth baby we were given one last treatment option. It had been known to help 30% of the 1% of women like me. Steroids. After a good discussion we felt like those were decent odds. We decided to try one last time. Lucky number seven! It was also recommended that I start acupuncture. My acupuncturist was very holistic and she swore up and down that eating a pineapple a day would help me keep my baby. “An entire pineapple?” I asked incredulously. “Is that even possible without eventually burning off all of my taste buds from the acidity?” She assured me it was a magical treatment. Pineapple used to be my favorite fruit.
So the fate of lucky number seven? Exactly like clockwork, between week eight and week nine, no more heartbeat. There was such a confusing feeling of expecting this outcome and yet utter sadness at another loss. Ryan and I were out of treatment options. Someone sent me an article (that I know was meant to be inspiring) about a woman in the UK who had had nineteen miscarriages. Then number twenty just did what it was supposed to do and Voila! She had her perfect angel. Nineteen? I was at number seven and the thought of having more than double than that was inconceivable. Keep in mind that I have tactfully left out all of the painful, gory details of passing these pregnancies or the numerous DNC’s I had to have.
By this point there were so many amazing people praying for us and sending us their positivity and hopes. I know many people felt sorry for us. I also know others were angry on our behalf. There were times I too was angry...but never at God. I can’t explain why I felt the way I did. I guess that is why they call it faith. Deep down I just knew that there was a plan that was beyond our understanding. I truly felt that whatever the ultimate outcome, Ryan and I would be okay. We were already so blessed. A good life, great families, wonderful, loving, and supportive friends. We already had so much more than so many others. It was hard for either of us to be resentful or bitter. So we just kept going.
Those who know me well know that my favorite thing in the world to do is laugh and to make people laugh. Throughout my acting career I’ve spent most of my energy on comedy. For me it’s the best medicine for anything. So it came as no surprise to many that I allowed my skewed sense of humor to become a bit self-deprecating. I had to make light of my circumstances at all times...for my own sanity. For example; Christmas Eve 2010. Mom and Dad’s house was full of our very large family. I have six sisters and a brother. Two of my Nieces, in their early twenties, were there with their combined five beautiful children in tow. Another dig at my emotions. Each year I would think “maybe next year it will be Ryan and I with the new baby to debut.” As I was holding one of the babies, cuddling, and secretly being envious, my sister Rachael walked up and said “Hey, lose the baby and lets take a picture together.” Without missing a beat my response was “Lose the baby? No problem, I’m a pro at that!” Everyone got quiet, they were staring at me with horrified expressions, not sure whether to laugh or be offended. “It’s okay guys! It was a joke! Merry Christmas!” We cope however necessary.
To date, my most profound struggle? Letting Ryan down; time after time not being able to do for him the one thing he could not do for himself. At no point did he ever contribute to these feelings. But as a woman it was hard not to feel this way. He had been so wonderful with each loss. “It’ll happen Baby.” “We will figure it out. Don’t worry!” Always encouraging. He never showed an ounce of his own discouragement. His quiet disregard of his own disappointment and sadness almost made me feel worse. I didn’t want him to look at me differently. If I’m completely honest; I feared he would think I had failed him…that he’d married a dud.