Seven years
Reflecting on our story
Last week marked seven years since we lost the first of four consecutive pregnancies to recurrent miscarriage.
Part of me still can’t quite believe that this is a subject I’m talking about seven years on from that first pregnancy loss which I experienced over Christmas 2017. Back then, I thought of it as little more than an inconvenient pause in my family planning. It was sad, but we’d get pregnant again, and move on - just like lots of my other mum friends had. No big deal.
But that wasn’t the way it played it. Instead one loss grew into four, intermingled with secondary infertility. And as I’d already has a baby boy at this point with no issues this idea felt incomprehensible to me. How could this be happening to us - with no explanation, no diagnosible cause, and no cure?
Looking back now, it was a season which interrupted our otherwise fairly easy and comfortable lives with a ‘before and after’ moment. The fact is that you just can’t ever unknow something like losing a baby. It’s an experience that changed my outlook on life, and faith, and family, and suffering, and left me forever changed. In good and bad ways.
I was 37 then. Now I’m 44. And during those seven long years, we wept, we grieved, we prayed, we searched for medical answers, we railed against the unfairness, we soul-searched about the possibility of adoption, and we wrestled with God.
There’s just so many ‘what ifs’ and ‘why not’ questions that losing a baby leaves behind. Eventually though, we did become to a place of peace with our secondary infertility story and with being a ‘one child family…
How do you know when to stop?
People often ask me how we knew when to stop pursuing the idea of another child, and came to a point of peace about that decision. I’ve been reflecting on this quite a bit this week, as I prepare to share our story during a session at The Rhythm of Hope conference next weekend.
But the truth is, it wasn’t a ‘choice’ and there wasn’t really a ‘moment’ of decision at all. We just ran out of time, and options, and hope.
When you’re over 40 and your fertility is waning, when you’ve already had all the tests and tried every treatment that the NHS can throw at this thing, and when you feel like continuing to hope is only leading to ever more disappointment and holding you back from any chance of healing and wholeness, that’s probably a good time to start talking about drawing a line.
I know that this decision to stop pursuing another child is very personal, but for Andy and I we eventually just both felt that we’d weathered enough pain and we needed to move on. For the sake of our mental health, our marriage, and our living son Ben. We wanted to move beyond living in an endless fog of waiting, hoping, loss and grief, and to be able to feel happy, and whole, and present again.
Coming to this decision point was definitely a slow and gradual process, but at some point we both realised that we found ourselves wanting this even more than we wanted another child, and in the end I found a strange relief in finally admitting that this thing I had prayed for and been so focused on for so long, probably wasn’t going to happen (short of a divine intervention by God).
But even after we’d spoken this truth aloud, and agreed that we’d stop ‘trying’ for another baby, a small part of my heart continued to hold onto some hope for a miraculous intervention for quite a long time, co-existing with the more rational side of my mind which was learning to let go and accept life as it was, rather than how I wanted it to be.
Looking back, I think that process of fully making peace with that decision spanned across at least two years of my life. Maybe more. Grieving, healing, letting go of disappointment, inch by inch, moment by moment, day by day…
Becoming okay again
aybe that’s why I can’t exactly put my finger on when I became okay with our secondary infertility story. But what I can say for certain now is this: I’m genuinely happy with the life and family that I have today. It’s not perfect (what is?), but it’s good…
And although a part of me will always wonder about different how my life and my family might have been if any of those four other pregnancies went full term, I’ve also discovered that there’s some real gifts to be found in only having one child too.
It’s not just the obvious stuff like it being financially easier, but also how special your relationship with an ‘only’ child feels. And the ways in which our situation has pushed us to think beyond the boundaries of our traditional nuclear family unit much more.
And on a personal level, it has also meant that both Andy and I still have lots of time and capacity to pursue some of our other passions and interests alongside parenting. So now, there’s some great joys mixed in with the disappointment and grief contained in our story.
Of course, the grief hasn’t just magically gone away. It doesn’t just evaporate with time Loss is loss - and it’s impact continues to cause ripples in our lives with every missed milestone, comment about our family size, and situation which makes that absence felt again. But I’ve also found that it’s certainly become less heavy to carry over time. Like a wound that heals into a scar, it’s just become a part of who we are now.
I think that’s how healing works (at least this side of heaven). Painful experiences can’t just be erased, but they won’t always hold us back or continue to hold the same power over us either.
So that means that now we’re now very happy to chat about our experiences with others, particularly those who are walking a similar path. Part of the beauty that’s grown out of this season in our lives is the ability to relate and speak into other people’s pain, in a way that we never could have before.
In writing this, I’ve also been reminded that 7 is God’s number of perfect completion in the Bible, so it also feels kind of significant to be reaching this milestone this month. I don’t know for certain if this is true, but it certainly feels like this chapter in our lives is finished.
And I don’t know why I am sharing all of these reflections here, except to encourage anyone else who might find themselves still ‘in the middle’ of this story, that even if the worst scenario happens and you don’t get the ending that you want, life will be good again. God still has many more good things ahead for you, just as He has for me…
#sevenyears #secondaryinfertility #recurrentmiscarriage #healingafterloss
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