Loss.

November 14, 2010 at 9:33 am | Posted in FET #5: Last Chance Waltz, Infertility | 26 Comments

Trying for a baby after having O is a lot different, I said.

Loss is, too.

It struck me last night, right after J turned out the light.

Before O, embryos were chances at having a baby.

I have a picture of my funny, gorgeous, sweet soul of a son when he was just a chance.

Yes, it’s different now.

That embryo, the one that tried so hard to implant in this cycle?

It is a LIFE to me.

I feel like someone gave me something precious to hold, delicate and important… and I dropped it and broke it.

I feel like an awful mother, killing my child when he was at his most vulnerable.

I feel empty.

I am not okay.

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  1. It’s understandable that you feel this way; but it wasn’t your fault. It just happens. Miscarriages happen all the time, even among women who have lots of other children (most of the women I know, including myself, have had miscarriages, even though they have other children), and it’s often difficult or even impossible to point to the cause. Even if there is or was something biologically wrong with you that caused the miscarriage, it still isn’t your fault, because it’s not like you did anything to cause it, and you certainly didn’t *ask* for a problematic uterus. Yes, it hurts, and it sucks *big time*. Mourn and grieve for this loss. But you did not kill your child.

  2. It’s interesting…that’s very much how I felt with my first loss, before Baby B. I didn’t blame myself (with either), but the first one was definitely the loss of a baby — a person — to me. With my second, I couldn’t let myself view it as a life, as a baby, in an effort to protect myself from those exact feelings you are experiencing. At times it made me feel cold and callous, but it’s what I had to do to get through it. Still doesn’t mean it was easy, not by any means. My last loss was most devastating, partly because it was later than the first, partly because it came after IF, partly because I know now exactly the kinds of things I’m missing now. The *only* way the second one was easier? Being able to hug my child extra tight. I still do.

  3. So painful. So sorry.

  4. I’m so sorry.
    I have no other words.

  5. After my first miscarriage, every baby picture I had of my son were little “what ifs”. I do it now even though we finally have Aitch.

    This is the hardest part, mourning the loss of a future when we see the present in the child(ren) we kiss goodnight every night.

    And no one should ask you to be okay; not your husband or yourself or your close friends. The pain will eventually not be so gutting and that’s little comfort now. …I know….

  6. The miscarriage after I delievered my boys was so much harder on me emotionally for that very reason…I knew what that baby meant–in such a very real way. “I feel like someone gave me something precious to hold, delicate and important… and I dropped it and broke it.” I felt that way too.

    Much love to you…

  7. It is not your fault. Absolutely not. Though I totally get your feeling that way. Each of my miscarriages was a huge loss to me – a person in waiting lost. It is hard for the outside world to understand all the hopes that are meshed up in being pregnant and then not being. Thing of you.

  8. I have to join the others in saying “It’s NOT your fault” honey. Really and truly, it isn’t. All of that blame isn’t on your shoulders. It truly isn’t. Just letting you know that we are here and sending you much love and many prayers as you get through these difficult days and find the path that’s right for you.

  9. The loss is much harder once you have a child. You “know” too many things about the baby, what he or she could/would/should be, because you see it in O. Some people barely bat an eyelash when they have a pregnancy come to an end, then there are those of us that come here, because we get it.

    You know in your common sense that you had absolutely no control over this outcome, but it will take some time to really sink in. Give yourself that time.

  10. Not much I can say, other than I know exactly what you are saying and feeling. I hurt and I am not okay.

    You will get there. You will make the decision that is right for you and your family – none of us can tell you which way to go.

  11. None of the embryos from the FETs we had to try for a sibling ever even implanted and it still felt like to me that I had failed them. Let them down. That I was not the mother to them that I should have been. Because how else could those cycles have failed? And although, logically I could think about the possibility that it was not my fault, my heart felt very, very differently.

  12. Oh Hon, I feel your pain. I feel the same way..

  13. Oh Hon, I feel your pain. I feel the same way…

  14. I wish there was a magic bullet saying, something that would help ease you out of this dark place that I’m so sorry you are in.

    Not a lot to be done but allow yourself to grieve. I will say not to be so hard on yourself. You did NOT do anything to bring this on. This was en embryo, a cluster of cells, that was not destined to continue to develop for whatever reason. If, by sheer will, you could have nurtured it along, you would have but you did all that was humanly possible to.

    Sending you a hug from afar.

  15. Coming in late to say how very sorry I am to read your sad news. I have not had a miscarriage but I think it would be more upsetting after having had I & N. Thinking of you…

  16. You know, I almost added a second comment the other day to say something along the lines of “P.S. This was NOT your fault.” It’s hard not to feel that way, though. I felt a bit of that on the cycle where I had a lone faint early positive that never even made it to beta. It’s hard not to look at the child you have and think of everything that wasn’t to be.

    You don’t have to be okay right now. Take the time you need to grieve. Thinking of you.

  17. I wish I knew what to say, Serenity. My heart aches for you. I am so terribly sorry. xoxo

  18. I am sorry this hurts so much. This isn’t your fault. I am sorry it is happening.

  19. I will add my “it’s not your fault” to everyone else’s, but I also know how hard it is not to blame yourself. And I agree … after having I., loss was more real, somehow … those were not possibilities, but people. And people deserve to be grieved. Try to be kind to yourself, Serenity. *hug*

  20. It really is not your fault. Don’t blame yourself, it’ll get you nowhere good, and it’s not true. Really.

  21. I don’t know what to tell you. But I’m hoping you will be okay down the road, and know there is nothing more you could’ve done to make that embryo grow into a baby.

  22. i never know the right words to say when something like this happens. maybe there really aren’t any. maybe the mama just needs to know that she is loved and supported during this terrible, dark time.

    you are NOT an awful mother. it wasn’t your fault.

    hugs sweetie.

  23. No one is to blame. Not you. Not God. You are trying so hard to start a life, it could never be your fault for it not working. So much love went into it…so much love surrounded it. It is just the wicked way in which the world makes you strong…and shows you how strong you are. It makes you appreciate your beautiful boy more than mist mothers would and … I think … Love him even more. All of these “shit sandwiches” will make sence to us all one day. Not now. Hang in there my friend. Hold your head up high and be proud to be a wonderful mother and a wonderful person who helps other people just by sharing your story. Feel the love from all of us and it will ease your pain. I’m thinking of you and I wish I could give you a hug. ~ Nancy.

  24. There’s probably no use telling you anything logical at this point. You know the facts, you’re heart’s just not into logic at the moment.

    I’m sorry you feel this way. I wish it were better.

    Bea

  25. I don’t know that I’ve ever wished I had the magic words to say to someone more than I do right now. I remember feeling exactly as you described when I miscarried my first pregnancy. To me it was both hope and a life. Someone I loved from the instant I saw two lines on a stick. And dealing with that was devastating. I am so very sorry you’re having to go through that. We’re all here for you.

  26. oh sweetie, I don’t have words for how sorry I am…for how much I wish I could take away all this pain for you.

    I am so sorry…xoxo


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