It’s Over

Wow, what a difference a week makes. It’s a long way to fall from the top of the world and from this week’s bitter experience, I can confirm that it really, really hurts.

Yes, my pregnancy is over. Over before it even really began. I’m writing this whilst waiting to miscarry.

I really thought that we had done it. That we’d cracked the nut and were truly on our way towards parenthood again. Since receiving the diagnosis that changed everything at the end of last year, I’ve actually been unfailingly positive. I believed in IVF, that we had a good chance of success, even with all the obstacles that popped up along the way. And once I saw the second line on that stick, I suppose, like an idiot, I thought the hardest part was over.

Of course I knew miscarriage was a possibility. It’s not even as if I haven’t travelled this road before. But I suppose I thought we’d struggled enough. I carried Thomas successfully. I really believed that I could do it again.

Life is not that simple though, is it? If only IVF could carry with it immunity to further complications. When you’ve fought so hard just to conceive in the first place, to lose it seems especially cruel. Perhaps that is the hardest thing. It’s not as though we can just “try again” next month.

I’m talking about it now because I don’t have a choice. Having told you all that I was pregnant, it would soon be pretty apparent if no baby bump emerged. But I’m also talking about it because I truly want to.

In fact, right now I’d quite like to carry a sign around with me. That way every mum on the nursery run with their “Baby On Board” badge pinned proudly on their coat, or cradling their newborn in a sling will know that I’m not the parent with an only child by choice. So that every person in the street pushing a double buggy or rubbing a rounded belly can see that I’d trade places with them in an instant.

We’ve been at this for 18 months now. And whilst I know that is not terribly long in comparison to some people, it’s long enough. I’m now dealing with the fact that people who hadn’t even had their first (or second, or third) child when we started trying are now pregnant with their next child. And I can’t help but feel like they’ve jumped the queue.

It’s my turn. Surely, it must be my turn by now?

Amongst all the typical emotions – sadness, grief, guilt and feelings of failure – come some unexpected thoughts. They come to me in the middle of the night, whilst I haven’t been sleeping. Things like the fact that I will now be 35 by the time I have another child. If, we have another child, of course. Having had Thomas at 31, I thought I’d probably be 33 when number two came along and by 35, we’d be looking at number three.

Number three. There is a thorny issue in itself.

We have no fallback position. No frozen embryos from our first cycle. So to have any chance even of number two, we have to start this whole process again from the beginning. And that means throwing another seven thousand pounds at the problem. (Most people assume IVF costs “about three grand”. That isn’t far off the mark. But then you need to add consultations, blood tests and drugs. Then the extras like sperm retrieval and storage fees and the ICSI process. It’s a pricey business.)

Seven thousand pounds and we might still have nothing to show for it.

I’m not sure if I’m strong enough to do it again.

But I’m not sure if I’m strong enough not to, either. My heart hurts every time I consider never experiencing another pregnancy. Never holding another newborn of my own. Never breast feeding again.

Why do I not deserve my happy ending?


25 Replies to “It’s Over”

  1. Oh hunny I’m so so sorry. I wish there was something I could say to make it easier. I we’ll know how emotionally and physically tough it is going through infertility and ICSI. I can only imagine how hard it must be to have got that far for it to end. Sending love and hugs xxxx

    1. Thank you. There isn’t, obviously, anything that anyone can really say to take away the pain.but knowing that people care – and understand – really does help. It seems particularly cruel for it to end this way when it’s taken so much to get here in the first place.

  2. Oh my darling my heart aches for you. I have a best friend who went through exactly the same and for about a year she couldn’t handle being near me or even talking to me. It broke my heart and it’s only now that we can talk about why she felt it was so unfair that I and a second and she didn’t. I hope I can be a supportive friend to her and a supportive listener to you. Keep writing, I hope it helps in this horrid time xxx

    1. Thank you Lucy. I know we’ve chatted about this via Twitter now, but I really do appreciate the support. I find it hard that people don’t know, and don’t understand, and make so many assumptions. Wanting another child is a hugely complex set of emotions that are now all tangled in with the emotions of doing IVF and the emotions of losing the pregnancy. I’m very confused still, but hopefully talking it through and writing it down will ultimately help me to heal.

    1. Thank you Amanda. I know that there aren’t really any words, but the thoughts and the support are definitely appreciated.

  3. Well, this is a post I was so hoping I wouldn’t read. Caroline, I’m so sorry. You so so so deserve to have a successful pregnancy and another child. It is incredibly unfair, and unfair that other people have it easy and have no idea how hard it can be. I wrote some other stuff then deleted it because I didn’t want to bring personal experience into my comment, but the gist was: allow yourself to feel sad, and I’m thinking of you.

    1. Thank you Chloe. Personal experience is welcome, because it helps me to remember that I’m not alone, and that there are people who not only get this, but have also made it through to the other side. I remember reading your miscarriage posts last year and I was so delighted for you when you got your happy ending in Rory. Hearing of a new baby when the journey has been less than smooth is always doubly special. I don’t know yet whether this will be the end of my story. I think I need a bit more time before I can decide that.

  4. Caro, life is so cruel. I read the title of this post and hoped so much that the rest wouldn’t follow. Take time to grieve, time to come to terms with what’s happened. Give that gorgeous, scrumptious boy of yours even more squeezy cuddles than you already do. Thinking of you and Ian at this tough time. xxxx

    1. Thank you Amy. I so wish this hadn’t been the next part othe story. I’m putting pressure on myself to make decisions and deal with it all, but you are quite right that I need to give myself time. Hope you are ok xx

  5. Caroline, my heart is absolutely broken for you. I pray you can find a happy ending – whatever that ends up looking like for you. If it weren’t for this pesky ocean in my way, I’d bring you dinner or take you for coffee (or cocoa – coffee’s icky)… but as it is, I’m just sending warm thoughts and e-hugs. Hang in there…

    1. Thank you Katie. I really appreciate this comment. Hope things go well for you… And obviously with a better ending. I’ll be rooting for you across the ocean xxx

  6. Oh my dear, I’m so very very sorry. I know I’m the last person you’d want to hear from right now and I promise to go back to hiding under the radar but I couldn’t not say how sad I am for you. You deserve your joy and there is no rhyme or reason to it being gone – I just wish it wasn’t so. Know that I’m thinking of all of you, and sending love, big hugs and peace x

    1. Carie – you don’t need to hide from me. Obviously I’d give up an awful lot to be in your position. Just because it hurts me doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you… It’s complicated. Anyway, I know you have both the sense and courtesy not to rub things in my face. And that you understand and accept why it might be difficult for me. Which is all that I can possibly ask or want. x

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