And yet again

Well, it is a new year.  2018 started off rough as I spent New Years Day in bed as my body finally began to recognize the miscarriage we knew was coming for a week.  It was not the way I had hoped to start things, not the answer to our ongoing prayers.  But, "chemical pregnancies" are apparently very common and it was considered no big deal in the whole realm of things.  We were told we could start immediately into another cycle if everything had returned to baseline.  So, a few days later, I returned to the doctor and was cleared to begin a new cycle to transfer 2 more baby Savants.  Three ultrasounds, 7 blood tests, and 2.5 weeks later, we were back in Charlotte.  It seemed a bit surreal, how quickly it all happened.  There were no months of waiting, no months of testing.  And, for the first time since Lucas, no last minute surgeries that needed to happen in the days before the transfer.  It seemed like everything was going really well.  I felt good about it. 

And here I am, just 10 days later, kicking myself for letting my heart hope.  I get this weird scar pain with each pregnancy - intense c-section scar pain that gets worse and worse until I begin to worry that the baby has, perhaps, implanted into my scar.  I think I google that every time too.  Hannah, Lucas, Noah - all had this intense scar pain.  In December, I had it for 1 single day.  I knew, after that, with a fair amount of confidence, that it was over.  But this time?  Well, this time it lasted for 3.5 days.  Good days, where I allowed my mind to go there.  Where we talked about if we could make our house work with twins or if we would definitely need to move before they were born.  And then, came the pain.  And the cramping.  And the complete absence of scar pain.  Overnight, it all changed.  My pregnancy test was still positive yesterday.  But, not today.  Today, no matter how many little sticks I used, there was no second line.  And, just like that, our babies were gone.  Two more baby Savants, gone.  Two more children I will never know, never get to raise, never hold in my arms.

Here's where my heart is struggling now...I have this huge desire and burden to have a large family.  I thought for sure we would have at least 5 kids, maybe 6.  And, as we went through our first rounds of IVF, I thought that's what we were headed for.  So, I find myself confused and hurting and wondering why this dream of mine will not become my reality, why that desire was there in the first place.  The reality of me only raising Dean, Warren, and Hannah is becoming very real.  We have one more chance, one more shot at having children, and then that chapter of our lives is completely over.  My head is still swimming with that thought.  Because, here's the thing.  I would have been completely happy with Warren, Dean and Hannah.  I would have always missed Reagan, but I never thought I needed to add to the chaos of my life.  We may have pursued adoption or fostering or something.  But instead, I had 14 embryo.  FOURTEEN.  And so, we transferred Lucas.  And then Noah.  And then 5 babies we'll never know anything about.  And here I am, facing our very last 2 embryo.  Knowing that they are the "lowest quality" of the embryo we had, that their likelihood of survival is incredibly low.  Hannah, my spunky 2-year-old, may be the last baby in our home.  This box of maternity clothes that arrived the weekend of Lucas's death may never be taken out of the box I've hidden in my closet.  The mountain of baby clothes and toys may never be used again.  If we had decided we were done in 2015 after Hannah was born, none of that would be a source of intense grief.  Instead, I've lost 7 babies since June.  In less than the time it takes most women to carry 1 child through pregnancy, I've lost 4 pregnancies.

We didn't really share about this transfer, didn't really say much of anything.  It wasn't a secret necessarily, just nothing I openly shared unless it was asked.  I didn't want to feel judged for jumping in again, didn't want to hear the comments.  Silently going through this is not any easier, that is for sure.  Pretending like nothing happened, well, that's not making it hurt any less.  I long for the flickering heart on the ultrasound, the little baby kicks in my womb, the sleepless nights and stressful feedings and endless crying that come with having a newborn.  I'm not ready for this stage to end.  One more chance...