Another goodbye, another loss.
We buried you the other day. The ground was frozen so we couldn't bury you very deep. When it warms I want to put some nice flowers with you.
We were doing so well, too. Our numbers were high, really high. Everyone was excited. It felt different, too. I knew this would be it. We transferred two and I thought how great it would be to have twins, that way we'd be done!
But two days after Christmas, after my parents had left and Daddy went back to work something awful happened. I knew it was bad when I saw all the blood and it just kept coming and coming. We went to the doctor the next day and you were still there. It was just you. Your twin never implanted. But you were still there. But we were warned. Again. One week away from possibly seeing your heartbeat and we were warned that there might not be one. Warned that the likelihood that this pregnancy would continue was small. A small probability. Again. This would fail, again.
And they were right. If I never hear the phrase "This pregnancy is no longer viable" again it will be all too soon. I HATE THOSE WORDS. Instead of calling you an embryo they change vocabulary to "products of conception." I hate those words, too.
Our doctor's answer to why this was happening was chance. It's just chance that so far all the embryos that we've transferred have not been good. We went over options: should we PGS test or not? What are the risk of thawing and then refreezing and then thawing an embryo? No one seems to know. Then that little evil voice in my head kicks in "your eggs are bad." "You have eggs. The PCOS is your fault and now this is your fault. You are the reason you keep losing babies. You are what's wrong."
Less than a week later you were gone. There was nothing left. At least this time I could find you. And we buried you, because that's what humans do. We like to remember our dead and visit them. We plant flowers and plants to keep you company. I wish it had been warmer, it was crappy putting you in the cold ground. But, I will get to see you every day and in just a few months we'll put a gardenia there, maybe.
How many more babies will we lose? How many more times will I be told "this pregnancy is no longer viable"? How much heartache does one person get? I don't know. I thought that we had our share, that maybe we were done.
There are lyrics to a song that I listen to a lot when I think of you:
Who would you be?
What would you look like,
When you looked at me for the very first time?
Today could have been the next day of the rest of your life.
Who would you look like? Whose eyes would you have? When you laughed would you sound like me or your dad? We'll never know, at least not on this earth.
You will always be in my heart. You will always be loved. And I will miss you forever.