Enter at Your Own Risk, I'm Keeping It Real

Twenty-three days post D&C.  You know, that procedure where they had to put me under to suck my dead baby from my body.  Yep that one.  And if that didn’t get your attention and make you incredibly uncomfortable, stick around, I’ve got plenty more tricks up my sleeve.  Because here’s what I know for sure:  I will not be sugar-coating any of the crap I’ve been through or the emotions I’ve experienced while going through it anymore.  I’ve done too much of that for those who inquire about my story but then recoil when my reality starts spilling out.  I’ve kept quiet, I’ve been considerate, I’ve thought about YOU and how awkward I might make you feel.  Well, it’s my turn, I’m breaking my silence and I’m thinking about ME and how alone I have felt trying to protect the masses from my pain.  Today is a new day.  Today is the day that I begin telling my story for my sake and no one else.  Today I will be heard.  (Please listen?)

I wish I could tell you that my recent pregnancy loss at 12 weeks was the subject of my story, that this loss describes the essence of my current struggles.  But I cannot tell you that, that is only a recent chapter, my story runs a little deeper.  This story starts over five years ago when I went to the hospital, 40 weeks pregnant with no complications, to deliver a baby boy, and left, empty-handed, broken-hearted and feeling completely ALONE.  Who does this happen to?  Apparently many more people than I had ever known.  People began coming out of the woodwork.  Where had all of these people been and how had I not known their stories before?  I experienced this again with my recent loss, a much different loss, but a loss all the same.  Once I shared my story, I got private emails and facebook messages from friends and family members telling me how they have experienced a miscarriage, infertility, pregnancy loss, but never told anyone about it.  It broke my heart.  Why were all these women hiding behind their pain?  Why is pregnancy loss kept such a secret?  Miscarriage is so common (about 1 in 4) that we are terrified to even tell people we are pregnant until after 12 weeks, you know so we don’t have to tell anyone that we “lost the baby” (terminlogy I find disturbing because I feel it implies some sort of negligence).    It’s almost as if it’s shameful.  It is the unspeakable burden that so many women carry with them for a lifetime.  Pregnancy has become such a fairy tale in our current society that it’s almost as if something is drastically wrong with us if we can’t have a normal, natural, successful pregnancy (as well as in a certain timeframe).  And trust me, that’s exactly how many of us feel:  broken and damaged, as if our bodies have failed us and our families, sometimes over and over again.  Why can’t we embrace each other as women (and men)who have experienced infertility, a pregnancy loss, or neonatal loss and share our heartaches and compassions with and for one another?  Why do these experiences have to be skeletons in our closets?  I’m tired of hiding beneath this mask.  I’m tired of feeling alone.  I’m tired of pretending I’m okay.  I need to be heard.  (Are you still listening?)

I’m starting this blog because I want to tell you something of my past, but mostly I want to document my journey forward.  I want to write about my challenges, my struggles, but also my hopes and inspirations.  I want you to know where I have been and why I haven’t given up hope, even if it has all but dissipated at times.  I am a 40 year old woman who has been 1 for 3 in successful pregnancies and is still fearfully hopeful that I will be able to bring just one more baby home from the hospital.  I realize that others have had it far worse than I, and I am not here to complain about my life.  I have been very fortunate in my lot.  I have a patient and loving husband (so very patient), I have an amazing and soulful four year old daughter, I have the best extended family and friends a girl could ask for, I have an exciting career and educational endeavors, I have a lot to be grateful for in my life and I am, I am so very grateful.  But I also have pain, I have heartache, I have fear.  I have a story that is clawing at my soul to be released. I have a very human and primal need to be heard.  My name is Amy.  I have broken dreams but a hopeful spirit.  I have a journey to share both past and present.  I have to tell you the truth so that others might not feel so alone, so I do not feel so alone.  I have so much hope that you came to listen, because, if you haven’t figured it out by now, I am desperately aching to be heard.