I should have: a 13 yr old; a 12 yr old; a 10 yr old; a 9 yr old; and a 8 yr old.
My story might not be as dramatic as others’ but it’s my story. I am a Type 1 diabetic, something I’ve dealt with for the past for 30 years. I always dreamed with a big family, as I'm the only female of 5 children- I wanted to keep the tradition alive.
Well, after my 4th miscarriage, I was numb and done. I didn't wanted to talk about children or pregnancy. As a military spouse that proved impossible, as every woman in my husband's command was either getting pregnant or giving birth. We did fertility treatments back to back, but I never got a chance to carry any of my children. I had to experience most of these traumatic experiences alone, husband was deployed or on training.
My fifth pregnancy started out the same way the others had- I found out at 6 weeks, and again, my husband was in training, I remember sitting at the clinic, anxious as you can imagine. My head spinning, my blood pressure climbing, my blood sugar is insanely higher than ever. And yet, I was pregnant and continued to remain so. I was more terrified that excited at this point, trying not to get my hopes up. I feared losing this baby, yet I had a thin layer of hope that this baby would make it into may arms this time.
And this time, she did! She was a preemie and tiny but she did! Strong and feisty, she survived in my womb for 34 weeks. Again, my husband was deployed, and there were many doctor appointments and specialists, but my pregnancy was peaceful overall. And it was through this pregnancy that we determined why I had all of the previous miscarriages. I have a chromosome disorder that affected my ability to carry my pregnancy to term.
When my baby was 6 months old, I found out I was pregnant again. This time I was less scared, thinking that the issue was behind be, now that we had answers. I could start planning my big family again! Yet at 9 weeks, another miscarriage. Again, a broken heart, yet this time I couldn't crash on the couch and cry my eyes out- I had a 7 month old baby girl to be strong for. I had to smile so I can see her smile back up at me!
My beautiful daughter is now 9 years old. Since my last miscarriage, every month I cry, every month I hope, every month I think next month will be it, I'll have another baby in my womb, I'll hear a heartbeat, I will feel a kick. I still have that thin layer of hope.