This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. If someone would have told me to make a list of all of the possible scenarios of how my life would have unfolded, I couldn’t have imagined this in my wildest thoughts. Trying for 10 years to get pregnant. Being told by Dr after Dr that while it was called “unexplained” infertility & there wasn’t a reason for it, I had a .00001% chance of ever getting pregnant. Then actually getting pregnant. And losing the baby. And getting pregnant again. And losing the baby. And getting pregnant again. And losing the baby. Then being diagnosed with a medical condition that makes it impossible for me to ever conceive.
I’ve gone thru many emotions with this plot twist that was obviously someone else’s idea of how my life should turn out (because I never would have chosen this for me and my husband). In the beginning, I expected some of them. Anger, denial, sadness- those were my constant companions for the longest time. Then came the self-pity. Oh, LOTS of self-pity. And then the hope. I would come across a story of a woman who conceived after being told she couldn’t. For years I didn’t want to really think it was possible for me, but I silently held on to that hope for years. Hoping and wishing and praying for MY happy ending. But it never came. And it never will.
It’s been 2 years since I was told that there was no way at all possible that I could ever conceive a child. Most days I’m ok as those emotions are, for the most part, at bay. But some days I struggle with them as if it happened last week. And I never know what will trigger it. A commercial for a child going off to college, a friend’s post about her 2 year old’s birthday party that we weren’t invited to for obvious reasons (she was trying to get pregnant at the same time we were). A song played at my niece’s wedding that causes me to run outside in tears leaving everyone to wonder why I’m upset.
But the one emotion I never expected, could never have anticipated, was the loneliness. The isolation. The constant nagging knowing that I am alone. Because EVERYONE else I know has had that happy ending. They all have children. And also because no one knows. Sure, a very, very small group of people know (my mom and my in-laws) but that is all. So why didn’t we tell people? I wish I knew. Lots of reasons I guess. One being stupid tradition. They always tell you to wait until after the first trimester to tell people. Well, we waited and we even had the date all arranged that we were going to tell our family – but I miscarried the day before. Even though I was 4 months along, no one could tell. After that experience we didn’t want to tell people until we were sure. But after that first miscarriage, you never are. Other reason was that I didn’t want people to feel sorry for me. I didn’t want their pity. Stupid, right? But I didn’t want their looks of pity. Their “Oh, poor, poor girl. She can’t have kids” looks. So now I live in this fortress of solitude that I’ve created. Nobody knows. Not my coworkers, my family, not even my close friends. I never expected the intense loneliness I feel when everyone I know has children. I never thought in a million years that we’d be alone in this boat with only my husband and me rowing it. Perhaps if we told people in the beginning that we were trying. Perhaps if we told people after each miscarriage. But I guess we were just holding out for that happy ending. That glorious day when we would show the world our new baby and say yes, oh by the way, we did have all these terrible things happen to us on this journey but now look at our wonderful child. But one thing is certain. I can’t go back and change the past. So even though I do have days now where the anger and the sadness aren’t as intense, I can never run away from the isolation that I feel every single minute of every single day. And that is the one thing I never expected.
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Margie Lucas and her husband were married in 2005. After saving up money to buy a house in order to have room to raise a family, they were devastated with the news that there was less than a 1% chance of ever getting pregnant Not having money for expensive infertility treatments, they just did what many couples do – hoped and prayed. Against all odds and to the shock of their doctors, they conceived only to suffer a miscarriage at 12 weeks. Subsequent miscarriages occurred at 14 and 16 weeks. Shortly after the last miscarriage, Margie was diagnosed with a medical condition, making it impossible for her to ever conceive.
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Margie, thank you so much for sharing your heartbreaking story. I am so sad for you and your husband. I hope you both will somehow find peace so you can somehow move forward with your lives.
My husband and I are going through a similar journey. We’ve been trying to conceive for 5 years now. We’ve fallen pregnant 6 times. And we’ve miscarried 7 times (we lost twins in one pregnancy). Doctors are unable to explain why I can’t seem to carry a baby to term. Can I ask what medical condition you’ve been diagnosed with?
For all the loneliness we feel going through infertility, we might as well be living on the moon. I find myself having less and less in common with people I know, and society as whole. Everything I see reminds me of the huge void in my life. Playgrounds. The children’s section in book stores. Christmas. I take steps to isolate myself from these things in order to protect my mental health, yet I only become lonelier in the process. It’s a double-edge sword.
The most terrifying part of this long road to parenthood is every time we miscarry, the question becomes louder in our heads: will we ever have children?
From one lonely Moon inhabitant to another, please reach out to me if you ever would like to talk.
Dear Tina,
Thank you for so much for your reply. It was very hard for me to write my feelings down as the way I have been coping lately is to not think about my losses. I am not saying it’s the best thing to do but it is the only way I found I could survive in society around “normal” people (non-Moon inhabitants).
I am so sorry for your losses. I do understand the whole fear about will I ever be able to have a child? I had the same fear too. My medical condition is that my body decided to go into premature menopause so that pretty much without a doubt shut the door on me ever becoming pregnant. It was really a kick in the stomach & made me very really angry with my body! What a double whammy!!
You mentioned being constantly reminded of the huge void in your life. I’m the exact same way. Plus I find myself thinking all the time about what my life would be like with a child. To get a phone call from daycare that my child is sick and I have to come pick them up. Shopping for things like baby formula and diapers after work. Coming home to play with my child after work. I also seem to always be walking by the baby section in stores (unintentionally) or standing behind a baby in the checkout line. It just seems like I can’t ever get away from it. I’ve stopped going to baby showers or being around my friends when they are discussing yet another one of our friends who is pregnant. Like you said though, it is a double-edged sword as it furthers the isolation. Oh & the questions. Questions all the time from strangers. Do you have kids? How many kids do you have? It makes me so depressed.
Thank you again for replying & for your kind words. From one Moon inhabitant to another, I do hope your story has a happy ending. Please feel free to reach out to me if you ever need to talk. Hugs!!!
Hi Margie, thank you for writing this. I relate to much of what you write. My husband and I married in 2006, and then we had and lost three children. As you write, not in my wildest dreams did I ever picture us living this life. This was not even remotely on the cards in our minds. Yet here we are. Having given birth to, and buried three children: a beautiful daughter and two sons. And the loneliness is real. Even though others know about our children, the isolation remains. The fact is that most people go through life with their happy endings, with their living children, with their dreams still intact. And our shattered realities make others uncomfortable. ((hugs)) to you, and, when you need it, reach out to others like us who also live with the loneliness and isolation and who know the pain of empty arms and lost dreams.
Hi Mirne,
Thanks so much for your kind words. It is still so hard for me to write about my experiences. I guess I think that if I don’t think about them, I won’t have to deal with them. I’m so terribly sorry for your losses. I can’t imagine what you and your husband have had to go thru. All of that pain & hurt. I’ve heard people say that when you die, you get all of your questions answered. Well, I definitely want to know why you and I didn’t get our happy ending. Why something that comes so easily for others has eluded us? It is just such a very burden to bear that sometimes I dont know how I am going to live the rest of my life like this. Thanks again for letting me know I’m not alone. That means more to me than you can ever know. Hugs!