My Second First Trimester – Morning sickness, acupuncture and wrestling with hope


Before I start gushing about how amazing it is to feel my baby move around in my belly and about how we are loving our midwifery care, I really wanted to reflect on my first trimester.  I think sometimes it’s easy gloss over the struggles when you have such happy news to share, but to honour my full experience it’s only fair to write about the darker times too.  Unfortunately, I’ve had to do this more often than I would like, but I know I am far from alone in this journey.

The first trimester was such a strange time for me.  Arguably, it is the most dynamic time in your body (though I may change my mind once I reach my third trimester…) with hormones constantly on the rise, no fully developed placenta to carry the load of growing your little one (shout out to placentas everywhere!),  morning sickness, fatigue and on top of that you don’t even look remotely pregnant.  At a time when you really could use some help with your groceries, a door held open or for someone to kindly ask how you are feeling, no one really does.  There are no outward signs of the intense and complex processes occurring inside of you.  It feels kind of lonely.

I found myself feeling like an impostor a lot of the time.  Like I was lying about feeling so terrible, because on the outside I looked totally normal.  I imagine it is perhaps similar to what people with a “hidden” chronic illness feel like on a regular basis; ignored, passed over and assumed to be just peachy, when really their bodies are wreaking total havoc on them.  I felt so guilty for not making dinner for my wife (and I normally love cooking) and for basically being a giant lump.  The fatigue just kind of crept up on me.  All of a sudden I was sleeping until noon, even when I was going to bed at 9:00 or 10:00 pm.  It was a struggle to even have a shower some days.  For someone who is always doing a million things, it’s hard to admit that you are tired without feeling incredibly lazy and full of excuses.  I didn’t even believe I was “that” tired until I started to feel like my normal self again in the second trimester.

In general, my second first trimester was a lot like my first first trimester.  All day morning sickness, hating all food, and all of the fatigue.  The picture above was a very familiar view, as it is for a lot of mama’s in those early days.  I lost a few pounds simply because I just couldn’t eat.  Perhaps some of you have had an experience when you indulge in that one certain type of liquor (we’ve all been there, right?) that even a whiff of it sends your stomach reeling back to that god forsaken time you swore off drinking forever?  Yeah, that’s how I felt.  About. All. Food.  Nothing appealed to me.  Occasionally I could stomach some raisin toast, maybe a popsicle.  Apple juice was really good, for like a week, then I hated it.  I would wander the grocery store (which has so many smells, that I couldn’t spend too long there) unaccompanied by my usual well-thought out list for my meal plan that week, and just bought whatever I thought I could stomach.  I happened to also be unemployed after our recent move to Winnipeg, so most of my days were spent watching Netflix, trying to write cover letters and thinking of something I could eat that wouldn’t make me vomit everywhere.

It was a fun time, let me tell you.

I started doing acupuncture every couple of weeks to help with my nausea and to hopefully prevent another miscarriage. The World Health Organization does list both morning sickness and female infertility as conditions that can be treated with acupuncture.  There appears to be some evidence of the benefits of acupuncture for women undergoing fertility treatments (they are looking especially at the potentially benefits for IVF treatment), but it seems much more research is necessary before that’s conclusive.  Even though I knew I had very little control over the situation (which was beyond frustrating for my type A personality), I still wanted to do everything I could to hang on to my little one this time.  Following the acupuncture treatments I only threw up a couple of times and found that it was very relaxing and soothed my nausea for a couple of weeks.  In addition to the treatments, my acupuncture doctor also left some very small “tacks” in place, under a small bandaid for a week at a time.  I had one on the left and right inside ankle, and one on either side of my chest.  They were freaky at first, but it really seemed to take the edge off of my nausea.  It was also comforting to have the acupuncture doctor (who was also a medical doctor) take my pulse and reassure me that it was strong and indicative of a healthy pregnancy.

Wait, did she just say her acupuncturist could tell she was pregnant by her pulse?!   Yes I did!  Here’s one study  I found that verified the theory in Chinese medicine that an expectant woman’s pulse is noticeably different (to a skilled practitioner’s hand) and also changes with each stage of pregnancy.  My acupuncturist not only told me I was pregnant before I confirmed with a blood test, he also accurately predicted the gender based on my pulse!

Despite everything I was doing, I was so worried about losing my baby again.  Pregnancy after loss, especially in those early days is so bittersweet.  Nothing seems worth getting excited about because you know it could all change in a heartbeat.  You are happy, but careful not to be too happy.  I was lucky enough to have a great circle of close friends who I told in the early days, but I didn’t tell too many people, just in case. Instead of feeling like we had a big announcement like we had last time, we refrained from telling our extended family for a while.  It just seemed unfair to get everyone’s hopes up.  It was unfair to get our own hopes up.

I had such a conditional love for my body.  I constantly felt like I was bargaining for the future.  After losing our first baby, bleeding out twice, emergency room visits and taking months to recover from the miscarriage, the trust I had in my body was shaky to say the least.  I tried my best to meditate, stay as positive as possible and to take care of myself, but it felt like it didn’t even matter.  I did my best last time and it wasn’t enough, so what difference could I make this time?

As the end of my first trimester approached, I did feel more at ease with myself and my body.  Slowly, I started to believe that I was truly pregnant and that maybe we would have a little one by the summer time.  I gradually allowed myself to be more positive in conversations about our future, started contemplating maternity leave and began moving some of our previously collected baby things out of storage.  Everyday I was letting myself believe that things would be okay.

It was a difficult time, as it is for many mamas who are experiencing pregnancy after loss.  Having a support system of friends and family was probably what helped me the most.  Just having someone to confide my worries in and share how I was feeling that day, whether it be good or bad, helped me process what was going on.  I don’t know if I could have kept all my fears to myself for all of those weeks, and I’m glad that I didn’t have to.  Even though I was nervous to announce too early on my blog and social media (I was even nervous to announce after my first trimester was over), I didn’t hesitate to tell my close friends and family from day one.  Don’t get me wrong, it was still uncomfortable to be open about the pregnancy early on, knowing full well it may not have a happy ending.  And I totally understand wanting to keep it a secret from everyone because I debated keeping it a secret from everyone until we knew for sure everything was alright.  Of course, it’s a very personal choice and I fully understand both approaches.  In the end, I knew that if my worst fears came true, I would want all of the amazing support that I had during my first miscarriage.

Despite my struggles over this past year, I feel so much gratitude for having a loving spouse and wonderful friends and family.  Thank you.  I feel so lucky.





Pregnant Again – A Bittersweet Joy


Guys, we did it!  I’m pregnant!!!

I apologize for the radio silence over the last couple of months, but we’ve been dealing with A LOT.  I’ve missed you all.  Let’s start at the beginning shall we?

After my last negative pregnancy result, a lot was riding on our third attempt at IUI.  Not only that, but I had moved to Winnipeg (#militarylife) to be with my wife while she learns to fly helicopters (#mywifeisbetterthanyours).  So now I was 778 km away from my fertility clinic.  Yikes.

I got my period like clockwork shortly after my negative result.  I informed the fertility clinic and hoped they could get me an ultrasound in Winnipeg to save me a long drive back to Saskatchewan.  Unfortunately, the fertility clinic in Winnipeg was absolutely no help (not to mention they have a nine month wait list!).  The closest ultrasound they could get me was in Yorkton, SK.

On day 13 of my cycle, I got into my car and drove 5 hours to the bustling metropolis of Yorkton and had my 10 minute ultrasound.  Now, I had a decision to make: head back to Winnipeg, with a chance I may have to be in Saskatoon the next day for the IUI procedure, OR continue on to Saskatoon and hope that my body’s cycle would be as consistent as it was last cycle.  So armed with hours of podcasts, off to Saskatoon I went.

About an hour outside of Saskatoon, the clinic called me with the results of my ultrasound.  I barely breathed as I listened to the results.  The good news was that I had two eggs developing!  Woo hoo!  I had somehow transformed into a fertility goddess!  Practically a medical marvel!  The bad news was that the eggs weren’t quite ready to go, and my IUI was scheduled for three days from then.  Sigh.  After almost 8 hours on the road, I did a big ol’ U-turn and headed back from whence I came.

Aside from driving for 16 hours, the IUI went off without a hitch later that week.  I meditated for 10 minutes right after and relaxed, with my feet in the air, for about an hour in my hotel before heading back home to Winnipeg.

I just kept thinking, “third times a charm”.  C’mon body, you got this.  And, if I had two eggs ready to go, how could this not be my chance?

The two week wait, seemed better than the other ones.  It could have been the acupuncture, meditation or maybe just that I was used to the anxiety and knew that increasing stress levels never really helped much.  My wife’s tendency to not worry so much about things you have no control over seems to be wearing off on me.  I was also very unemployed after our recent move, so I was able to rest as much as I wanted and take time for myself.

A couple days before I was due for my pregnancy blood work, I felt the familiar itch to take a pregnancy test.  I had done a pretty good job keeping my anxiety at bay.  I had an extra test from my previous attempts, so I grabbed a cup and headed to the bathroom.  I did the dip and then laid the test on the counter to wait.  I swear time stands completely still as soon as that stick comes in contact with urine.  When I didn’t see that second little line appear instantly I just walked away.

Screw this.  It’s negative again, isn’t it?  Just like last time.  Whatever.  It’s fine.  We’ll try again.  We can still adopt.  I’m infertile. Broken.  I shouldn’t have even checked.

My mind was a whirlwind of negativity and fear.  I had watched so many negative pregnancy tests, turning them to see the result window at different angles, in a different light.  My desire was so strong I felt I would will that little line to appear, but it never did.

I went to the kitchen to do something that I don’t remember.  A couple minutes later, I walked back into the bathroom.  As quickly as I had dismissed the initial results, I felt the urge to know for sure.  The familiar feeling of hopefulness and potential that comes from being at the top of that fertility roller coaster overcame me.

And there was that second line.

It was clear as day.  Vibrantly blue against the white background of the test window.

I was pregnant again.

I’d like to say I was overjoyed.  I’d like to say that I was thrilled and excited and elated.

I mean, I was all of those things, but I also wasn’t at the same time.  I was also scared.  I was nervous and anxious and unsure.  I had been here before.  And it all disappeared in the blink of an eye.  A positive pregnancy test to most people means a baby in nine months.  To me, it meant the beginning of a fragile journey where a happy ending was not always the outcome.

A few days later blood work confirmed I was pregnant and that my hCG levels were rising properly.  I breathed the tiniest breath of relief.  As soon as I confirmed the blood work I set out on my mission to get a midwife.  Even though it felt too early, it’s been my dream to have midwifery care and by-gosh I was going to get it.

I actually was accepted into a midwife’s care in record time!  I called with my information and a day later a midwife was assigned to me.  I had to have some pregnancy karma stored up somewhere in the universe, right?

I was really excited to have a midwife and it made the pregnancy feel a little more real to me.  We had our first appointment at the birth centre in Winnipeg (which is goooorgeous).  Our midwife was warm and friendly and everything I hoped she would be.  We had a nice hour long consultation about health history and our journey thus far.  My wife was a champion and drove direct from her flight training in her flight suit (hot!) to be there for the appointment.  We found out I was due on June 8, 2018.  It felt so far away and so close at the same time.  The next step for me was to get an early ultrasound and hear that precious heartbeat.

Unfortunately, the health care system in Manitoba does not offer early ultrasounds unless there are extenuating circumstances or a need to date a pregnancy.  You’d think that a previous miscarriage would qualify as a reason for an early ultrasound, but nope.  I didn’t qualify.  My midwife offered to fudge things a bit and put me in for an ultrasound for “dating purposes” (even though I practically knew the exact moment of conception), but I might have to wait until I was around 10-12 weeks to get the ultrasound.

I wasn’t willing to wait that long.  I just couldn’t.  This pregnancy already felt so tenuous and delicate that I knew I would lose my mind waiting until almost the end of the first trimester to confirm.  So, back to Saskatoon I went for a 7 week ultrasound at my fertility clinic.

I laid down on the table and the doctor asked me how I was doing.  I said I was morning sick most of the time and very, very nervous.  Her face was kind with the understanding of my history.  In went the ultrasound wand and almost immediately my little baby popped into view on the screen.  My eyes welled up with tears as I heard the doctor measure her heart beat.  A smile spread across my face as the tracing of the 167 beats per minute flowed across the bottom of the monitor.  Baby was measuring perfectly and her heartbeat was strong and fast.


My relief was incredible, though not complete.  This was a huge milestone for us, but we still had a long road ahead.

As soon as I was dressed, I told my wife, family and close circle of friends who have supported me throughout my loss.  I felt so grateful, not only for the support of the amazing people around me, but also for the hope of starting our family.

The first trimester was a strange time for me.  It was a happy time, of course, but it was also tempered with worry and uncertainty.  Pregnancy after loss is a constant conflict of emotions.  I feel trapped between two worlds.  One world where I look forward to having a big belly and planning pre-natal classes and buying baby things.  Meanwhile the other world taunts me with loss and embarrassment and despair.  I want to be happy and hopeful and look to the future, but it’s challenging with the reality of the true miracle of life.  The reality that nothing is guaranteed.  The reality that life is so, so precious and it could be taken away in an instant.

I’m sure you were all hoping for a slightly happier blog, but apparently that’s just not how I roll.  I guess I’m not naive anymore.  Miscarriage steals the magic and the potential of pregnancy.  Every day does get easier.  As I type this, I am 15 weeks and 5 days pregnant, baby is the size of an avocado and I’m already showing off a little baby belly.

Every morning when I get out of bed I look at my belly in the mirror to see if it’s still there, how big it is, how round it is.  I ask my wife constantly if my boobs are still big, to make sure my body still knows that I have a baby on the way (also because they are ridiculously huge now, so it’s kind of funny).  I check baby’s heartbeat every week with a fetal doppler, just to make sure she’s still in there and doing okay.  Until the last little while, I have tried not to refer to myself as pregnant or talk about it too much, in case it all changes.  I add qualifiers to statements about my pregnancy like “as long as everything works out okay” or “we know anything could still happen”, just to save face in advance.  Just last week my wife sang to our baby and I felt like it was barely real.

I’m so happy to be pregnant.  I know how incredibly lucky I am.  I know so many moms and families would give anything to be in my position because I was once in their shoes.  I was the barren mom looking at pregnancy announcements on Facebook and feeling the sharp pang of jealousy.  We are joyful and hopeful.  My joy just has a bittersweet companion, and I’m not sure when that will change.  Maybe it won’t.

For now, I’m trying to be healthy and meditate and enjoy the holiday season.  It’s going to be a bit hard seeing all of our families again because it was when we saw everyone last that we announced our first pregnancy.  I’m trying to step into my pregnancy confidently and connect with my baby.  I booked a Hypnobirthing class today.  I bought some maternity clothes.  I’m still nervous about our upcoming 20 week ultrasound in January, but I’m not letting that worry take over my life.  We are in a good place.

Thank you in advance for the well wishes.  So many of you amazing people are rooting for us and I can’t thank you enough for your kind words and positive messages over the last few months.  I promise more to follow shortly on the trials of the first trimester and our continued fertility journey.

Have a wonderful holiday season.



Moving On From My Big Fat Negative Pregnancy Test


Well, round two didn’t work.

Following my second round of IUI in August, I had such mixed emotions.  I was much more prepared for my second TWW (two week wait, as it is called in the fertility community).  I was sort of excited, sort of nervous, and just generally conflicted as I described in my last post.  But overall, I felt like I had my shit together and was very familiar with the feeling of “waiting”.  So, like a good fertility patient, I waited.

Until I couldn’t wait anymore.

About five days before my blood test, some crazy switch turned on in my brain and I bought a million pregnancy tests. I just had to know.  It was killing me and I wanted so badly to see those double lines, that I tested every day until my blood test was due.

I fell into a really dysfunctional cycle of apathy, followed by intense hope, passionate excitement and finally earth-shattering disappointment.  My days were busy and distracting, but my evenings were quiet without my wife around (she had to go be super cool and fly helicopters in Manitoba) and my mind was left to dwell excessively on whether I was pregnant or not.  Whether I was broken or not.  Whether I could give us the family that we had always wanted…or not.  Every day I begged the universe to throw me a bone.  Hadn’t I been through enough?

Every night I fell asleep with the comfort of knowing I could take another pregnancy test in the morning. I fantasized about how it would feel to call my wife to tell her the good news and how it would feel to hug my mom and show her the positive results.  It was the kind of hope that was dangerous because the stakes were so high.  I taunted myself with visions of joy and perfection, knowing that they might not ever come true.

Every morning I woke up and grabbed my pee cup to dip yet another pregnancy test.  The minute that followed was excruciating.  My brain flicked rapidly back and forth between the two outcomes.  Positive and negative.  Light and dark.  Joy and devastation.  Success or failure.

And every morning, that one stupid single line stared back at me.

When I got the phone call from the fertility clinic with my blood test results, I was out for my last lunch with my co-workers before my move to Winnipeg.  I knew right away from the tone in the nurse’s voice that the result was negative.  Just as I had expected.  I held my tears back, but my lower lip quivered as I asked how I could continue treatments now that I would be an eight hour drive from their clinic in Saskatoon.  The nurse was very accommodating and said that they would work with me in any way they could.

I tried to be strong and not show how upset I was, but I just couldn’t hold back my tears.  I broke down on the way back to the office and had to see the rest of my patients that day with red, swollen eyes and a broken heart.

I cried all the way home, as I had so often on the highway between Regina and Moose Jaw.

After hearing the news, one of my amazing friends in Moose Jaw, texted me to see if I wanted to come over for dinner.  I really wanted to say no and just crawl into bed and hide with all of my sadness and pain.  But I said yes, because I knew how much better I would feel having a compassionate friend by my side during this time.  She made me dinner and we watched The Office and had vegan ice cream.  I was so thankful that I allowed her into my grieving space.  I rarely ask anyone for help or support of any kind, so this was a first for me.  I was embarrassed and imperfect and in my sweat pants and she accepted me just as I was.  When people say you need to surround yourself with a community of friends and family to support you through your fertility struggles, they aren’t kidding.  It’s an absolute life saver.

That night I got my period, like goddamn clockwork.  I had a perfect twenty eight day cycle, probably for the first time in my whole life.  Ovulation on day fourteen, menstruation after day twenty eight.

After a really long sleep, I woke up with a feeling of calm and acceptance.  Don’t get me wrong, I was still crushed and shed a few more tears that day, but I also knew that I had another chance in only two weeks.  I could wait another two weeks.  Just a little bit longer.  One step closer to our dream of having a family.

I called the fertility clinic to let them know about day one of my cycle and the nurse arranged for an ultrasound in Yorkton, SK on day thirteen of my cycle.  That was the closest she could get to Winnipeg.

Hey Katie, why didn’t you just go to the fertility clinic in Winnipeg?  I mean it’s way closer, right?

Excellent question, dear reader.  Turns out the two month wait list that I was told about a couple of months ago when I requested a referral, is actually a nine month wait list.  Yep, you read that right.  Nine. Months.

There was absolutely no way we could wait that long.  Our only option was to continue to go to the clinic in Saskatoon.  Which meant a lot of driving was in my future.

On day thirteen of my cycle, I drove five hours to Yorkton for a ten minute ultrasound.  From there I had a few choices: 1) drive back to Winnipeg, with the chance of having to turn right back around and be in Saskatoon the next day for IUI; 2) stay in Yorkton and do whatever people in Yorkton do for a few hours; or 3) continue to drive to Saskatoon and hope that my current cycle was the same as my last.  I opted to continue my drive to Saskatoon and hoped it was the right call.  I had a lot of podcasts to listen to anyway.

Of course, as my luck would have it, an hour outside of Saskatoon I got a call from the clinic with some good news and some bad news.  The bad news was that my IUI would be in four days, meaning I would have to turn around and drive back to Winnipeg.  The good news was that I had not one, but TWO follicles developing!  I was on top of the world!  I felt like some sort of fertility goddess!  This would potentially double my chances of getting pregnant, with a very small chance of having fraternal twins!

As I did a big ol’ U-turn on the highway and headed back from whence I came, I couldn’t even be mad.  This was excellent news!  I finally felt like I was catching a break.

Three days later, I jumped back in my car and drove eight hours to Saskatoon and treated myself to a nice hotel.  I had a bath and relaxed and meditated.  I set three alarms that night so I wouldn’t miss my early morning appointment.

As I was laying on the procedure table after my IUI, I popped in my headphones and did a ten minute meditation from my Expectful app.  I drove back to the hotel and put my legs up against the wall and was inverted for an hour and focussed all of my attention and energy on my nether regions.  I don’t know of any studies linking being upside down after insemination with successful pregnancy and it’s probably totally in my head.  But there are benefits from that position in the yoga world and it felt right to have a little downtime before my eight hour journey back home.

It’s been almost a week since that IUI appointment and I’m cool as a cucumber.  Next week may be a different story, as we start to close in on my blood test date.  With a bit more distance from my miscarriage, lower stress levels, acupuncture, meditation, yoga, lots of rest and potentially two eggs available, I feel a lot more confidence in my body this round.

“New sperm, new egg, new oppourtunity” is a saying I saw on a fertility message board somewhere along the way, and I really like it.  It makes me feel like I’m not trapped by what has happened to me in the past.  I had a miscarriage, but it doesn’t define what my body is capable of.

Here’s hoping third time is a charm.





Holding on to Hope – My Second Round of IUI


No one in the history of menstruation has been as excited as I was to wake up at 3:00am to go pee and discover that my period had finally come back.  I practically cried looking at the toilet paper and couldn’t fall asleep for an hour afterwards from all my excitement.  It had been 28 long days since my hCG levels were negative and I had stopped bleeding from my miscarriage.  Much like every phase of a fertility journey, it felt like an eternity.  It seemed like for the past couple of weeks my mantra was “any day now, any day now”, trying to live in the moment, but desperate for the future.  Finally, I had some tangible hope of moving forward with this process.  My period meant a new cycle and another opportunity to try and start our family.

The last three months had been so uncertain, I felt like I was taking a back seat to everything that was happening in my body.  Each day felt like it got longer and longer as I waited for my body to get back to normal.  No one could tell me what exactly to expect or a normal timeline of how my miscarriage should be progressing.  My nursing brain understood this, but it was frustrating to experience nonetheless.  Questions about my prognosis were rarely answered with any satisfaction, so I was left to wait and Google on my own.  If I had a dime for every time someone told me “everyone is different”, I’d have enough money to pay for an IVF treatment.

My first period was very normal, though I had some flashbacks to my bleeding episodes from the aftermath of my miscarriage.  It irked me to wear a diva cup and pads again.  After the first dose of misoprostol back in April, I had worn some kind of feminine protection every day for just over two months.  I was not excited to feel the crampy, bloaty, leaky sensations that come with menstruation, but I was so relieved to feel normal again.

Ten days after my period started I went for a follicular tracking ultrasound, to confirm that I had an egg developing.  Last time, I had to have a repeat ultrasound as I didn’t have an egg that was ready.  Much to my surprise I had a follicle (egg) in my left ovary measuring 14 mm and ready to go!  The nurse from the fertility clinic told me that the insemination was scheduled for August 15th and that I had to take my Ovidrel injection 36 hours before the appointment.

I was just vibrating with excitement at the news.  I couldn’t believe everything was finally happening.  It was as though someone had hit the fast forward button on my life.  We would finally have our chance to try for our rainbow baby.

The insemination went off without a hitch.  I drove 4 hours for the 10 minute procedure, but I didn’t care.  It was what I had been waiting for these past three and half months.  I would have driven to the moon and back if it meant getting pregnant again.  I held my legs tightly together as I drove home and propped my hips up for the afternoon.  I also had a couple of orgasms…it couldn’t hurt, right?

And then I started yet another waiting game.

It has been five days since the insemination and I am remarkably calm.  It may help that I am very distracted by our impending move to Winnipeg on September 1st.  My wife has already started her helicopter training in Manitoba, so I get to deal with the final arrangements of packing and cleaning our house.  I am grateful for the list of things to do though, it keeps my mind focussed on the future.

I’m in a weird place where I’m almost sure that I’m pregnant, but I also don’t want to get too excited just yet.  I keep picking up on mild pregnancy symptoms that feel so familiar to me that I could just cry with joy.  Yet at the same time, I’m not sure I fully trust my body after what we’ve been through. I have been strangely exhausted lately (despite sleeping very well), I have very little appetite, and I swear my nipples are a bit bigger and darker than usual (bet you wanted to know about that, hey?).  I’m re-watching Friends (for the millionth time) and I came to the episode when Rachel finds out she’s pregnant and had a good cry fest.  So I think it’s safe to say that my emotions are pretty labile as well.  I keep fantasizing about looking at the pregnancy test I will take in about a week and seeing that magical second line show up.  Then again, maybe I’m just making everything up.  I want so much to be pregnant right now that everything seems like a sign.  I want to believe, but I don’t want to have unrealistic expectations.

Don’t get me wrong, I know how strong a positive mind set is, but I guess my positivity is tempered by my recent trauma.  I had so many hopes and dreams and expectations that blew up in my face over the last few months.  I don’t know if I can go through that again.  At the same time, I know my body is ready for another baby and I’m excited about that.  I want to look forward to the future, but I also want to be okay if it just doesn’t work out this time.  Is it possible to manifest your desires and still be realistic at the same time?

Speaking of manifesting your desires, I have started listening to the “first trimester” meditations on my Expectful app.  Maybe that’s ballsy, but I felt so triumphant when I switched over from the “preparing for conception” setting.  I want to give myself permission to feel like this could be real and if I am pregnant I want to let my little baby know that they are safe and loved.  During my meditations, I sit with my hands around my lower belly and send all of the light and love I can muster down there.  I know that anxiety and worry are only going to work against everything I’m trying to achieve.

I also allowed myself to purchase a couple little baby items.  To be honest, I can’t resist a good sale and I was wandering around the Sears that is closing down here in Moose Jaw.  60% off stuff?! Yes please!  I found a nursing wrap and a little newborn lion toy that was in the colours of our future nursery.  My initial instinct was to feel silly and walk to a different section, but then I caught myself and realized it’s okay for me to be excited.  It’s okay to do a bit of nesting and planning for the future.  God knows, I’ve had enough precious moments ripped away from me, so if buying a little lion toy puts a smile on my face then so be it!

Like I said, I’m in a weird place.

I feel like I’m playing tug-of-war with my future on one end and my past on the other.  Half of me wants to leave behind all of my suffering and think that this time will be completely different.  The other half of me wants to protect my heart from being broken into a million pieces again.  I just finished putting myself back together and while I am so ready to see double lines on that test and deal with morning sickness and puking and uncertainty and fatigue, I also want to be careful.  My future is forever tainted by the experience of my miscarriage.  I feel like I have done a lot of work to shrink my fears and anxieties, and I’ve finally arrived in a place of healing and acceptance.  But that healing will never permanently erase what I have gone through.

I can only hope that this time will be different.



How I Greived My Miscarriage, When I Didn’t Know How

Grief is a strange and awful thing.  It’s not something that can be prepared for in advance, but only presents itself in the moment.  Everyone grieves differently.  Everyone grieves on a different timeline.  There is no “one size fits all” solution, rather it’s a journey that requires reflection, self-compassion and time.  Like many women who have had to endure a loss like this, I found myself in utter shock and disbelief at my circumstances.  All of a sudden, I was the statistic.  I was living any mother’s worst nightmare.

And I had no idea what to do.

I was overwhelmed and sad and confused and angry and exhausted.  Grief was foreign to me.  I didn’t know where to turn or how I was supposed to navigate this tragedy.  I cried and ate too much ice cream and then cried some more. All I wanted to do was sleep.

As the first few weeks passed, I began to get my bearings and adjust to my new life as an unpregnant woman.  I tried to find help with my grieving process, and I quickly discovered that there is not a lot of support for this type of loss, at least not where I live.  I couldn’t find a pregnancy loss support group in Moose Jaw.  The group in Regina had a Facebook page, but did not actually meet in person anymore.  There were some support groups advertised at the fertility clinic in Saskatoon, but I couldn’t drive two hours each way for a meeting.  I also couldn’t find a counsellor in my area that specialized in fertility issues.  The fertility clinic was as supportive as they could be over the phone with weekly check-ins regarding my blood work, but emotional support was not their main job.  I felt lost and alone.

So, like anyone else… I turned to Google.

Much to my disappointment, my search did not reveal the “Ten Easy Steps to Getting Over You Miscarriage” article I was hoping for.  To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I was hoping for.  I guess I just wanted to know that I would be okay.  I guess I just wanted to know if what I was feeling was normal. I just wanted to feel hope again.

 Deep down, I knew if I didn’t find myself going down a path of healing, I was sure to be headed to a dark place.  That’s not to say I needed to fix everything right away, but I needed to find a way to love myself again and somehow accept what had happened to me.

This post is an offering of my findings from my search for healing.  Not all of these ideas will feel right for everyone, nor is this an exhaustive collection of suggestions.  I do not claim to be an expert, but merely wish to share my journey in hopes that it may help another grieving mama.

I find the old adage “time heals all wounds” to be both wildly irritating and incredibly true.  Time was the first step in my journey.  Three months ago when this all began, I could barely think about the present, let alone the future.  I wasn’t ready to move on.  I had to dwell on the past, process my loss and feel the devastating sadness of the death of my baby.  It was uncomfortable and scary, but it had to happen. Only then, could I start stitching myself up and allow scars to form.

The following list describes some of the ways I found to begin to move past the raw grief and honour yourself and your little one.  Below I describe what I did to help my grieving process and find some semblance of peace in my life again.

-Have a funeral or memorial in honor of your baby

-Find or purchase a small symbolic token (jewellery, figurine, art) to honor the memory of your baby

-Create a ritual in which you include the memory of your baby (hanging a special Christmas ornament on the tree each year)

-Write a letter to your baby


-Seek counseling

-Collect items that are symbolic to you and bury them (items purchased for the baby, for example)

-Talk with a trusted friend or family member about your experience

-Find a support group

Not everything on this list will speak to everyone.  I was very drawn to finding a symbolic item that could serve as an outward sign of our baby’s life.  I’m not sure what it was, but I felt if I could have a item to keep with me, it would show the world how much she meant to me.  Shortly after finding out the news, I purchased a citrine stone necklace and have worn it almost everyday since.  Citrine is one of the birth stones for November, which is the month our baby was due.  It is a beautiful stone that is a symbol of abundance.  It honors the love that filled our lives when our little girl was with us.  It also provides an opportunity for me to tell her story, if anyone asks about the lovely stone around my neck.

Meditation was, and continues to be, extremely helpful in coping with this loss.  I found the Expectful app after listening to a podcast and it has been an amazing source of support.  I am not typically an anxious person, but I have experienced a lot of anxiety following my miscarriage.  I both yearn for and fear the future.  I don’t know how my next pregnancy will turn out, or if I can even get pregnant again.  Never mind the fact that I don’t know when this miscarriage will end, as I still having pregnancy hormones in my blood as I type this.  This app provides 10 or 20 minute meditations for every stage of fertility from pre-conception to motherhood.  I highly recommend this app to any new mama or soon-to-be mama.  The soothing music and gentle instructions melt away my stress and remind me that all that matters is now.  I can’t control the future.  I can’t predict what will happen to me.  All I can do is breathe and trust that one day, somehow, I will have the chance to be a mom again.  As frustrating as that is for my control freak, perfectionist personality, it’s exactly what I need to be reminded of.  

Accepting what has happened to me and my little family has been the hardest part of all this.  I will never be thankful that I had a miscarriage.  Babies are never supposed to die.  My miscarriage isn’t part of some big master plan.  It was a tragedy.  I suffered greatly and I didn’t do anything to deserve it.  No one ever does.  But I have found myself in a place where I can have some gratitude for my suffering.  I have felt the anxiety of being a patient, which will help me be a better nurse.  I have learned the preciousness of life.  I have learned that I am strong and resilient, even through the worst of times.  And you can be damn sure I will be grateful for every late night feeding, sticky hand print, grocery store temper tantrum and messy house that is thrown my way. 

While listening to a podcast recently, I was reminded of writing a letter to my baby.  I had been putting this off for a while, as I was so tired of crying and being sad.  It had been 10 weeks since we found out I had miscarried and I thought it was time to find some closure.  There were so many feelings I still had bottled up (my wife will tell you, I’m really good at doing that), and I love writing.  It seemed like the perfect combination to help express all of the emotions I was still keeping inside despite how far I had come.

I was beginning to worry that any unexpressed grief or emotions would come up in full force in my next pregnancy, so I wanted to do everything I could to heal and take care of myself before we tried again.  I had no idea what would happen when I wrote the letter, but I figured it would be a great litmus test for how I was truly feeling.

Sure enough, even before I started writing the tears were flowing.  But my tears this time felt different somehow.  Like more of a release, than a deep pain.  Like a letting go, rather than clinging to the past.  It felt good to express my joy and my sadness.  I wanted her to know how much she was loved and all the unspoken plans we had for her.  As I signed off my letter, I felt a small wave of peace and a gentle settling of my heart.

I was so glad that I decided to write this letter.  It softly healed my heart and allowed me to remenisce the joy we once felt.  I had been so overcome with frustration and dismay over the past few weeks.  Everything seemed unfair, the odds always stacked against me.  I didn’t want to be angry anymore.  I didn’t want to hate my body anymore.  I just wanted to honor and remember my little girl with love and gratitude.

My sweet baby, 

I only knew you for 8 weeks, but if felt like so much longer.  I loved you from the moment you were a gleam in our eyes.  We had so many hopes and dreams and plans for a life with you, filled with laughter and love.  I hope you felt how deeply you were loved in the short time you were here with us.  The day we found out I was pregnant with you was one of my happiest.  The day we found out we lost you, almost broke me.

I’m so sad that we never had the chance to meet you.  I often imagine what your face looked like and how it would feel to hold you skin-to-skin on my chest.  I imagine endless smiles exchanged by your Mama and me as we watched you grow.  I imagine lullabies and late nights trying to figure out your different cries.  Please know I did everything I could to try and hang on to you. 

Thank you for giving me my first glimpse of a mother’s love.  My heart all but burst with the thought of welcoming you into this world.  I hope you felt how loved you were when you were here with us.  I hope you know how loved you are now. 

All my love,   Mommy


The Miscarriage – From Naivety to Reality: Part 3


The two weeks following the misoprostol were difficult to say the least.  I smiled less, I cried often.  I did my best to put on a brave face at work, but on the inside I was broken.  My bleeding was a constant reminder of our loss.  I felt empty.  I was empty.

I had gotten up for work on a Friday morning, almost two weeks after the misoprostol, and felt like I was finally seeing a small light at the end of our hellish tunnel.  I had hardly bled at all the last two days, and I finally felt like I was getting back to “normal”.

That afternoon at work, I felt a sudden gush of blood into my underwear.  I had a diva cup inserted, so I was a little taken aback that I had filled all 30 mL of it and then some.  I carefully made my way to the bathroom to empty the cup and then carried on with my day.  I didn’t think much of it, until an hour later I felt another huge gush of blood.  What the hell was going on?!  I thought this nightmare was coming to an end.

I waddled my way to the bathroom and discovered I had filled my diva cup yet again and bled all the way through my panties and leggings.  I embarrassed and scared.

My clothes were too blood-soaked to put back on.  I still had to see another three patients that day, there was no way I was going to sit at my desk with no panties and blood everywhere.  I tried to maintain my calm, as my mind flicked through the various outcomes and consequences of what was happening.  The nurses at the fertility clinic said that if I soaked a pad an hour, for two consecutive hours, then that was cause for concern.  Maybe the bleeding would slow down and everything would be fine.  I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.  I put my diva cup in and found a bag for my bloody clothes.  I talked to my manager and explained the embarrassing situation.  As I explained to her what happened I started crying and she told me to do whatever I had to do.

I grabbed my purse and walked to my car.  The second I stepped foot out the front door, I felt blood running down both of my legs.

Oh my god.  I couldn’t believe that my miscarriage wasn’t over.  It was only getting worse.  I didn’t think that was even possible.

I sat in my car and broke down.  I had no idea what to do.  I couldn’t go anywhere because I had no panties and blood streaming down my legs.  I didn’t know if I should go to the hospital, but even still I had blood leaking down my legs under my dress.  I would have left a trail of blood behind me and who knows how long I would have to wait.

I called one of my co-workers from inside my car.  I don’t even remember what I said to her, I was just crying and hyperventilating.  She got me an extra pad she had in her purse and a garbage bag to sit on.  I called my wife and she talked to me in the kind and calm voice that she uses when I’m freaking out.  I started to breathe and get my head straight again.  I felt physically fine and I knew I could drive home safely.  I just needed some goddamn panties and a pad and then I could figure out what to do next.

I drove the hour from Regina back to Moose Jaw trying to convince myself that everything was going to be okay.  I pulled into my driveway an as soon as I got up out of the car, blood was leaking out from the pad and running down my legs.  I ran inside to my bathroom and took my diva cup out.  I had filled the diva cup again, completely soaked the pad I was sitting on and there was blood everywhere.  I went into full panic mode, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably on the toilet.  I knew I was bleeding too much.

My poor wife started cleaning up around me and asked if we should go to emergency.  I still couldn’t think straight.  Deep down,  I knew I had lost too much blood that afternoon, but I wanted to check with the fertility clinic before I went into emergency.  Being a nurse, I didn’t want to go to emergency without a good reason.  I got into the shower to wash the blood off my legs.

I called the clinic and the nurse confirmed that I should go to emergency.  I heard some worry in her voice as I told her about how much blood I had lost that afternoon.  We gathered our things and headed to the hospital for my first emergency trip ever.

The emergency room was like everything else in Moose Jaw: small and quiet.  I was thankful for that because as we sat there I started to feel dizzy. A nurse took my vital signs before admitting me.  My pulse was 134.

I had never been a patient before.  After being assigned a room in emergency, I sat at the edge of the bed, adjusting to my surroundings.  Somehow, laying down on the stretcher would have been admitting there was really something wrong.  I was feeling better now that we were at the hospital.  My wife and I talked lightheartedly, to distract ourselves.  My bleeding had slowed quite a bit in the last couple of hours, which was encouraging.  I felt a bit silly for even being there.  Maybe I wouldn’t need a D&C after all.

The doctor on call was actually my family doctor.  It was a relief to see a friendly face.  He said that we would do some blood work and a speculum exam and the decide what to do from there.  My blood work was drawn by an awkward lab tech and we continued to wait, listening to the buzz of the emergency department around us.

My doctor came back in to the room a while later for the speculum exam.  Ugh.  I knew it had to be done, but I was not looking forward to it.  I laid back and scooched to the edge of the bed, with a wedge pillow under my butt.  I made a joke about how many people had been up in my private bits lately that I really didn’t care anymore.  But that was a lie.  I did care.  It was invasive and awful.  I hated it.

The doctor saw what he thought could be blood clots or products of pregnancy, but he wasn’t sure.  He wanted to do an ultrasound to confirm what was going on.

I walked down the hall to the ultrasound room.  The tech did an abdominal ultrasound first.  She said I still had a bit of urine in my bladder and that I should empty it in order to do a transvaginal ultrasound.  Oh great.  My favourite.

I went to the bathroom that was attached to the room and peed.  I stood up to wipe and gushed blood all over the floor.  How much blood could I possibly have left in me?!  I tried my best to wipe up the floor.  I told the tech what happened and apologized profusely.  I was overcome with embarrassment.

The transvaginal ultrasound was bloody and awful.  I felt so exposed and there was nothing I could do about my bleeding.  I just laid there and stared at the ceiling wondering what I did to deserve this.  The tech was very kind and said that it wasn’t my fault when I kept apologizing for bleeding everywhere.  She said she couldn’t tell me anything she saw on the screen and I would have to wait for my doctor to tell me the results.

As I walked back to my room, I felt another gush of blood.  That continued for the next couple of hours as we waited for the results to come back.  I finally resigned myself to laying down on the stretcher.  I felt tired and defeated.  I just wanted some answers.  I just wanted this nightmare to be over.

The doctor came back into the room and shut the doors.  He told me that the ultrasound had shown some retained tissues from the pregnancy.  He said that though my condition was not emergent, it was urgent and that I would need a D&C the next day.  My worst fear was coming true.  I immediately asked if I would be under a general anesthetic and he said that likely I would be.  That made me feel marginally better.  I started to cry for the first time since being admitted.  I had done so well putting on a brave face.  But that all came crashing down when I knew that a D&C was inevitable.

Somehow we managed to sleep a little bit that night and then we headed to the hospital bright and early the next day.  After checking in, I put on a hospital gown.  It was then that I really felt like a patient.  I sensed all of my autonomy and confidence slowly drain out.  I suddenly had so much empathy and respect for patients I had looked after in the past.  I never truly realized how powerless and frustrating it was to be a patient, especially in a hospital setting.  In the whirlwind of crap that I was dealing with, I felt a small pang of gratitude to have had that experience.  The nurse in me knew that this experience would probably make me a better nurse down the road.  Maybe it’s strange to have felt that just from the folds of an uncomfortable, snowflake-patterned hospital gown, but that’s what I felt.

As an aside, who decided that snowflakes were a good pattern for like every hospital gown ever?  Ew.

The gynecologist who was going to do my D&C came in to speak with us regarding the surgery.  His smile was nice, but his eyes and body language said that he didn’t really care all that much.  He wanted to do another ultrasound, as I had bled a considerable amount last night, just to make sure the D&C was still necessary.

Sure enough, the abdominal ultrasound showed small patches of white in my uterus, indicating that there were still tissues present.

As I began to ask him questions about the procedure, I quickly discovered that he had no interest in informed consent.  I asked him when my period could be expected to come back and about the risks of the procedure.  He said he didn’t know when my period would come back and that there were no risks to a D&C.  I asked about Asherman’s Syndrome, which is a rare complication leading to infertility, and he just waved his hand at me dismissively at me saying that it was nothing to worry about.  He also said that I could just as easily take another dose of the pill and not have the D&C at all and that it was up to me.  He left the room for a few minutes to let us decide.

Well, great.

For the umpteenth time in this whole process, I was glad to be a nurse.  I was already decently informed of the risks of a general anesthetic and had done my own research on the D&C procedure.  But I kind of wanted to discuss it with a real live doctor who specialized in gynecology to make sure that I was making a good decision.  Apparently that wasn’t going to happen today.  It’s no wonder people regularly turn to “Dr. Google” and message boards on the internet.  If you get stuck with a doctor who doesn’t care about you, unfortunately you don’t have anywhere else to turn.

My wife and I talked about what we were going to do.  I was really scared of the D&C.. Though it was irrational, I kept having horrible thoughts of never waking up from anesthesia.  Any surgery is risky and I wanted to avoid those risks, if possible.  Still, but clearly the pill did not work for me the first time and I really did not want to go through all of that again.  Again, I was stuck choosing the lesser of two evils.

The gynecologist came back into the room and asked if we had decided because the anesthesiologist was on her way and if we weren’t going with the D&C then she wouldn’t bother coming.  His tone made it very clear that we were at the bottom of his priority list.  Apparently the schedule of the anesthesiologist was more important than this critical decision to have surgery or not.  I looked at my wife and then told him that I would have the surgery.

After an hour and a half wait, I was wheeled to the operating room.  The bright white lights and air of sterility greeted me, reminding me of my scrub nurse days.  All of the staff were women, which made me feel slightly more comfortable.  I walked to the operating room table and laid down as the anesthesiologist started asking me questions.  Through a veil of numbness, I felt the hustle and bustle of nurses attaching cardiac and vital signs monitoring to me.  I thought of all the times I had prepped a patient for surgery and realized how nervous they must have been, as I put a blood pressure cuff and a warm blanket over them.

I looked up at the ceiling covered with fluorescent lights, a sight that was becoming all too familiar to me, and the anesthesiologists face came into view.  Her eyes looked kind and I imagined what her face looked like underneath her mask.  She asked me if this was my first baby.  Hearing the word “baby” made me burst into tears.  Since the miscarriage everyone had referred to the “products of pregnancy”, which while medically useful, is a very dehumanizing term.  It was like everyone just wanted to pretend that my baby was never there.

I hurriedly explained through my tears that I really wanted this baby and that I was a nurse and that this was not how I ever imagined things would turn out.  The anesthesiologist wiped tears from my eyes with the flannel blanket and said that everything was going to be okay.  This happens to a lot of women.  You’ll have another baby, she told me.  I felt so ashamed of how my body had failed.

She announced that she was giving me a dose of midazolam, which I was so grateful for.  Everything got fuzzy and I felt wonderful.  All of my worries were suspended temporarily as I unknowingly drifted off…

The next thing I knew, I was flicking my eyes open in the recovery room.  The lights were dim and I felt the pressure of the cuff on my arm, as my nurse took my vital signs.  She said that my wife was waiting for me at the end of the hall.  I was so thankful to have woken up.  I felt relaxed and a little dizzy.

I dozed off and woke up to my wife coming in to the room.  I was so happy to see her face.  She read to me a little bit, as I slowly had some apple juice and the most amazing piece of toast with peanut butter on it.  Seriously, guys.  That toast was out of this world.

I walked slowly to the bathroom for the obligatory pee before I was able to go home.  I got my discharge instructions and felt like a princess as a porter wheeled me down to the front door.  I hoped that all of the kind staff I encountered was some sort of nursing karma for the compassion and care I’ve shown my patients over the years.  Either way, I was grateful to step into the sunshine and go home.

The next two days were full of sleep, tears, Netflix, cuddles and comfort food.  I was anxious about taking too much time off because I wanted to save my sick time for future fertility appointments.  I wish I could have taken more time off to really process what happened to me.

I let life whisk me away and I kind of left my emotional health in the dust.  I’m dealing with it as best I can now, with meditation and exercise.  Everyday is a little bit better, but if I’m being honest with myself I’m far from being in the clear.  I put on a smile because I’m pretty good at faking being happy, but I know deep down I have some healing to do.  I’ve been more gentle and compassionate towards myself than I ever have been in my life, which is an area in which I’ve been wanting to grow for some time.

People have said to me that everything happens for a reason and that this experience will make me a stronger person.  I’ve been told that it will happen when it’s meant to happen.  I’ve been told to focus on the positive.  I’ve been told that everything has a silver lining if you look hard enough.  But you know what?

Fuck that.

There is nothing good about my baby dying.  There is no positive thinking that will take away the pain of losing her.  I did not need this traumatic experience to become a stronger person.  I was already strong to begin with.






The Miscarriage – From Naivety to Reality: Part 2

After finding out about the miscarriage I sat in the doctor’s office crying, overwhelmed and at a complete loss of what to do.  My initial instinct was to get as far away from any medical technology as possible.  I could not even fathom any type of abortion procedure at that time; it made me sick.  After we had adjusted to our new normal, I realized that I couldn’t wait for the miscarriage to happen naturally.  Being as far along as I was, with my hCG levels as high as they were, it could take weeks for my body to miscarry naturally.  The extra cruelty of a missed miscarriage (as if it could be any more cruel), is that my body thought it was still pregnant.  The pregnancy symptoms I had been experiencing were still in full force.  Morning sickness and exhaustion would be well worth it, if it was for the benefit of my little one growing inside me.  To experience those symptoms knowing that I would never hold my baby was just pure torture.  I had to do something.

After doing some research online and speaking with the nurses at the fertility clinic, we scheduled another ultrasound to be done one week after we had received the terrible news.  If there was no heartbeat and no development at the second ultrasound, we could be sure that the pregnancy was not viable.  As a secondary confirmation, I would also have my hCG levels measured again.  If my hCG had dropped from previous testing then we could be sure of the miscarriage.  There was no way I was ending my pregnancy without full confirmation that it was no longer viable.  I couldn’t live with myself without knowing for sure.

Every time the fertility clinic called to check in, I told them I still felt as pregnant as ever.  I felt so betrayed by my body.  I never had any spotting or bleeding or cramping.  No signs whatsoever of the death that took place.  My baby just slipped quietly away, without me even knowing.

The fertility clinic was such an amazing source of support for me during this time.  Suddenly, the hundreds of dollars of clinic fees seemed totally worth it.  A few days after we found out about the miscarriage I called the nurses to get some more guidance.  I was sitting in my car during my lunch break, as our office walls don’t provide much privacy, and started asking about my options.  I soon broke down into tears.  The nurse was so sweet and understanding.  She listened to me cry and said that it was a terrible thing that was happening to me.  It was the first time someone had said that to me and it felt so validating.  She didn’t try to tell me that everything was okay or that I’d have better luch next time.  It was a terrible thing.

A couple days before the second confirmation ultrasound, I knew I had to figure out what I was going to do if we found out for sure that the pregnancy was not progressing.  We had three options: (1) expectant management (wait and see); (2) medical management with misoprostol to induce abortion; or (3) surgical management with dilation and curettage (D&C).

Each option sounded worst that the last.  I never dreamed that after working so hard to get pregnant, I would have to work even harder to end my pregnancy.

Before I go into how we made our decision, let me say that there is no one-size-fits-all choice for everyone.  Unless there is a medical emergency, there is no “right” answer.  Each option comes with it’s own consequences and each person needs to make a choice that suits them in their circumstances, in conjunction with their health care provider.  I spent hours reading stories about all three options, all with extremely different outcomes.  Reading through the stories of people who have had to deal with miscarriages helped me determine what was important to me, which led me to make the decisions that I did.  My experiences that follow are in no way a substitute for medical advice, nor are they a guide for how every woman should handle a missed miscarriage.  This was just how my story unfolded for me.

Expectant management simply was not an option for me.  I could not imagine weeks of waiting for bleeding to start.  Many women opt for this choice, as they feel it is more natural and doesn’t involve any intervention.  I completely agree and that was my initial reaction to finding out about the miscarriage.  Perhaps if I wasn’t as far along I would have waited.  Based on my hCG levels, it would be weeks before my body figured out that I was no longer pregnant.  The other downside is that there was a risk of infection, as the remaining tissues from the pregnancy would be in my uterus until my body could expel them.  I guess didn’t have the courage to wait it out, and maybe that makes me weak.  I just couldn’t bear it.

The second option of medical management seemed to be the middle ground between an invasive D&C procedure and waiting for the pregnancy to pass naturally.  Using the misoprostol pill, I could have the miscarriage in the comfort of my home (not that there was going to be anything comfortable about it), in my own time and with the support of my wife.  There would have been a day or two of downtime following taking the pill and then we could move on.  The nurses at the fertility clinic said that when the pill works, it works very well for most women.  There is bleeding for 1-2 weeks and then it’s done.  The risks of this option included excessive bleeding, uterine rupture and not fully passing the products of the pregnancy.  If the pill didn’t work, then a D&C would be the next step.

The D&C would have been the fastest way to deal with the miscarriage, but the procedure sounded so awful.  I kept imagining myself, legs wide open on the operating table, vulnerable to the world on the operating table with a doctor digging around in my uterus, scraping out the remains of my pregnancy.  I had horrible visions of only being under conscious sedation (instead of being put totally under) and feeling the pressure and pain of the instrument inside me.  It filled me with such anxiety that it made me cry just to think about it.  I already felt so traumatized by the whole experience, that I wanted to handle the miscarriage quietly, on my own terms.  The risks of a D&C included the usual risks of any surgery (bleeding, infection, anesthetic etc), as well as scarring from the procedure, potentially leading to infertility.  This is known as Asherman’s syndrome, and it is extremely rare, but I didn’t want anything ruining my chances of getting pregnant in the future.

Medical management seemed to be the “best” option for me.

I called the fertility clinic on Friday to request a prescription for misoprostol and a pain killer, to ensure that it was ready for me on Monday after the ultrasound.  If we got the confirmation we were expecting, I couldn’t wait another day for the miscarriage.  I just wanted to move on.  The nurse I spoke to agreed with my decision with gentle encouragement.  The nurses never once told me what to do, but said that whatever I chose would be a good option.  She said that the pill works within a few hours and it was very effective for most women.  I hoped that I fell into that category.

On Monday, our nightmare was confirmed.  My wife and I handled the news in a matter-of-fact way, though our hearts were heavy with sadness.  We were much more prepared for the disappointment.  I don’t think it made anything easier, we just didn’t feel the shock that we had at the last appointment.  We knew the miscarriage had happened, but we wanted confirmation in order to move on.  In addition to the ultrasound showing no progress or heartbeat, my hCG levels had also dropped slightly.  Now we knew for sure.

We went straight to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription.  To make matters worse, the pharmacist could barely look me in the eye when he handed me the misoprostol.  He obviously knew that the medication was for an abortion.  He mumbled something about inserting the pill vaginally and that there would be no side effects because it was a local application.  He didn’t say anything else and awkwardly handed me the bag.  I felt so embarrassed and angry.  I wanted to tell him how much I wanted my baby.  I wanted to scream at him that I never wanted this to happen and that he should act like a professional and give me the information that I needed without judgement.  No side effects?!  How about bleeding excessively or uterine rupture?  How about intense nausea and diarrhea?!  He also told me only to take the T3s if I had pain, as if I was planning on going home and getting high on codeine. I was so upset.  After such a painstaking and devastating decision, to be treated with such disrespect was a slap in the face.

I tried to brush off the negative encounter and hoped that I was maybe just particularly sensitive given my present circumstances.  My wife and I picked up grapefruit juice, a McCain’s chocolate cake and some ice cream.  I knew emotionally eating is really counter-productive.  Given what I was about to go through, I really didn’t care.

At home, I nervously unpackaged the misoprostol and, like a good nurse, carefully read all of the instructions and side effects.  Contrary to what the incompetent pharmacist had said, there were side effects even when the pill was inserted vaginally.  I inserted the 800 mcg dose, which was 4 tablets total.  The tablets were uncoated and awkward to insert.  The medication is actually for stomach ulcers, with an off-label use for inducing abortion early in pregnancy and inducing labour.  The nurse at the fertility clinic told me sometimes it only takes an hour for the pills to work.  I put on a pad and anxiously awaited the effects.  My wife and I got into bed, and started watching Voyager (I may be a bit of a Trekkie) and had some cake.  I was so glad to have her there with me.  I couldn’t imagine going through it alone.

Five hours later I began cramping.  It was worse than any menstrual cramps I have had.  I read that the sensation is very similar to contractions, so I tried to breathe through them, imagining that they were practice for labour later on down the road.  I was glad I had taken a T3 and an ibuprofen earlier.  The cramps were so bad I was just moaning and breathing, lying on my side, hoping they would be over soon.  Then the cramps subsided a bit and I was slammed with a huge wave of nausea.  I jumped out of bed and almost missed the toilet.  I vomited violently five or six times while my wife rubbed my back and held my hair.  No side effects, my ass.

The nausea retreated as quickly as it had come on and I was back in bed dealing with the tail end of my cramps.  The cramps only lasted an hour, thank goodness, but I had not actually bled yet.  It was very late at night, since I was not expecting the misoprostol to take so long to work, and I ended up drifting off to sleep.  In retrospect, this was probably a little bit dangerous as I could have bleed excessively in my sleep.  I woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom.  As soon as I stood up, blood was running down my legs.  I had completely soaked the pad I was wearing and could feel clots and blood passing as I sat on the toilet.

I was both relieved and totally heartbroken.  As I was getting back into bed, I remembered that some women had kept the tissues they passed to bury them.  I felt like I was a terrible mother for not showing more respect for the life inside me.  But I didn’t know what else to do.  I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

I was so emotionally drained.  I hoped everything would seem better in the morning, but I knew it was probably going to be worse.

I rested for the next two days at home, which I felt guilty about because I needed to save my sick time for the next round of IUI.  But I was exhausted and depressed and still having frequent outbursts of tears.  I was also still bleeding quite a bit and I really didn’t feel like I could deal with that at work.  I watched Netflix and my wife brought me cake when I asked for it and we cuddled.  We did the best we could to grieve and comfort each other.

During those two days, we also received a lot of support from our close friends and family who knew about the pregnancy.  Every text, Facebook message and phone call was so very appreciated.  One of my amazing friends back home sent us a wonderful care package with a vegan cookbook and a kilogram of gummy bears.  You can bet I ate every single one of them in less than a week.  I understand why people want to keep pregnancy and miscarriage private.  At the same time, having all of the support of our friends and family made everything so much more bearable.  Every time someone asked me how I was doing, it allowed me to process and express my grief.  Don’t get me wrong, it hurt like hell.  But I think it was better than hiding all of that hurt in my heart.


As I said in my last post, the misoprostol did not work for me and I ended up bleeding so much that I soaked through my clothes at work two weeks after taking it.  This resulted in a trip to emergency and a D&C procedure, the details of which will be in my next post.

Despite my initial pangs of regret for telling everyone that we were pregnant, I now am so thankful that we don’t have to hide the pain we are experiencing.  Countless friends and family members have reached out to us, offering condolences, compassion and care packages, for which we are so incredibly grateful.  Knowing that we are not alone has made this dark time in our lives a little bit brighter.  Thank you for reading and for being a part of our journey.





The Miscarriage – From Naivety to Reality: Part 1

Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it.  We had a miscarriage.

I was diagnosed with a missed miscarriage at 8 weeks 5 days, and after confirming the diagnosis I had a medical abortion with misoprostol (brand name Cytotec) at 9 weeks 5 days.  After two weeks of bleeding from the medication, I started bleeding extremely heavily and was advised to go into emergency.  After some tests and an ultrasound it was determined that I had retained some products of the pregnancy and had to undergo a dilation and curettage procedure (D&C).

Needless to say, these last two weeks have been hell for me and my wife.  It’s hard to remember back to the days following that positive pregnancy test.  All of the joy and excitement we had when we found out we were pregnant is such a stark contrast to the devastation we feel now.  It feels like I was living a different life.


I found out I was pregnant on my birthday and it was the best gift I could have received.  I could hardly believe that it had worked the first time!  It was a dream come true.  Sounds like the beginning of a picture perfect movie, right?  That’s what I thought too.

Truth be told, I actually had an inkling that I was pregnant the day before my birthday.  The two week wait was killing me and I really wanted to be prepared for the news from the fertility clinic.  At exactly two weeks, I was to go have blood work done to check my hCG levels (the pregnancy hormone) and then the fertility clinic would call me the same day with the results.  I decided to take a Clear Blue pregnancy test the night before the blood work, just to see what would happen.

I peed into a cup (much easier than trying to aim for the stick!), dipped the stick, sat on my bathroom floor, and started my timer.

The indicator window was blank for the first couple of minutes.  Of course.  It’s exactly what I thought.  It didn’t work, I’m broken, we’re gonna have to shell out another $2000 next month to do this all over again.  Ugh.  Nonetheless, I continued to stare and stare and stare at the stupid window right until my timer went off.  All of a sudden, the faintest, palest, shadow of a second blue line started to appear.  I stared at that silly pregnancy test from every angle, in every light, straining my eyes to make sure what I was seeing was correct.  I could hardly believe what was happening.

I was pregnant.

My cute Pinterest-y plans of telling my wife the good news quickly went out the window as I yelled her name from the bathroom and started freaking out.  When she came in, I was still sitting on the bathroom floor, next to my pee, waving the pregnancy test in the air like a crazy person and I kept asking her, “Is this real?!  What if this is REAL?!”.  It was all very romantic.

As an aside…who are these amazing women who set up adorable photo shoots and blindfolded taste tests to surprise their partners with their big news?!  I couldn’t imagine holding on to such exciting information long enough to plan something so delightfully elaborate.  My original plan was to give my wife a set of baby Converse shoes (so cute!) when I told her that we were pregnant (which I had wrapped and stored in my underwear drawer for the last couple months, because I’m a planner like that).  She loves Converse, it’s the only shoe she wears other than combat boots.  She even wore them at our wedding!  How cute would that have been?  I had imagined it all perfectly, and after I told her the precious news we would embrace and smile and be filled with joy.  Rainbows would shoot from the ceiling and doves would fly gracefully down from the heavens to mark our celebratory moment.

Yeah, that didn’t happen.  Like, at all.

The next day, after the blood test, I watched my phone obsessively waiting for the actual confirmation from the fertility clinic that the pregnancy test was positive.  I was secretly very excited, but I also wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a false positive.  I watched and waited, and watched and waited some more.  Unfortunately, despite leaving a voicemail for the clinic, no one got back to me with the results that day.  It was pretty frustrating, but I decided I would just take another pregnancy test (or two!) and get confirmation myself that evening.  I picked up a First Response dual pack (way better than Clear Blue, in my opinion) with a digital test and a line test.

The second I got home, my pants were off and I went straight to the bathroom with a cup.  I waited anxiously, but it didn’t take long for a very clear “Yes +” to show up on the digital strip and the brightest, clearest pink vertical lines to show up on the other strip.

Okay, I really am pregnant!!!

I could hardly contain my excitement and we immediately contacted our parents with the great news.  This was really happening.

I was just glowing for the next few days.  My heart was full and I felt incredibly blessed to have had our IUI work the first time around.  I think I was also equally shocked that it had actually worked the first time around.  I’m sure a lot of other couples weren’t so lucky.  I received a call from the clinic, that my hCG levels were excellent.  I had to go for a second set of blood work 2 days after, just to ensure that the levels were rising appropriately, as hCG should double every second day at the beginning of a pregnancy.

My second set of hCG levels were sky high and I was starting to feel all of the lovely first trimester symptoms.  My boobs were gigantic and I could smell EVERYTHING.  I felt like a superhero.  For anyone who knows me, I definitely do not need help in the bosom department, but it was nice to feel the changes in my body.  It made everything feel so real.

Around 5 weeks is when things really started to get fun.  I started having the worst morning sickness, that quickly upgraded to all day sickness.  I was exhausted and I hated all food.  Seriously.  I tried all the standard remedies for morning sickness like soda crackers and ginger ale, but nothing really helped.  I couldn’t imagine eating anything, but at the same time I was starving and having food in my stomach really settled the nausea.  As you can imagine, I was pretty miserable, but also knew that all of the symptoms were a constant reminder of the life growing inside me.

At 7 weeks and 1 day, we had our first ultrasound scheduled.  We had the familiar drive up to Saskatoon, but I was over the moon that we were about to see our little (very little) baby.  My wife and I chatted about the future and continued our plans that had been brewing for our little family since we received the news.  I was so excited to see our baby and maybe even hear a heartbeat!

In the clinic, I laid down on the table for a transvaginal ultrasound.  That early in the pregnancy, a transvaginal ultrasound is much more accurate than an abdominal ultrasound.  Within a few seconds our doctor found our little tiny baby.  He or she was really in there!  My heart just about burst with love for this tiny being that was only the size of a strawberry.  I asked if we could hear a heartbeat too, but the doctor said that she was having some difficulty finding it, but that it was probably nothing to worry about.

After the ultrasound, we had a brief consultation in her office.  Our doctor said all of the measurements looked excellent and right on track for how far along I was, but that the lack of a measurable heartbeat was “mildly concerning”.

My heart dropped.

Those were the last words we wanted to hear and though I was trying to focus on the positives, I was devastated.  What happened to our picture perfect movie?  I was supposed to see our little baby, hear their precious little heartbeat, smile loving into my wife’s eyes, glistening with tears and feel a deep sense of joy at the life being created inside me.

Instead, I felt scared and disappointed and cheated.

All of the wind was taken from my sails and we had a pretty quiet drive back home.  We had another ultrasound booked in a week, to confirm that everything was okay.  It was slightly early to hear a heartbeat, so I clung on to the fact that the measurements were good and we saw little flutters of movement on the ultrasound screen.  Maybe everything will be okay after all.

With the Easter weekend quickly approaching, we decided that we would go ahead with our plans to tell our family.  We don’t see everyone back home very often and we really wanted the chance to tell our loved ones in person.  Even though I knew miscarriage was a possibility, I just couldn’t believe that it would ever happen to me.

Miscarriage is one of those things that happens to other women.  Friends of friends.  The fertility nurse who did my IUI just had to look at me and I got pregnant.  Clearly, my body was ready to make a baby.  I wasn’t in a high risk group.  I was only 29 years old.  I had taken my pre-natal vitamin for three months before trying.  I slept well, exercised, went to yoga regularly.  We had minimal processed foods, tons of fruits and veggies.  I had cut out caffeine and alcohol long before our first IUI.  I had switched all of my cleaning and personal products to brands that did not contain phthalates and all of those other nasty chemicals that aren’t recommended during pregnancy.  I made my own deodorant, for god’s sake.

I had done everything right.  But I guess it wasn’t enough.

On Easter Monday, we drove back from Edmonton and stopped in Saskatoon for our follow-up ultrasound.  We were cautiously optimistic.

I laid down on the table for the trans-vaginal ultrasound and immediately my eyes were glued to the ultrasound screen for any sign of our little baby.  I still felt so very pregnant.  The doctor scanned and scanned and kept doing sweeps of my uterus.  The doctor was very quiet.  Deep down I knew that something was wrong. I felt my wife’s hand on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry.  I don’t see anything.”

“What do you mean?” I said, knowing what she meant, but refusing to believe it.

“I just don’t see anything.  Last time there was a fetal pole and now I can’t see anything.  I’m so sorry.”

She removed the ultrasound wand and I sat up.  She said she would meet us in her office down the hall.  I turned to my wife and said, “I guess this is why people don’t tell early” and burst into tears.

I felt ill. I could hear the blood pumping through my ears.  My throat hurt so much from holding back a flood of tears.  I just wanted to break down, but there were other patients around in the office, so I tried to keep my composure.

As we sat down in the doctor’s office, the first thing she said was that it wasn’t my fault.  That should have made me feel better, but it didn’t.  I was devastated.  I felt like everything was my fault.  How could it not be?

She presented our options.  I felt bad for her.  I’m sure this was one of the worst parts of her job.  I was only half listening, trying to process how our lives and future plans had just shattered all around us.  In that moment, I couldn’t imagine any sort of abortion procedure.  I said we would just wait for the miscarriage to happen naturally.  She said it may take a week or two.  I couldn’t think.

My wife drove home and I cried.  I couldn’t think of what to do except to start telling my close friends and family that we had miscarried.  I couldn’t speak.  I didn’t want to call anyone or answer the phone.  I just texted through my tears.

I miscarried.

I found out I had a miscarriage.

I just found out I miscarried.

Every time I typed that word, it looked more strange, as words do when you stare at them too long.  I think it helped me accept what was happening, in some small way.  With every person I delivered the news to, I felt another piece of my heart break.

I felt a deep shame and embarrassment.  Like I had let everyone down.  Everyone was so excited for us.  We had a trunk full of baby gifts already.  A bassinet, blankets, little toys, a diaper bag.  I felt stupid for having those things.  How foolish to start planning so early, when I knew full well this was a possibility.  I still haven’t taken those things out of my trunk.  I can’t.

I immediately understood why people choose not to tell anyone they are pregnant until the first trimester is over.  In that moment, I wished we had done the same.

When we finally got home, my wife and I collapsed onto our bed a cried together for a while.  I was upset that she hadn’t shown much emotion, as she was trying to hold it together for us, but as soon as she started crying I wished she would stop.  Her tears made this nightmare real.  Her sadness broke my heart almost as much as losing our baby did.  We held each other for a while and eventually the tears stopped.


The following week was a confusing mess of hope and devastation.  As I regained my critical thinking and started to adjust to our new circumstances, I explored the options for handling the miscarriage.  My initial idea of allowing the miscarriage to happen naturally, was seeming more traumatic by the day.  With my hCG levels as high as they were and the pregnancy as far along as it was, it could take weeks to miscarry naturally.  I’m pretty tough, but I’m not that tough.  I couldn’t imagine dealing with all the pregnancy symptoms (which were still in full force at this time) and just waiting day after day for bleeding to start.

My other options were to take a pill to induce the miscarriage or to elect for a surgical dilation and curettage procedure where they remove the pregnancy products and lining of the uterus.  Both options sounded awful, but not as awful as waiting for endless weeks for the miscarriage to happen naturally.

In my next post, I will write about the next steps we took with our miscarriage.  There are no easy decisions and no “one size fits all” approach when it comes to a miscarriage.  I will go into detail about how we came to our decision and the resulting events, but I don’t think I can handle much more crying today.

My hope is that my writing here may provide some comfort for women and couples who are dealing with the same experience.  I personally found a lot of comfort in reading the various miscarriage discussion pages and threads out there, so I hope to return the favour.  I have found that it helps knowing that you are not alone.

I also hope that reading my experiences here will be a reminder that although pregnancy can be a very joyous time, it can also be very traumatic.  I think it’s important to remember that everyone has a story.


This was our first ultrasound.  The little blip between the green crosses was our baby at 7 weeks 1 day.  At the appointment, I remember making the ultrasound joke from that Friend’s episode, when Rachel couldn’t see her baby on the ultrasound screen.  But I definitely saw her.  And I loved her.  And I was already imagining a life with her.  I know she was very small and brand new, but for a few weeks I was her mom.





The Other Other Mommy – An Interview with my Wife

This week we have a special guest blogger: my lovely wife!  I thought I had shared (over-shared?) a lot from my perspective, and that it would be interesting to hear from my other half!  Without further ado, here’s Larissa’s thoughts on our fertility journey thus far.  Enjoy!


The process of waiting to find out if Katie was pregnant, or if we would go through the whole process again, and worrying if we should invest in another couple units of sperm so that they would arrive in time for a third cycle…was not fun. But a necessary part of any fertility journey. I think I was being more patient than Katie. While we waited, thoughts meandered around my mind that I have had many times before. What will our baby be like? Will they be more like me or more like my wife? Will the baby look enough like me or will people know right away that I have no biological connection to the kid? Will people think I’m the Auntie or the Nanny? … These thoughts stubbornly hummed in my mind while we waited to two long weeks to discover what our future held.

Being a same-sex couple offered a unique opportunity that few couples have; we got to choose which one of us would carry the child. This was an easy decision for us and the obvious choice was Katie. We briefly considered the interruption that pregnancy would have on our respective careers and salaries, as well as potential for fertility complications. In the end those factors didn’t make much difference for us. What mattered more was our personalities. My motivation to experience pregnancy and childbirth is pretty low (a rare miss for evolution). I am so much more excited about raising the kid. Luckily, Katie is ecstatic about the idea of growing a human. She shows her excitement heart-on-her-sleeve style though is often concerned that I am not excited about our potential baby because I don’t do the same. But I am excited. I am excited about all the moments we will get to experience together. I am excited about all the things that I get to teach him or her and all the things that he or she will teach me. I am also confident that, although I won’t have an instant connection to the kid as strong as my wife, my connection will grow over time. My confidence is tempered with quiet fear and doubt. I am sure most new parents have these types of worries . Though, unlike  most parents, my uncertainties primarily stem from me being the other-other-mommy: the fact that I am not the bio-mom.

Otherness is not new to me. I have always been interested in activities and fields that don’t attract many women (like engineering and flying planes). Also, as one of four girls in my family, I often strayed from the beaten path by having drastically different interests, hobbies, and jobs than my sisters. Being the “other” doesn’t regularly bother me (I would have had a hard time being the sole woman a lot of engineering classes if it did). But I am finding that it is cropping up in some interesting ways on our journey.

The first time that I felt like the “other parent” was when we asked how I would become the child’s legal parent. This is something that most couples do not have to think about. And to be fair, our process will be basically the same as any other couple who has a kid. There is just something that irks me about having to fill out the “Father/ Co-Parent” portion of the birth certificate. It makes me feel like I am lying on the form because I am not the father. Or it makes me feel like I am not a valid parent by myself; I can only be a co-parent. Why can’t there be two “Mother” parts on the birth certificate? Okay, maybe that would cause more confusion than it would be worth. But I am sure that this won’t be the last time a form presents this problem and we will continue to adapt to a world that is catching up to change.

Speaking of breaking the mold, eventually our kid will realize that having two moms is not the norm. They may start to wonder who their biological dad is. They may be satisfied with a quick answer about a nice guy who decided to donate some sperm or they might want to know more about who the person is. The logical part of my mind understands this fundamental drive to find one’s origins. The emotional part of my mind lashes back with the thought that my child’s questions of their father will only be present if I am inadequate as a parent. I know from my relationship with my own father that biological connection means very little without presence and time spent. Therefore, I know how ridiculous my insecurity is, and yet it persists. I imagine this is how step-parents or adoptive parents may feel.

The last major thing I was concerned about was what our kid would call each of us. Obviously this was the most important, very urgent matter and MUST be decided months before the kid is born…right? It may seem like a silly thing to worry about, but once again, I felt as though I was the leftover. As the biological mom, everyone would know Katie was The Mom. The doctors and nurses at appointments, anyone who sees her baby bump, everyone at the delivery, anyone who notices Katie feeding the baby, will all know that she is MOM. Who will they think I am? Unlike Katie, society doesn’t automatically label me. After some discussion we decided that I will be known as “Mama”. The name that is far enough from Mom that we will be able to understand who our kid is asking for even as they are learning to speak, but close enough to fulfill my need for normalcy.

Otherness and normalcy are neither good nor bad unto themselves. Being traditional and “normal” allows us to follow the unspoken etiquette of society and allows for easier information processing through assumptions. Otherness creates conditions that can spark creativity and can grow empathy. Katie has and will describe the exciting and fulfilling parts of our shared journey. This post described the part of my experience that differs from Katie’s. I know that these doubts are not totally founded, and they are probably parallel to the challenges faced by many other step-parents and non-birthing parents (read: Dads). At the end of the day, I know that what really makes a parent, is time, attention, and above all, love. We may be somewhat “other” but it doesn’t change the immense love we have for our kid.



The Pregnancy Test Wait – The Longest 14 Days Ever

I took it easy for the first couple of days after our insemination.  I really wasn’t sure how to feel.  Part of me wanted to be so sure that it had worked and that positive thinking could only increase my chances of pregnancy.  Another part of me wanted to assume that it had not worked and start getting ready for my next cycle to try again, to avoid a massive disappointment.  To the world, I was calm and cautious.  I was constantly telling my wife that it probably didn’t work, but really, truly, deep down I knew I was fooling myself and that every fibre of my being wanted to believe that it had worked.  It was a confusing time, to say the least.

Every time I was hungry or tired, I would think that it was an early sign of pregnancy and get a boost of excitement and joy.  And then I would immediately get a wave of sadness because I knew I was just trying to convince myself desperately that it had worked.  And then the next minute, I was telling myself that it HAD to have worked, I was so healthy and everything was so perfectly timed.  One of those 40 million sperm just had to have found their way around my uterus.  They just had to.  I wanted to try and get off the fertility emotional roller coaster as much as possible, but unfortunately it was pretty unavoidable.

Distraction became an excellent tool for me during these two weeks, and I focussed on the things that I could control: taking my pre-natal vitamins, eating healthily, going to yoga and trying to decrease the harmful chemicals in my environment in preparation for a potential pregnancy.

I had been taking my pre-natal vitamin (along with vitamin D, vitamin C, magnesium and evening primrose)  pretty religiously since Christmas, as I have read that it’s a lot more effective if you start before you’re actually pregnant.  A baby develops it’s neural tube during the first four weeks of pregnancy!  It is so amazing to me that something so critical is being formed so early in life..  This little ball of cells that is the size of a poppy seed is just laying the foundation for a human brain and spinal cord.  No big deal.

In addition to my pre-natal vitamin, I also decided to adopt a plant-based diet for my pregnancy.  I have been vegetarian for a long time now, but I have been noticing sensitivities to dairy products and I have been hearing that dairy isn’t all that great for us in large quantities anyway.  Of course, diet is something that is very personal, so I’m not advocating one way or the other, but for me switching to a plant-based diet just made sense.  It’s made me add in even more fruit and veggie options and I feel really great.  We’ll see how everything works out with potential pregnancy cravings and such, but pickles are vegan and I’ve found some really amazing vegan ice cream substitutions already, so I think I’m set.

Yoga has been an amazing addition to my life.  I have practiced on and off for many years now and getting back into it recently, has been awesome.  I feel more calm and grounded, not to mention I have killer triceps (well, I think so anyway) from all of those downward facing dogs I have to do.  I am aiming to stay as active as possible throughout my pregnancy, not only for myself, but for the baby as well.  There’s lots of great evidence that exercising while pregnant is not only good for moms, but it’s good for babies as well!

The number of crazy chemicals in our environment is a bit scary.  I hate to use that general term (and I am also aware of the naturalistic fallacy when it comes to “natural”and “organic” products), because there are a lot of chemicals that are completely safe and very useful.  But one need look no further than the BPA madness from a few years ago to see that there are not a lot of safety regulations in place for many home and personal products.  Without being too obsessive (which is definitely easy to do when you start reading product labels) I started to cut down on the obviously harmful cleaning and personal products in my life.  We started purchasing unscented products and made more use of our Norwex cleaning cloths that just use water to clean.  I ditched my deodorant and found an amazing homemade recipe (I told you I’m a huge hippy!) that actually works very well (full disclosure: I sweat a lot, so I can tell you that with a high degree of confidence).  I also have only been purchasing shampoos, lotions and make-up products that are paraben and phthalate free.  In general, as I run out of a product, I just don’t replace it with anything.  I have cut down all of my personal products quite significantly (my wife can gladly attest to this) and just try to use less of everything!  I know that I can’t get rid of every harmful chemical in my environment, but I figure it’s my due diligence to make sure everything is a safe as possible.

I’ve been listening to a great pregnancy and birth podcast (check it out here, if you’re interested) lately that had an expert in pre-natal psychology on for an interview.  Yep, pre-natal psychology.  As in, the psychology of babies still in the womb.  Well, that totally blew my mind.  Of course, I know that babies had brains and some level of consciousness before they emerge into this crazy world, but I never thought that there was an entire field of psychology dedicated to it!  This expert brought up the very interesting point that parenting really starts from the moment you’re pregnant.  He spoke about how important it is to sing to and talk to your baby in the womb, and even mentioned some “games” that you can play with baby when they start really being active.  This really resonated with me and reinforced my efforts to foster a happy, healthy body for my future baby to share.  It was so motivating to think in a small way I was already a mama!  Well, maybe a mama.  I started brainstorming ideas for how to connect with my child before he or she was born and started daydreaming about my wife and I singing our baby to sleep every night.

Aaaand, just like that I was back on the fertility roller coaster.  The two weeks just dragged on and on.  I mentally crossed off each day, counting down until I could go for my blood test and find out if our dream was coming true, or if I should start getting ready for my next cycle.


P.S.-I do not receive any compensation for the above recommendations (let’s face it, I’m not that cool), they are just experiences that I wanted to share from my heart to yours! 🙂