6 is no longer my lucky number

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No longer positive. 5 weeks and 3 days. Our sixth pregnancy is over.

I knew from the very moment I saw that late weak positive there was no hope for the little one. No hope for me. Doomed from the start.

Infertility has played yet another cruel joke on me, spurring me on with progressively stronger positives and symptoms before taking it all away. Allowing my telltale sign–the beautiful buzzing abdominal hum I get each time– to rage, filling me with hope and promise and love. Then to stop it all in an instance. There aren’t many experiences quite as deflating as watching BFPs progressively fade to nothingness.

And now I get to wait for the full sensory experience of my tormented cramping womb screaming out in anger as the sweet pea begins to slip away from inside me. How long I have to wait for that I have no idea.

I have been through this so many times but I still, somehow, relentlessly add up all the things I have done to potentially cause this loss. Someone has got to take the blame. It has got to be me.

And now, cruelly, I am beginning to grasp that I will never ever have a child.

I am a fool for ever thinking this might work one day. Shit eggs + shit womb = no hope in hell. There’s no point in proceeding with egg donation if I can’t nurture a baby in the wasteland that is my womb. And there’s no point in surrogacy if I can’t produce a single decent egg for someone else to carry for me. I will likely never bear a child or contribute to the making of one. I can only contribute to death and loss.

This is me not coping. This is me one inch away from burning down my house, getting on the first flight to Nepal alone with nothing more than my passport, or binge drinking myself into a coma. I’m not sure which one.

As I commuted home last night, conscious of impending trauma, after a week at my new job where I have to be disgustingly ambitious, motivated and keen, no one gave a shit. Why should they. They don’t know my story. I wanted to shout at them all “I AM LOSING MY SIXTH PREGNANCY, BE NICE TO ME!!” but I didn’t. Instead I allowed them to push me and shove me and step on me as they do everyday on my journey home. Instead I listened to my colleagues talk about how drunk they got at a fancy dress party when I was was busy sobbing myself to sleep. My story does not matter to them or to anyone. It only matters to me.

Nothing else matters anymore besides this story. I have no feelings for anything or anyone. I feel empty of everything but hate. I have never felt more alone in all my life. I can’t relate to anyone.

Regret, guilt, rage. I brought this on myself. If we had only started earlier, if we had only not moved across the world at a time when people start having families, if only we had not put ourselves, our ambitions first. We wouldn’t be in this situation. Running out of time, out of options, out of money. It is my fault and I have to face the consequences for the selfish naive decisions of my foolish younger years. Nothing will make me feel differently about these choices. I deserve this punishment.

Today the only thing getting me through my day is the idea of heavily self-medicating as I cry myself to sleep. Dosing up enough in hopes that I sleep through the miscarriage. How I tackle tomorrow I have no idea. Oh what great things I have to look forward to.

103 thoughts on “6 is no longer my lucky number”

  2. I want to hug you and give you a warm drink. I don’t have the right words to type but I will say it’s not your fault. You didn’t work towards this, ask for this or bring it on yourself so it’s not your fault. I’m just so incredibly sad that life is putting you through this. x

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  3. I am so so sorry hun. I promise you aren’t the only one who cares about your story. We’ve never met, I don’t even know what you look like but I do care about your story and I’m so sad that you have to go through this. Sending hugs and a shoulder that has space for a sad head and falling tears x

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  4. I care, and so do others, hun. I have no words to express how very sorry I am. This is not your fault ; this world is just cruel and unfair. I hope you get some peace very very soon xx

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  6. I’m so so sorry for your loss. I wish there was something magical I could say to take your pain away. We are all here and we’re listening. Share if it helps. Hugs x

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  7. My heart breaks for you… I’ve been thinking about you since you saw a positive, I always think about you… Even when you don’t write. I want you to know that we are here, I know it’s not the same as ‘real everyday life’ but I believe these women do want the best for you. I am aware that there is NOTHING I can say to take the hurt away, trust me if it was possible I’d do it without at doubt, but I want you to know that I’m thinking about you… Sending hugs. 😦 Big ‘crying with you’ hugs. I’m so sorry friend.

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      • It was a difficult decision to stop. I still have days where I wonder what if? But it was our life for so long and it didn’t work. You have to know when is when. I knew when subconsciously way before our last IVF cycle. So when it failed and we were trying another one, I couldn’t cope anymore. But I am 40 and I think that helped my decision. Hugs. Here for you

      • I suppose we’d all have those days wondering what if. But I can also see how one day you’d just know it’s time to call it a day. Precariously lingering between the two right now. You are one strong lady, thanks so much for being there. xx

  9. I’m so sorry, this is terrible, heartbreaking news. I agree with the other ladies – it certainly isn’t your fault you are in this situation, and there are lots of people on here who care about you and your story. I just wish non of this was happening to you, it’s so unfair. Thinking of you xxx

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  10. There are just no right words…I’m so disappointed for you and I lament your loss–it’s NOT your fault, because if you had a crystal ball and could see the future then you sure as hell wouldn’t have chosen this. I so wish I could comfort you more babe, please be kind to yourself. *Hugs* XO

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  11. I am so sorry. You are not alone and we all care about you. We are all here for you. Can you take a short term disability or a break for 2-3 months? You desperately need it. Standing by you, if you just want to talk it out give me a shout.

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    • I would love to take time out and have considered it. Financially it’s just not possible right now. Maybe in a few months after we remortgage. Thanks for your support, I’m so appreciative. xx

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  12. My heart is breaking for everything you are going through. Please do not blame yourself for anything- you’ve done nothing wrong. I know there is nothing I can say to help take your pain away, but please know that your story matters to me. You matter to me. Sending lots of hugs your way.

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  13. I am so sorry, but I know those words don’t do justice. There are people out there that do care. Do not think for a second you’re alone. You’re in my thoughts. Xoxo

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  14. My heart is breaking for you but know this is not your fault. You did not cause this. The Bible says that the devil comes to steal, kill and destroy…he is the one who did this. He is trying to steal everything away from you including your hope. Don’t give up. Don’t quit pursuing your dream. Don’t lose hope. I read this quote the other day and I loved it….“Don’t be discouraged. It’s often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock.” ~Anonymous
    It’s never really over until we stop trying.

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  15. Sending huge, healing hugs, bottles of wine, fresh chocolate croissants and fluffy blankets through the interwebs to your doorstep. There are no words, so I won’t try, but please know you’re not alone. In Nepal, or anywhere.

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  16. I would hug you right now if I could. Everyone has already told you things much more eloquently than I can. Embrace the alcohol and the tears and whatever you have to.

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  17. Thinking about you. I have no other words because the pain is unbearable but you do matter and I hope you make it through today. Sometimes that’s all we can focus on. Sending you hugs.

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  18. I am so very sorry to hear about this. You have been through so, so much, but you do not deserve any of it. I hope peace and comfort will find you during this very sad time. I’m thinking of you.

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  19. Oh hon, I’m so so very sorry. There are no words. My heart just aches for you. I wish I could crawl through the screen and give you a big hug and just sit and cry with you. I’m crying here with you. This is so beyond unfair. It’s cruel. It doesn’t make any sense, but please know it is not your fault. You are not alone. Your story matters to me. I echo what others have said. We are all here for you.

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  20. God, its just so incredibly unfair. You so do not deserve this. I wish there was more to do or say to help, but just know you are definitely not alone. Your losses and pain matter to me and everyone else here. Im so incredibly sorry :(.

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  21. Oh honey, I am so, so sorry. You definitely do not deserve this and you did NOTHING that makes this your fault. We all have the right to try and get ahead in life, make a good career and a good home before we try and have a family, that is NOT selfish. No one expects or plans for infertility and recurrent loss and you do not deserve this. You and your story matter to me, matter to all of us in this community, I know you feel alone but we are standing with you and care about you. Please try to be kind to yourself and know that I am thinking of you.

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  22. I have no idea what to say. It’s okay for you to be angry, it’s okay for you to grieve and I expect you to. This is a terrible thing to go through and I just want to hug you. I’m sorry that this happened.. it’s not fair.. life isn’t fair..

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  26. My heart is truly breaking for you. Like the comments above, everyone in this community can relate to what you’re going through. I know you feel alone, and I know how feeling alone feels. You should grieve. Do not let anyone tell you not to grieve. You need to feel it and live it and be consumed by it. Only then will you be able to find your way back.

    I am so, so, sorry to hear your loss. We are all here for you.

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  30. I would like to go to Nepal with you. Let’s go. Let’s get the hell out of whatever this is and just go. Let’s get on a plane together. We could sit side by side and look out the window. We could find a little place to live there. I don’t know what we could do for work, but we’re very smart, and I know we’d eventually figure out something. The dark shroud would eventually lift. Adventures would happen. We’d co-write a book about the experience entitled “Nepal, and What Put Us There,” and it would become a bestseller. We’d get invited to be guests on talk shows and make millions….

    It’s okay to want to escape (telling you what you already know, here, like an ass). It is even okay to blame yourself (ditto). But just want to say, as your friend, I want to protect you with miles upon miles of armor against your self-blame. I don’t want you to hurt any more than you already are. But I understand where it is coming from, having experienced it plenty myself.

    These choices we made—yes, they put you here, at age 37, and they put me here, at age 40. It’s true that we might not necessarily be exactly here if we’d made different choices in the past. Just this morning, I was sobbing to DH that I somehow mismanaged this whole thing, and here I am, suffering the consequences of faulty prioritization. But when I hear you write this about yourself—-I see how wrong you are. I see how wrong we both are. It’s just not that simple. Being a mama has been my #1 priority for a long, long time, for really about 15 years now, it’s just that life got complicated and I had to navigate a bunch of really hard shit and make sane choices (like divorce my first husband at age 34). And so did you. You’re not being punished for making bad choices. You didn’t even make bad choices. You simply navigated the trickiness of life, like anyone else.

    You sweet, sweet girl. I think you are my true soul sister, and I’ve never seen your face or heard your voice. And as I said in my email, you are a mamabear of the blogosphere, helping so many others with your kindness and warmth. You matter deeply to so many. You are an incredibly special woman.

    I, too, am feeling like I will never get to become a mother. I will be 40 in two months, and everyone knows how much harder it is for people in their 40s to adopt (which I am feeling more and more will be our last option, and that that, too, will not happen for us). But when I hear you write that about yourself, I can see that you are so far from finality, in actuality, and it helps me to see that I am far from it, too. Yes, it is entirely possible that we will never become mothers—no one can honestly promise otherwise. But no, that verdict is not set in stone yet, not by a long shot. I’d say we both have several more years before anything actually begins to be final. Time is running out, but it’s not actually out yet. Let’s help each other remember that.

    My fifth pregnancy, I watched those HPT lines fade, just as you are, and waited and waited. Had most of the miscarriage while watching a movie with DH (with many pauses to go to the bathroom, coming back to trusty heating pad). Got my driver’s license photo the next day, and every time I look at it, I see the rage and devastation in my expression. I came home after that to destroy my memorial plant and basically tear apart the house. A real low point, you could say.

    Knowing that you are in that right now, this very moment (!!!)…I feel for you hugely and am thinking about you constantly. Anything goes—breaking things, screaming, drinking, whatever. Chaos is OK. Just promise me you won’t beat yourself up about letting the chaos out.

    I’m out of words. How feeble they are in comparison to what you are experiencing. I can only hope they have helped a tiny bit. You are not alone. Typing over here, on this couch, under this blanket, crying with you.

    LOVE.

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    • Let’s go. I’m ready when you are.

      Thank you for your protection, your warmth, your kindness. It means so much. I have reread your note over and over all week. It’s helped me so much. They all have.

      Faulty prioritisation. I so get that. That’s how I feel too. But thank you for making me see that I can be too hard on myself. Relinquishing the self blame will be a slow and difficult process but I will try. I promise you I will try.

      God I am so thankful to you for your support, for articulating all this. For being able to suss out exactly what I mean, what I feel and how you know what this is like.

      I think I’ve learned something this week from all this: there’s no way I can quit now. I am more determined than ever. I can’t let this go just yet. Thank you for helping to realise that. Time’s not up yet for you or for me.

      So lovely friend, I thank you once again for your overwhelming support and love and strength. So much love to you xx

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  32. I’m just so terribly sorry for your loss – for all this heartache, for the loss of hope. I know this is not a time to offer advice, but I just feel like I need to say/scream that you don’t deserve this! Nobody deserves this – not anybody! And I know that my saying something may not mean anything, but I know in my bones that this is NOT your fault – if you could fix your body, there’s nothing you wouldn’t do to make that happen. We all know that. I fight the guilt all the time too, so I understand – why is it so much easier to know this for someone else? I’m writing this and crying. I wish I could fix it or that I knew what to say. I don’t. Just please know that one more person is out here praying for you.

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  33. Oh my gosh. I am soooo sorry to hear of your loss, I just found your blog and was hoping for great things for you. 😥
    Hugs and thoughts
    Jenine

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  37. Oh lisette. My heart is breaking and agonizing for you and with you. I know that feeling of wanting to go to sleep and never wake up. Honey, this isn’t your fault. No one knows the future; none of us knew years ago that we’d struggle with infertility. If we knew the future, I’m sure we’d all do a LOT of things differently. But we all did the best we knew how. I am so so sorry you are suffering. So many of us care so much for you and are here to help you make it through. There’s nothing to do but grieve right now… No decisions, no plans… Even just surviving is a good goal. We all wish someone we could rescue you from this pain, give you a baby… If only it were that easy, right? Truly, truly praying for you and am ‘with’ you and ‘in’ this with you in spirit. I’ve hung on to this truth and it has helped through my miscarriage- ‘weeping may endure for the night but joys comes in the morning.’ It might be a really long night for us girls, but we have to believe that joy will come. Maybe not today or tomorrow, next week or next month… But someway, somehow it will come. Hang in there, hon. You are strong, brave and resilient. You will make it. Don’t lose hope… It’s not over yet. Sending huge hugs and prayers your way. Xo

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  41. I know that I am new to your blog…but I am so very sorry. The body is a horrible and wonderful thing, and when things are bad, there are no words. Please know that I am rooting for you…for whatever will make things, maybe, better.

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  43. I am so very sorry for your loss. For what it’s worth, I have felt this way, too. I have felt a sickening rage inside of me, particularly after failing IVF with PGD (which is supposed to fucking work). Here come the anecdotes: I have a dear friend who lost 6 pregnancies, unexplained RPL, and ended up succeeding the 7th time. For another friend, it was the 8th time. I lucked out on #5. I felt like giving up, too. While I do understand that not everyone eventually overcomes RPL and goes on to have a take-home-baby, most do. I am so sorry for what you’ve been through,and I wish you peace in deciding your next steps.

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    • Thank you so much for telling me about your struggles and your friends. It helps to stay a bit … hopeful. I’m trying. Don’t think I’m ready to give up just yet. Hearing success stories helps a lot. Thank you so much xx

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  44. Im not even going to say that I understand what you are going through. But I do want to say I am sorry for your loss and what you are going through. You are in my thoughts and prayers.

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    • It’s so shitty Rose, I’d had high hopes I could fill you in with something positive. Not this time it seems. Sigh. Hope you’re keeping well, it’s good to hear from you xx

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      • 😦 You are so so brave going through all this. I’m still holding out hope for you – it seems right to me that you WILL get there, even if the road is long and bumpy. I don’t want to consider it could be any other way. X

      • I’m glad someone’s holding out hope, I really appreciate that. The support of people like you has really helped me through this, I’m so thankful and feel so lucky. xx

  46. Im really sorry for your loss , I am going through the same situation.
    This is my 5th Christmas wishing to pass through the first trimester, but it stopped at 6 weeks 2 days. I send you a Hug and I hope someday you can make your dreams come truth 🙂

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