Chapter 6: Baby on the Brain
We took our time to privately grieve and lick our emotional wounds created by the entire pregnancy and miscarriage whirlwind. It was during that painful healing journey when we realized the loss had a hidden blessing. It opened our minds and hearts to the prospect of having a family. We’d been so focused on our educations and careers throughout our relationship that we never stopped to discuss if or when we’d have a family of our own. So, as heartbreaking as it was, the unexpected pregnancy and miscarriage were the catalysts for that conversation.
When Nate and I weren’t actively discussing the prospect of becoming parents, I was mulling it over on my own. I relentlessly questioned whether the spontaneous pregnancy was a sign from the Universe that we were meant to have a child together- or if the miscarriage was a sign that we were not. It was mentally and emotionally taxing, to say the least.
Nate understood why I had such heavy questions weighing on me and was willing to do anything to help us find the answers. One such consideration was to turn to an unexpected source—religion— for help. We’d each walked through life with an inherent skepticism towards organized religion, so neither of us had any spiritual beliefs or practices in place to guide us on this existential journey. However, I felt so conflicted that I lamented over the idea to consult with an array of local religious leaders for clarity’s sake.
Before I ever reached out to local houses of worship, though, I realized there wasn’t a person on Earth who could sufficiently answer my questions. Without faith, I’d doubt any words of wisdom they might offer and likely end up with more questions than answers. Such thoughts caused me to begrudgingly concede to the notion that the answers Nate and I sought were buried somewhere inside of us. We just had to dig deep enough to find them.
My journey inward started with meditation as I desperately craved a clear mind. One void of constant existential scrutiny seemed like the equivalent of an all-expenses paid vacation to an exotic island. But sadly, my rudimentary attempts weren’t nearly as successful as I’d hoped they’d be. It seemed impossible to turn off the compulsive overthinking and quiet my inner voice. I aimed for the sound of crickets chirping in the vast open field of my mind, but instead saw highlight reels of recent suffering. Then I decided to focus my attention on something—anything—instead of aiming for blissful silence. I elected to concentrate on what I wanted in life. At that time, it was simply being free of uncertainty.
With practice I was able to connect with brief moments of clarity and vague direction. They were rare and filled with self-doubt but held enough weight to act as buoys for me to cling to amidst the sea of confusion that otherwise filled my mind.
Those quiet meditative sessions of focused intention quickly evolved into searching for any Divine being willing to listen. Some might call that prayer, but it just felt like desperate longing at the time.
In the weeks following the miscarriage, I meditated many times. Eventually, and when I wasn’t even consciously thinking about babies, I saw an image of a beautiful brown-eyed, brown-haired baby girl in my mind’s eye. I intuitively knew she was my daughter. Her image appeared on numerous occasions, which led me to feel closer and closer to her each time. Her sweet face melted my heart and churned up maternal energies within me, exposing a hidden calling to be fulfilled. It felt as if some sort of God was showing me what was slated to be the next chapter of my life.
When I discussed this possible sign with Nate, he felt it might be a good idea to actively try to get pregnant. I felt the same.
To prepare for pregnancy, we both stopped drinking alcohol and I dealt with any physical maladies by taking natural medicines safe for expectant mothers. I also started a daily regimen of fertility vitamins and a specialty tea touted to increase chances of having a healthy, full-term pregnancy. We even started Nate on some male fertility vitamins to ensure we covered every angle. We agreed we wouldn’t tell anyone that we were trying to start a family until after I was already pregnant. The only person I had for support, aside from Nate, was my closest girlfriend. The thought of sharing our plans too early on made us understandably nervous, but I needed someone in my corner to share the big moments with.
The first month we tracked my cycle and tried to conceive, we succeeded. It felt like a miracle I’d gotten pregnant so quickly. That reassured us we were on the right path with starting a family. It wasn’t long into the pregnancy before I was ravenous for healthy foods and felt like a bloodhound all over again. Knowing there was a loved, wanted baby growing inside me made the nausea and sensitivities to pretty much everything (sounds, smells, food textures, etc.) more manageable.
I was only a few weeks along when we started thinking about baby names again and bought a few articles of maternity and baby clothing to help us embrace the reality of the pregnancy. Those little things brought us great joy and heightened the anticipation of meeting our budding newborn.
…Then I miscarried again. This time there was an explanation, at least— an infection. As physically painful and emotionally devastating as it was, there was some comfort in knowing why our baby was taken from us. That gave us a starting point for our healing.
While nursing our twice broken hearts in private, my mother’s life was turned upside down. A long chain of events caused her to lose her house and nearly everything she had—even her dogs. Thankfully, my uncle was able to adopt one dog into his loving home. But that still left one in need. My mom’s older dog, Polly, had a history of health issues, including separation anxiety, so she needed extra care. Nate and I felt it important to step in, so we decided to bury the gnawing pain of our losses and welcome Polly into our home.
By that point, life had grown foreign to us. Nate and I were grieving our second secret miscarriage and had adopted a sick dog. One of the ways we monitored her health was by taking turns sleeping on the couch next to her dog bed. That went on for three exhausting months before her health took a turn for the worse and we were faced with making the compassionate decision to end her suffering with the help of her veterinarian.
We didn’t realize how truly draining it was caring for Polly until she was no longer with us. The lack of sleep and overall stress of playing nurse, combined with my body’s demands for miscarriage recovery, left me feeling depleted in every possible way. I’d ignored my needs while caring for the family but knew that had to change after Polly’s passing. My body commanded I take a few months to recuperate from the whirlwind of trauma before trying to conceive again.
Since Nate and I knew the cause of the second miscarriage, we felt it emotionally safe to try again after my body healed enough to do so. And once we finally decided to resume our efforts, we agreed we wouldn’t get too attached to any budding babies too quickly.
It only took a month for us to conceive a third time—with twins. We’d spent some time leading up to that pregnancy working through our fears and felt more prepared for parenthood. I had no idea how far we’d come until I realized being pregnant with twins didn’t scare me at all. In fact, I was excited about having two babies. The thought of juggling two of everything—midnight feedings, dirty diapers, teething babies—didn’t even make me flinch. Instead, I felt a stillness. A confidence in my soul that I’d never felt before.
During that pregnancy, it was recommended I use a daily progesterone supplement to help keep the babies growing safely inside me, so I did just that. It was recommended I stay as relaxed and calm as possible, so I limited interactions with my strained family and took time away from publicizing my book. I also declined a job offer for a position that included frequent paid travel to Hawaii so I could dedicate all my energy to our babies. Then Nate and I cancelled all travel plans to limit unnecessary worries and physical stressors. And even though we’d need a bigger house for the four of us, we made the decision to put off moving until after the babies were born just to avoid the stress of buying and selling homes.
I miscarried anyway.
That was the most difficult of the three. Maybe it was because there were two lives lost. Or maybe the prexisting wound in my soul acted as a weak spot where pain could be triggered more easily. I honestly don’t know. I just know that my pain and frustration with the Divine had started to take shape.
About two months later, while we were still grieving the loss of our twins, our other beloved cat passed away. That chipped away at our already broken hearts and caused the growing ache in our souls to become a little wider and a bit deeper. It felt as if the Universe was pulling the rug out from under us inch by inch; everything we’d loved or were striving for had been taken away without explanation.
Over the next year and a half, we lost several more pregnancies and both of our remaining furry family members to old age.
The life we’d once known had been completely replaced by a cold, regimented existence that didn’t bring us any joy. We’d stopped drinking, were hopped up on prenatal supplements and pregnancy-approved foods, and had skipped vacations and anything else deemed too exciting for me and budding baby. Even sex had become less enjoyable as it had been turned into a calculated task instead of a passionate dance with my husband.
Before we’d realized it, over two years of our lives had passed and we literally had nothing to show for it- no babies, no pets, no flourishing career for me, no travel experiences… Nothing. Just pain. We were left feeling completely empty and alone.
But we didn’t give up. We’d lost too much and had experienced too much pain to stop trying for a family. We couldn’t allow all that grief to have been for nothing. So, despite the gnawing heartache, Nate and I continued to try to conceive for over another year. To be totally honest, though, I’m not sure if my sole desire was to have a family by that point. I’ve since come to wonder if I’d merely yearned to succeed at something I’d obviously been failing at. I didn’t see it that way at the time; hindsight proposed the question.