Miscarriage, Friendship, and Clomid

My name is Ashley. I had a miscarriage.

In our super secretive, self-preserving female culture, we often don't say these words. I found myself feeling alone, angry, and not sure how many women have felt the same. Our female culture is shrouded in what we couch as privacy, but is hindering us from life changing honesty in all our female relationships.

During the past year, I have been diving into why I think the way I do about myself, my body, and life. The behaviors and environments we are born into often make internal filters that change our worldviews. This blog is not about that journey. (I could write forever about that.)

The particular lens I want to focus on is child bearing. I come from a family where the women seem to have no trouble getting pregnant, and to be honest, get pregnant at some of the most inopportune times. My newlywed brain just thought, "I won't have a problem. This is a genetic jackpot."

Boy, was I wrong.

I entered my newlywed life on birth control, which for me sent me on emotional roller coasters I've never experienced. (Tip: I'm an INFJ. The rarest, and most emotionally, analytical, and weird personality on the planet. Google it.) Long story short, I stopped using any form of birth control. Risky? Yes. Worth my husband's sanity? 1000 times yes. So, we started sailing the calendar counting method knowing what days to avoid. For 1.5 years, we didn't have anything happen. We always agreed that year 2 would be our year.... then year 3 came...

Nothing.

July 2014. I take a test. (1 month after our year 3 mark) We are pregnant. I was so ecstatic! My ray of light at the end of a frustrating tunnel. We were pregnant. In the span of 1 week and multiple blood tests and ultrasounds, I miscarried. The first words were: This is unfair. You've been trying for so long. I wish you had one at home so this wouldn't be so hard. CLOMID. My doctor was very compassionate, but uttered that word I thought I would never have to hear in my own medical chart.

Manners & Class.
This is a side bar for all you newly pregnant couples. Be mindful of your friends before posting anything to social media or making grand announcements. I was barely 1 month past my miscarriage, emotionally raw and trying to be a trouper for myself and to avoid those awkward "How are you?" conversations.

My dear friend came up to my husband and I (in private!) and let us know her amazing news before sharing with the world. She was so sensitive and caring to our situation that I almost felt guilty for her taking the time. However, it was the best thing in the entire world she could do. My husband and I knew and braced ourselves for the group announcement, and we were ready to congratulate like everyone else.

At 2 months after the miscarriage, we had another friend that did the opposite. The grandeur and lengths they went on social media to tell the world, but they didn't think about us. Their cheerful faces, the cute announcement pics...  That was the first day in my life I truly felt bitterness. I had a physical reaction to the pictures. I gaged. I cried. I ... was infuriated. How unfair? How rude? How little class and grace? No phone call. No text. Just BAM, there it is on social media. Those were harsh words, but they were honest.

Back to Clomid...
I'd heard of it, but that's not supposed to be me. I come from the genetic jackpot, remember? I have always had the hips to carry twins if I wanted.... but my doctor was telling me I had to go through infertility medicine?! Here I am, crying about our first real child not living, and I had to fathom the "other" question. "What if I can't have kids?" My heart couldn't handle that one. The Scarlet O'Hara in me tucked that away until 9/16/14. The night before our first "infertility appointment". My husband was so supportive. He asked me all the right questions before our appointment to make me get my tears out ahead of time.

At the appointment, I tried to be open to discussing it but I gave short 'yes or no' answers and repeated her instructions. I had my prescription, and there was no going back. I was numb, and still trying to figure out how I got to this point. Medicine. I hate medicine. I don't like taking it, and now they are saying I have to take it get our own bundle of joy. This is still hard for me handle.

My closest friends (remember the INFJ thing, seriously applies here) knew I miscarried. I've had a few church ladies say they are praying for me, and 1 friend me b/c she was in the same situation. I began thinking: What if? What if the women spoke out more often about miscarriage, the internal battles we face when we do, and the dreaded infertility appointments?

I am lucky to have a the few ladies I do in my life that have helped me in this process. I can't help but think of the lady that doesn't have a support system. How lonely? How dark?

In the essence of this post, I hope to pose the following applications:
1. Talk openly and honestly about your miscarriage. Be ready to let the hurt out so you can begin healing.
2. Admit your fears, take the steps necessary to fight them, and begin a renewed journey.
3. Pregnancy was not designed to be an "event" to post on your timeline. What did people do before social media? It was shared personally in loving, thoughtful, and caring ways. Think before you click.
4. An intimate, personal act or alternative fertility choice was made to become a family. Guard the announcement like you would those moments. Be thoughtful about your news and how to share it with others.

I hope this helps others going through miscarriages, and that change will begin in our culture. Be open. Be honest. It happens. You're not alone. Be there for others.