Answers

It's been a rough couple of days in our house. Since the loss of our baby in October, we've been playing a lot of the waiting game and asking a lot of questions, trying to figure out what happened. It was looking more and more like a "fluke" and simply a bad placenta, but an appointment this past Tuesday turned up some results.

It turns out, while I was in the hospital, they ran a slew of blood tests on me, checking for many different things. One of these tests was for a condition called antiphospholipid antibody syndrome. It's an autoimmune disease, meaning that my white blood cells, instead of attacking dangerous bacteria, attack my own body. So, the assumption is that they attacked the placenta. This disease is known to cause blood clots and is found often in women who experience multiple miscarriages or late-term miscarriages. Somehow, I've lived 33.5 years without ever knowing I have this, or showing a single symptom until pregnancy.

What this means is that, without treatment, it will be very difficult, if not impossible, for me to carry a baby to full-term. What the treatments consist of would be low-dose aspirin and blood thinner injections from day one of any pregnancies until delivery, and probably a few weeks postpartum. You are talking to a person who has cancelled doctor's appointments because they wanted to draw blood or give me a shot, so this is not great news. I was initially optimistic, thinking that's a small price to pay to have the family I've always dreamed of. And then, I started researching and joining Facebook groups, and Googling, etc. And I'm not feeling terribly awesome about it. There is a chance this won't happen for me. There is a chance I will never have this baby that I have spent my entire life planning for. Every decision I've ever made in my life was to get me to a place where I would fell comfortable bringing a child into the world. And to find out that might not actually happen is beyond devastating. And while this condition isn't a death sentence and certainly doesn't mean a family is impossible, it's not going to be an easy road. I will likely lose more babies. It will be physically and emotionally painful. Due to the nature of the blood thinners, an epidural during delivery may not be possible, as it causes blood clots in the spine and may cause permanent paralysis. One thing is certain: carrying and delivering a child would be dangerous for me. On top of this, I have been told that I can no longer take hormonal contraception due to the risk of blood clots. So, not only is getting pregnant dangerous, but so is preventing it.

I'm scared. I'm incredibly sad. I'm angrier than I've ever been. I'm depressed. But, underneath all of that, I'm still the fighter I've always been. I'm still willing to look for answers. I'm still willing to learn as much about this as I can. I'm still willing to do what I have to do to have my family. And if carrying my own is not in the cards, other options are not off the table. I'm exhausted from being strong all the time. I'm just tired. I want someone else to do it for me, to take the burdens, to take the pain, to take the weight. But, no one else can. I know this journey will be the most difficult thing I've ever had to do, but when I eventually look into the eyes of my child and hold them in my arms for the first time, it will be worth every painful injection, ever single tear that was cried, every broken heart, and every difficult day that was endured to get there. For now, I'm not done being angry. For now, I'm not done feeling sorry for myself and hating those who so easily had a nice, healthy baby without even trying. I'm not done hating people who did nothing to deserve the healthy family they have. But, eventually, something good will come out of this. Until then, I continue gathering information and preparing my body for the next try. And I build a kick-ass medical team to help me someday realize my dream of being a mama.

For those of you who effortlessly built your family, don't take a second for granted. Look at your child and know how lucky they are to exist, how lucky you were to be able to carry them, to hold them, to love them, to bring them into this world. I never, in a million years, imagined this would be my journey, but here I am.