As told to Kathleen Guthrie Woods
When I read through Theresa’s answers to the Our Stories questionnaire, I cried at my desk. This is what despair sounds like, I thought. And I totally get it, because I remember all too well what it feels like.
My first instinct was to tell her “You’re going to be okay!”, but there’s no guarantee, and that response is not fair to her. Theresa’s pain is raw and real, and this is where she is today.
At the same time, I believe she will get through it. She’s already demonstrating that she’s brave enough (although she may not yet realize how brave she is) to go to that deep, dark, ugly place of grieving, a stage that many of us know must be experienced before we can begin to move on. And I know from reading so many other stories from this wonderfully safe and supportive community that there is a next stage…and a next.
As you read this, if you see yourself in Theresa’s story, I want you to know, You are not alone. If you see a former self in her story, I hope you’ll reach out to Theresa in the Comments to tell her where you are today and offer some hope or encouragement, if you can, or sisterly understanding, if you can’t.
In any case, please be gentle with yourself today.
LWB: Describe your dream of motherhood.
Theresa: Shattered.
LWB: Are you childfree by choice, chance, or circumstance?
Theresa: Not by choice. I waited, wanting everything to be right. Was told by a gynecologist that it’d be “difficult” for me to conceive naturally. At 39, and never having gotten pregnant naturally, I decided I needed to come to terms with it and thought I had. Nope. At 44, I found myself pregnant. A miracle!!! Doctors were shocked. I was speechless and over the moon. Testing and questionnaires done, on the prenatal vitamins…but at the ultrasound appointment two weeks later, they saw nothing. The doctors took blood and informed me I would miscarry and the baby was no longer viable.
I don’t understand! Then the doctor started probing into my medical history: Had I ever been pregnant or miscarried? NO. Had I ever received a transfusion? NO. Yet here I am with O- blood and anti-Jk(a) antibodies already somehow “sensitized”.
I couldn’t even miscarry properly; I was issued the morning after pill to “flush it out”. “It”?? You mean my dreams? Yes, those.
My ob-gyn says my partner is Rh+ and my already-sensitized blood turned on my dream and terminated the baby. The doctor says I should never even attempt to get pregnant anymore because the rate of miscarriage increases with each, and IF I was “somehow able to carry to term, the baby would either be born with blue baby syndrome, severe deficit, or stillborn.”
It has been two years of heavy medications for anxiety/depression and PTSD, and I’m no closer to coming to terms with this than day one.
LWB: How do you answer “Do you have kids?”
Theresa: I quickly change the subject before the surface is scratched and I begin to tear up without control.
LWB: Where are you on your journey now?
Theresa: Broken.
LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Theresa: Living.
LWB: What is your hope for yourself this coming year?
Theresa: Somehow finding some acceptance.
Won’t you share your story with us? The act of answering the questions itself can be very healing, plus we’d like to support you by telling you “You are not alone.” Please visit the Our Stories page to get more information and the questionnaire.
Kathleen Guthrie Woods is mostly at peace with her childlessness.
Dear Theresa – I am so, so sorry. I don’t know how to say what I want to say in words – nothing can fill the hole and feeling rock bottom now and even for 2 years is still early days in terms of grief. I felt similar to you 3 years ago. Mostly what helped me was visiting LWB and reading the feelings of others and seeing what you feel at any stage (anger, despair, sadness) is all normal and part of the grief of your loss. Whatever you feel at any given time mustn’t be denied (I would feel bad if I felt anger some days – of course we are angry, its unfair). Whenever I felt like crying – I did cry (sometimes making it to the ladies in time to cry in there for 10 mins at work). I think wanting acceptance of what’s happened and what you have been told is a lot to ask and adds to your pressures – perhaps try working towards accepting how you feel and being OK with that. Its a life changing loss – its so hard, especially when the people around you may be completely unaware. We understand here and I’m thinking of you.
Thank you all.
“LWB: What’s the hardest part for you about not having children?
Theresa: Living.”
Theresa, you are so right here. Not having children affects our whole lives, even if certain things might be a bigger loss than others.
I’m sorry for what you have had to go through and that you feel so sad.
I trust it will get better, but it doesn’t happen by itself, it’s hard work, mostly so because one has no idea how to make the unbearable easier to bear but one still have to try.
Teresa, I don’t know what you went through or how you felt, and that was something I wish someone had told me, instead of “I know how you feel” or it will work out. I do know this, the pain is raw and there are days of sobbing crying, anger, guilt, confusion, and the feeling of not understanding wtf just happened to the life I thought I would have. I am so sorry for all you have been through. It’s been 11 years since my last two failed IVF treatments and all the other bad stuff before. I love my life, husband and who I am, but there are days even now that I think of babies, and what and who I would be now as a mother. I truly hope for your heart to heal and just know that LWB has been a great place for me, even if I don’t post or comment much. We are here for you. ❤️
Teresa, I am so sorry that the pain is so raw right now. I don’t know exactly how you feel, but I can say it gets better even though I am relatively new to the realization that I am not ever going to have children. I have moments when I’m fine and moments when I am stuck facedown on the floor for what seems like forever, and something like grocery shopping seems insurmountable because I don’t want to run into anyone. I think for me, feeling the grief, giving it the space it needs, and doing things that actively search for the positives of a childfree life (I have a long list so far, as much as the “things I’ve lost” list breaks my heart, the list of things that we can do and that are possible is giving me hope.). I hope this blog helps you feel less alone. I hope you find other stories of women who have wanted so badly to be moms and had that dream shattered that give you hope for a future that doesn’t feel so dark-pit-like. I am thinking of you, and holding your shattered soul in my heart. You are goo, but out of goo eventually beautiful things come (I think about butterflies a lot, who have to go through such a painful transformation, or all the life that came from primordial soup… goo is necessary but then can lead to other happiness).