As a Loss and Infertility Parent, I See Things Differently

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I follow a lot of moms in the loss and infertility community. Most of them, by now, have received their miracle, one way or another. But some have not. And all have struggled.

One family tragically lost their daughter to a full-term miscarriage. Afterward, they were unable to get pregnant again. (The mother was diagnosed with Low Ovarian Reserve.) Three years later, they won a round of in-vitro fertilization (IVF). They had two embryos. The first was lost to miscarriage, and the second became their daughter who was born healthy in 2019. Afterward, they wanted to give her a sibling. They did a fundraiser and went through another round of IVF– another egg retrieval, after which they ended up with a single embryo. Then came all the medicines, injections, and drugs to transfer their embryo. (Because of COVID, this transfer was put off for almost a year.) They transferred, only to have it fail. Now what?

Any option is expensive. No options come with guarantees. And all options take a heavy toll mentally, emotionally, and physically.

As I was chatting with the mama in this family, she said to me, “I just want what comes so easily to everyone else.” Maybe that’s an overgeneralization. But what she expressed is exactly how it feels when you are in the trenches of infertility. It feels very lonely.

In all probability, they are done having kids. They are beyond thankful for their miracle daughter. She is a joy and a blessing and they will give her the best life they possibly can. But I am reminded of some words I read in Laura Bush’s autobiography when she talked about her and George’s infertility journey. After infertility treatments, they had twin daughters, but they weren’t able to have any other children. Laura wrote, “He was thrilled with the two we got. We both were. But our hearts had room for more.”

I’m part of this group, too. My husband and I had two miscarriages before the birth of our son almost four years into our family-building journey. Since having him (he’s six now), I have not been able to get pregnant. We are walking through secondary infertility. While we are beyond thankful for our miracle boy, we would love to give him brothers and sisters.

We had dreams of a big family. Now, we are seeking alternate routes to family building. If we can give our son even one sibling, we will be very glad. But we recognize also that it may not happen.

We are so thankful we get to be parents to an amazing little boy. But our hearts have room for more.

weeping couple

Seeing Things Differently

When you are a loss or infertility parent, you view things differently. When I go out, sometimes I wonder how many other couples are going through this. As I am driving down the road, in the checkout line at the grocery store, at church, I will look around and wonder, how many of them are walking through pain and struggles right now that we may not know about?

I wince a little when I hear couples asked when they will start a family, how many kids do they want, or when they are going to try for “the next one.” What if that couple is trying– has been trying– for a long time? What if they are loss parents who are dealing with grief? The answer to that question might be a painful one.

When a newlywed couple talks about their plans for starting a family, I automatically think, “But what if you struggle with infertility?” I never thought about that when I was newly married. Now that thought is always lurking. I hate that it’s always lurking, and I don’t want anybody to struggle this way.

You never think it will happen to you, but sometimes, it does. And when it does, it changes you.

It changes the way you think and process. It’s not pretty. Being this type of parent gives you a different lens to see the world– and sadly, that lens is often trauma. The trauma of failed treatments, failed adoptions, loss, shattered hopes, or empty arms.

These days, I am striving to focus more on the beauty than the brokenness. Because there is beauty, even in the midst of our struggles. Sometimes, we just have to look a little harder for it.

You Are Not Alone

But the good news is we are not alone. There is a community of people out there who can come around you with love and support.

Don’t be afraid to reach out. There are resources and people who can help. I am thankful for the ways the internet can connect us to one another. I am thankful for all the options and support we have today that we didn’t have even twenty years ago.

As one of my fellow contributors wrote in her moving piece about infertility, “For me, the beginning of my healing process started when I stopped hiding my story and began to speak out about my brokenness. When I allowed others to step in and be the help and love I needed…”

If you are in the trenches of these particular struggles, I want you to know that, too. You may feel alone, but you’re not. Reach out so that you can be seen and known. Reach out to a friend, a family member, a pastor, or even someone on the internet like me. I would love to connect and come walk alongside you. It makes all the difference in the world.

1 COMMENT

  1. Thank you for the beautiful way you describe the heartache of those longing for another child. And for your encouragement to other women and men too.

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