Our third pregnancy came after many months of trying to conceive. Having gotten pregnant so easily the second time (and only after 6 months of “being less careful” the first time”), I was frustrated that things took so long this time around.

Infertility is generally defined as being unable to conceive within 12 months of trying (when you’re under 35, it’s 6 months when you’re over 35). This means that, although we’ve been unable to carry a pregnancy to full term, we’re not technically infertile. I’m not making this distinction because I want you to feel that one journey is worse, or more difficult, than another. As I’ve said before, it’s not about whose pain hurts more, it’s about the pain itself. Both infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss are frustrating and scary; facing the unknown is hard, to put it mildly. Both journeys are lonely and both lead to disappointment and heartbreak.  

Regardless of the differences between recurrent pregnancy loss and infertility, they’re very similar paths and they’re both very misunderstood. The incredibly unhelpful advice of “just relax and it will happen” is commonly thrown at those that struggle to conceive. And when it’s thrown at me, at us, it’s also very unhelpful. Sam and I don’t have issues conceiving. The months waiting for that positive line are long, but we have been fortunate enough to not have had to wait more than 8 months for a positive result. Do people honestly believe that if I simply relax, my baby will make it? Are you accusing me of stressing my babies to death? Do you, therefore, believe that this is my fault? No, you’re not likely making those sorts of accusations, so don’t tell me about how you had a friend that went on vacation and came back pregnant after struggling to conceive. This is hurtful for me, and it’s hurtful for those that haven’t been able to conceive. I encourage you to ask yourself “am I helping, or hurting?”

After our second loss, my OBGYN had told us that we should start testing for “issues” if we were unable to conceive again within 9-12 months. At month 7, I decided that I didn’t want to wait any longer. As I was becoming more familiar with my cycle, I felt that the signs of ovulation weren’t as strong as they had previously been. I called my primary care physician and asked to have a handful of hormones tested. All of those tests came back normal. This was bittersweet- no problems, but also no insight into our losses.

As irony is apparently very prominent in my life, we got pregnant the next cycle following those hormone tests. I was shocked, I didn’t feel pregnant, and in fact didn’t take a pregnancy test until CD 30 (cycle day 30), which is about two days later than I usually test. I was happy and nervous. I promised myself to not be naïve this time around and mentally prepared for what I felt (and now know) would be inevitable.

I scheduled the first blood test for our 6-week mark- I was again attempting to not have to pay such a large amount for bad news. This time, my attempt to save money worked.

At about 4.5 weeks, I noticed minor spotting and immediately called the doctor. We moved the first blood test up to that same day and I later received confirmation that my numbers weren’t where they should have been. The nurse explained that, if I ovulated later in my cycle, it was possible that the numbers were okay. I explained to her that I tracked my cycle, and I was sure that I didn’t ovulate late and that I was close to 5 weeks along. This was one of the first times I felt that the nursing staff and doctors gave me the full story- this nurse, instead of telling me that my numbers were okay and leaving it at that, explained that they were only “good” if I ovulated late in my cycle. As you may remember, my first blood test for the first pregnancy was at about 5 weeks, and they had told me that my numbers were good for being about 4 weeks. They didn’t explain to me then that the “appropriateness” of the numbers all depended on when I ovulated.

After explaining that I religiously track my cycle, the nurse offered her condolences and asked to schedule a time for me to go in for another test to confirm that the numbers had gone done. I asked her if this was necessary, as I had already been through this twice, I knew my numbers would likely go down, and I didn’t want to “waste” all that money again. She checked in with the OB and called me back- if I didn’t start bleeding within a week or so, or if I didn’t get a period again about 4 weeks after the miscarriage, I should call in. But other than that, I was free to monitor myself and my miscarriage without the additional blood tests. This was also the first time I felt like I had some control in my health care; I got to decide for myself that it was safe to avoid multiple blood tests.

Insanity is sometimes defined as repeating the same “thing” over and over again, expecting different results. Having this miscarriage be different than the other two in that I didn’t have to pay for the same three blood tests, hoping for different results, made me feel less insane than I had previously. I didn’t have to suffer through the same cycle of checking in at the clinic, telling others that my day was going well, and thanking them for their help, all the while screaming in my head, “I’M HAVING A MISCARRIAGE.”

Our third loss officially put us in the category of “recurrent pregnancy loss”. On top of my grief, I felt validated. Instead of being told that we could start looking for answers, we were finally encouraged to.