I’ve daydreamed about this before. What would happen if I found out I was pregnant all on my own, no infertility treatments. How would I feel?
I mean, everyone who’s gone through fertility treatments has to think about this, right? What would it be like to puzzle over symptoms, take a pregnancy test without any prior knowledge? To actually be shocked? To actually tell your partner you’re pregnant and see the surprise on their face?
First, back years (and years and years ago) I thought, well, of course I’d be excited. Of course I would be gobsmacked, head spinning, smile on my face. Having a secret to share with my husband.
As time went on, I started thinking, I’d be pissed if I got pregnant on my own after spending tens of thousands of dollars on fertility treatments.
And then as more time passed and we used donor eggs to get our two sweet girls, I not only was vehemently opposed to ever having a spontaneous pregnancy, I was fearful.
Fearful another pregnancy will further debilitate my body.
Fearful that I’d get preeclampsia again, this time earlier than 34 weeks.
Fearful that another pregnancy may very well kill me.
And yes, fearful of getting pregnant with a child from my own eggs.
See, it’s hard to explain to someone who didn’t use donor eggs to conceive. Prior to my girls, of course, I wished for a child who shared my genetics. But then they both came and suddenly, getting pregnant with my genetic child was unfathomable. How do I navigate that? My girls (well, Olivia at least, Emelia is still young) know we used a donor. She loves hearing her story. Both girls have Shutterfly books documenting their own conception stories. They read them sometimes like bedtime stories.
How do I navigate those conversations when they’re older, explaining that one child came from my own genetics, (my “biological” child as some people refer to it, and I disagree with the language there) and the other two came from an egg donor? How do I make them all feel loved and special equally?
If you haven’t used a donor, it’s hard to imagine. I get it. It seems easy to navigate. But I promise you, having this scenario with babies who share different genes was something I was thankful I didn’t have to go through.
But suddenly, last Saturday, I was staring down at a very positive pregnancy test (expired, but still very positive) and all I could think was:
What. The Actual. Fuck.
I brought it out of the bathroom. I stuck it on the bed. I started at it again. I speed texted my friend: Please tell me this isn’t what I’m looking at.
Said friend said, Holy shit.
And I burst into tears.
They weren’t happy tears.
In fact, they were very very pissed off tears.
I mean, talk about a mindfuck. For the first year of our marriage, I continued on my birth control because I was finishing nursing school. In the spring of 2009 I stopped it. I tracked my periods after awhile. I obsessed over ovulation sticks. I was told to relax, for fuck’s sake. I did seven IVF cycles with only two successes. And after infertility nearly broke me, traumatized me, and chewed me up and spit me out, guess what?
I started the healing process. When I was discharged from the labor and delivery suite where I spent 11 days trying to fix my bodyand navigate a premature baby in the NICU in 2019, I said a silent goodbye. To the past. To infertility. To traumatic pregnancies and even more traumatic births. It was a chapter of my life I was more than happy to close forever.
I moved forward in therapy, with my two breathtaking beautiful babies, my two girls whom I struggled, fought, bled, cried, begged, and nearly killed myself for. There would be no more obsessing over my fertility. I would move on, raise my girls, be a family of four. I sold the baby stuff, after a brief breakdown. In my heart, I felt whole. I felt completely complete. Since having Emelia, I never thought there was something missing. Emelia completed our family.
And now I was staring at this goddamn expired pregnancy test and thinking What. The Actual Fuck. And I cried.
To someone else, this would be amazing. A miracle. Shocking yes, but what a gift from God! Honey, looks like our family is growing again!
To me, to those who have experienced extensive medical trauma, who have bodies that were broken physically and mentally from infertility, pregnancy, surgery, birth, prematurity… this was the worst news I could get.
I also knew there was no way I could keep this from Chris until our date that evening. My parents were taking the kids overnight and we were going to be doing a dinner and wine bar later.
I texted him: I have to talk to you. Can you get away from the kids and come up to the bedroom?
I filled him in on what was going on, that I was a hot mess, not paying attention to my cycle (because why would I?) and that I assumed I was ovulating.
“Turns out, I’m not ovulating. I’m pregnant.”
Okay, so it was a little fun to see his face. I’ll admit that. But then I cried again. Later, we took the kids to Target and I bought a digital test. Took it home. Still very much pregnant.
I think I’ve cried a lot this week.
Two days after finding out, the exhaustion and fatigue started setting in. Quite possibly because I was now aware of the fact that I was pregnant. I felt like the food aversions were starting. As the week progressed, I started spending my afternoons sleeping. I ended up telling my mom when we went out to eat one day, five days after finding out myself. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her that shocked in my life. But she was overjoyed and I was overwhelmed.
“There’s a very real possibility I’ll miscarry,” I warned her, “I just don’t want to get your hopes up.”
I mean, clearly this wasn’t going to be a chemical pregnancy, because that line was too dark and I lost Adam at barely five weeks pregnant.
I didn’t even know what to do, initially. I had no fertility doctor to notify. No progesterone to take. It was just…me. And this implanted embryo. What do normal people do when they find out they’re pregnant???
But after a few days I realized the Paxil I was taking was probably not good for pregnancy, so I messaged my primary doctor and she congratulated me and gave me a script for Celexa. I ended up picking up the medication a few days later but decided today not to take it.
Withdrawing from the Paxil sucks. I have the brain buzzing that’s gradually intensifying whenever I move. I hope it doesn’t last long.
I think I’m going to call my OBGYN next week only because I also want to do genetic testing and for that, I need to establish care prior to ten weeks. So we’ll see how it goes.
