Our Fertility Journey
When I first fell pregnant, I was completely overwhelmed and out of my depth.
I didn’t have an OB (or even a gynaecologist), I wasn’t taking prenatal vitamins, and I didn’t know any of the trying to conceive (TTC) acronyms.
In the weeks that followed, I found an OB, downloaded pregnancy apps that tracked every second of each trimester, and documented all aspects of this overwhelming and exciting journey. We excitedly told our closest loved ones that we were expecting and began to plan for life as a family of three.
After seeing those two pink lines and two positive scans confirming a heartbeat, it didn’t even occur to us that this pregnancy wouldn’t end with a baby.
We would learn as we prepared to enter our twelfth week of pregnancy that there was no longer a heartbeat after experiencing what is known as a missed (or silent) miscarriage.
Where there was life inside of me just moments earlier, I now felt a hollow emptiness mixed with shame—a burden that would become my identity.
I threw myself into life with countless distractions. A new home, two jobs, grad school, managing the launch of an international cookbook, and a new puppy!
Telling people we were no longer expecting was like exposing my deepest, darkest secrets. I felt vulnerable, violated, and exposed.
This cycle of pregnancy, joy, miscarriage, and heartache would become my reality for the next 3.5 years.
Once the dust settled and the fog had lifted, we were ready to try again. After just one month of trying, we became pregnant.
I wanted this baby more than anything in the world, so I journaled, meditated, manifested, chanted, and visualized myself as a mama. I wanted this little soul to know how much they were already loved. I wore crystals, used only clean skincare, ate only what was prescribed as safe to eat, and barely moved for fear of losing our baby.
It needn't have mattered because seven weeks into our second pregnancy, we would learn that there was no heartbeat.
Heartbreak is one of those things that hits you like a freight train - no one can prepare you for the loss of your baby.
I was on the edge of an imaginary cliff. Having put myself back together after our first miscarriage, I was terrified of falling because after the fall, there’s the crash - and after the crash, there are a million little pieces to be put back together. I had just put myself back together, and I didn’t have the strength to fall. I was exhausted, so I stayed in the safety of my own darkness. This is where I remained.
I carried on as if nothing had happened. I put a timeframe on my grief. I worked through my pain (physical and emotional) and silently cried myself to sleep for months.
I remember walking through the busy NYC streets, wondering when my pain would end—but it didn’t. The pain couldn’t end because I didn’t allow myself to feel it. I was still teetering on the edge of my imaginary cliff, not allowing myself to fall.
But fall, I would. And into a million little pieces, I would break. And in the darkness, I would find my greatest strength.
This loss and subsequent recovery took time and every ounce of my strength. At times I couldn’t see a world beyond the darkness but every so often I would glimpse a flicker of light that would continue to be my guiding light and source of hope.
Twelve months later we were pregnant.
When going into our third pregnancy I had hoped and prayed for a positive outcome but at the same time, I wanted to be prepared in the rare event that this pregnancy would not result in a positive outcome. I’m not saying that I was planning for a loss, instead, I wanted to make sure that I had the support systems in place to call upon should we need it - just as you would do when preparing for the fourth trimester.
Never did I imagine that I would need this blueprint of support to carry me through our third loss in our twelfth week of pregnancy.
There was no hiding or running from this loss. I was being confronted by my worst nightmare, only I was being forced to live it - every day, on repeat, in slow motion. I was now among the 0.5 per cent of women who experience three consecutive pregnancy losses.
I had unwittingly joined a club I didn’t know existed nor wanted to be a part of.
It was here that I sat in every discomfort.
I didn’t seek answers as to why this was happening to me. I no longer looked back on my experience as a series of “lessons” or tests being sent to me from the Universe.
Instead, I continued to sit in the silence of discomfort. There was no timeline, no blueprint for healing, no questions that needed external validation—I would soon learn that I had everything I needed within me—a strength I didn’t know existed until now.
I also realized that my desire to have a baby was no longer solely about me. It was not up to me to decide when or how this spirit baby would enter their physical body or when they would decide that it was time to join our family earth-side.
I didn’t need to know the details of when or how our baby was coming, instead, I needed to trust. I needed to have blind faith, and an unwavering ability to believe in that which I could not see.
Since that first positive pregnancy test, I carried 3 babies for almost 30 weeks. I experienced the joy of 3 positive pregnancy tests, I cherished sonogram pictures and recorded teeny heartbeats flickering on the screen, I have a phone filled with baby announcement photos and videos, and spent hours creating the dream nursery on Pinterest.
I’ve also had my heart broken when the doctor said “I’m sorry, there’s no longer a heartbeat”. I have broken and I have healed.
I have experienced trauma-induced panic attacks, been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and have experienced paralyzing anxiety that stopped me from getting out of bed.
I have endured invasive procedures, surgeries, countless tests, more injections and pills than I could possibly count, and lost a significant amount of hair in the process due to extreme hormone fluctuations and the compounding stress and trauma that I was experiencing.
Like many couples, my husband and I would soon learn that our best chances of carrying a baby to term would be via In vitro fertilization (IVF), and so we embarked on this journey… stay tuned for more on this coming soon.
Through my own experience with recurrent pregnancy loss (RPL) and Assisted Reproductive Technology (ART), I have first-hand experienced what it means to have a supportive, compassionate and knowledgeable team by my side. And trust me when I say it takes a village.
I am incredibly thankful for the emotional support and guidance of my support team when my journey to becoming a Mama felt overwhelming, isolating, and all-consuming.
I, too, hope that I can support and guide you on your journey to having a baby. Get in touch with me here.
Meet Elisa
As a Mama, wife, CEO, executive, and fertility advocate, Elisa is passionate about redefining motherhood.
Featured Posts
