[Here at Mommybloggers, we try to be sensitive to women who are infertile. We have asked many times to call us on it when we are not. One of our goals is to help shed light for women who have not been through infertility to better understand what these women go through. Recently I was contacted by Pamela at Coming2Terms if I could share with you an experiment she is trying. A way to walk in each other's shoes, or reproductive cycles. This is the story. Semi-cross posted at BlogHer.]

My first pregnancy ended with a stillborn baby boy 6 1/2 months into my pregnancy. The baby was healthy. The problem was with me. With my body. At that time, the doctors questioned my ability to ever have children. For those few months of tests, I feared I would receive the worst possible news I could receive: that I would never give birth to my own children. Since that time, I have had medical help and after 3 very high risk pregnancies, I have three healthy children. But what if...

What if the world somehow turned around and those of us who have been able to conceive children were switched with women who were infertile and struggled to become pregnant (even with intervention) and have babies? Suddenly you find yourself childless and infertile whereas all of your friends who have struggled with infertility are amazingly pregnant. Pamela at Coming2Terms asked just that question in a social experiment that asks you how you would handle this experience as you are plopped down at a baby shower for these newly pregnant women? How do you think the conversation would go?

Everyone who is fighting with infertility, you are now able to conceive -- the NATURAL way.

Those of you with children, those who conceived without a thought as to ovulation cycles, FSH or sperm counts, you are now mysteriously unable to bear children. The littles you once nursed, cuddled and bragged on at social gatherings, they no longer exist. The realization of childlessness is frightening, devastating because the once fertile now find themselves in an empty nursery, the house is suddenly silent -- no more giggles or playful chatter or background noise courtesy of Dora the Explorer or Sesame Street.

Those who were once infertile are equally in disbelief. They've just had a loving and spontaneous romp. Two weeks later two pink lines magically appear on an at home pregnancy kit. The newly pregnant can't quite wrap their heads around the idea that no external intervention was required...not a pill, not a shot, not even a visit to a doctor's office.

A chance to walk in another woman's shoes. Or live with her reproductive life.

Continue reading "What once was... is no longer. Walk in HER shoes." »

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 7:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

I don't think anyone was more shocked by the fact that I was pregnant than I was. Okay, maybe Clint was too. We certainly weren't trying to get pregnant. I was on the pill for crying out loud. We lived in a tiny one bedroom apartment the size of a shoebox (or so it felt!) To say that we were unprepared would be an understatement. However, we began to get used to the idea of our baby. We didn't have 2 pennies to rub together, but we managed to get me some pretty decent maternity clothes. We took walks everyday. We even gave into my frequent cravings. The pregnancy was pretty textbook. Morning sickness the first 3 months and then feeling great!

At the time, Clint was working a lot of hours and I was working part time as a receptionist. With crazy schedules, he rarely was able to go to any doctor's appointments with me. I eagerly shared everything with him the moment I got home. We must've watched our sonogram tape a hundred times. We were officially in love with this baby...this boy (as we came to find out about halfway through the pregnancy.)

So finally, as I reached my seventh month, Clint was able to go to the doctor with me to hear the heartbeat and just share it with me. It was a normal appointment. I was measuring smaller than I should, but the doctor didn't seem worried. I asked if he could use the doppler so that we could hear the heartbeat.

The doctor rolled it across my belly. Nothing. Again. Nothing. He began to look worried. "I'm sure everything is fine, but procedure says we need to do a sonogram to ensure we can see the heartbeat." But I knew. I knew everything was not alright. If I close my eyes and remember, I am right back in that room with that sinking feeling of all innocence and joy being sucked out of me.

As soon as the image popped up on the sonogram screen, we knew. No heartbeat. Everything in my world stopped in that moment. I don't remember a lot of the next few moments. I remember the nurse trying to comfort me. I actually punched her to make her go away. If she comforted me, that would make this real. I didn't want it to be real.

We were scheduled to go home and come back the next morning to labor and delivery. I begged the doctor to either do it right then or do a c-section or something. He said it was safest for me to go through labor. I was devestated.

I don't know how I made it through that long night. It was the most torturous, agonizing night of my life. The next day, my parents and Clint's parents came to the hospital to be there for me. They did one final sonogram to make sure and then began the pitocin to start my labor. Eight hours later, Jacob was born. I never got to hold him. I never got to see him. I just gave into the strong medicines they had been giving me all day and passed out into a deep, sad sleep.

We didn't know what had happened. An autopsy showed nothing was wrong with him. It wasn't until later, when we were brave enough to talk about someday trying again, that I decided to go through testing to see if it was something preventable in future pregnancies. The most amazing doctor ever (one of my heros) took me into his practice and ran a number of tests on me when I was not pregnant, to compare to when I was pregnant.

Many months later, when I I found out I was pregnant again, my doctor ran the same tests. We had found our culprit. I had a condition known as antiphospholipid antibody syndrome. Had we not lost Jacob, I may never have known about it. Had we not tested me, we probably would've lost Kidlet Sr. too. However, since we knew, we could help this pregnancy along. In order to save the baby I was pregnant with this time, I took one baby aspirin a day. One. To save his life. And it worked. Kidlet Sr. was born healthy and safely. Each pregnancy became harder and harder on my body. By the time I was pregnant with Little Diva, I was taking heparin shots and on bedrest too keep her safe.

I'm often asked about whether or not I still think about Jacob. I do. I still hurt for the baby I wanted so badly and loved so much. Days like today, his birthday, I think about the "should've beens" and the "what if's". I don't stay there too long. It would hurt too much.

So today, by sharing his story with you, he goes on. Now you know Jacob and will remember him, too.

Originally appeared on Mommy Needs Coffee on April 07, 2004

Posted by Jenn Satterwhite at 5:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)