Letting Go And Giving In: Thoughts About Infertility After Loss

August 2, 2017

By Sanda Rathamone

"When you go through infertility, every month is a loss, and sometimes we forget to talk about that and allow ourselves to grieve each of those losses and put them away before we move forward." - Angela, Episode 10.

Elijah was my first pregnancy and I'm not sure that he is also the last. I'm not quite sure of anything, anymore. And trust me, this is the hardest thing to say, it tears me apart and makes me cry.

I have been desiring to become pregnant for so long. My husband and I have been together for five-and-a-half years now and it has been a little over a year after Elijah. I cannot and will not put myself into another round of this roller coaster of infertility and hoping for another chance. I have hoped every month that my underwear or the bed sheets would not be stained. I have put in so much money into buying boxes and boxes of pregnancy tests and have gone through the humiliation and disappointment of hearing "not pregnant" at the clinic.

Hope has become a switch and I keep switching it on and off because I know that there is this huge possibility that I will not be pregnant for the month or the next. The switch turns painfully off when there's blood. It's obvious isn't it, that I'm currently in a war with my body.

Infertility is a vicious cycle and I have gone in circles many times. And the one time I got pregnant is when the worst thing in pregnancy has happened to me!

I had a dream the other day about a pregnancy test. The odd thing about it was that it didn't have two lines, it had four. I woke up so confused. Maybe it was a sign that I was going to be pregnant with twins? Ha ha. That's a funny thought. But for real though, it didn't need this dream. Grief is already confusing enough, I didn't need a sucker punch.

As everyone is getting pregnant and having new babies, I feel so left behind and oftentimes, undeserving of a child. It's really tough to swallow the words, "You will be when it is TIME." It scares me sometimes of how many couples wait even longer than I have - way longer.

Waiting for a rainbow baby is like waiting for a drought to end. It's just endless torture and adding grief, it's all too much.

I've come to the realization that letting go of my hopes for this next baby - to help fill this void after Elijah -  is now the best option. It hurts. You know those times where you have always wanted something or someone so bad, but you can't have them? Or you want something to work out and you keep trying and trying and it's not working, so you try new things, but it still doesn't work? It's a bit like that, only you're also dealing with the after effects of death and the fear of losing another child.

I think it's time now that I let go and let God. I cannot and will not do all of those treatments and extra supplements, just to have a baby.

My grandmother had 10, my mother had 5, and my mother in-law has 11! I guess we're not all that lucky, but that does not mean that I do not have the heart and soul to be a mother. I know that. I know that I am a great mother to Elijah and the best one he could ever have.

I'm just not sure what's in store for me anymore, but it makes sense that where I am at in life, a baby would be too much. I'm still trying to get my career off hold and finish my schooling within the next couple of years. Maybe I'm just in place of exhaustion, hoping so hard for something that hope could never bring. Maybe it's God who can and not me and that I just have to trust things as they are.

Yet, I wouldn't mind working my butt off and being a mom. Who didn't?! There's just something about a baby that I know would ... I don't know ... complete my life? I'm not sure how to explain this, but coming from a large family, it's tough not feeling like I fit in. It's more rough when you feel that you don't belong with your in-laws either. I just want to build a loving family where EVERYONE belongs, which is a lot easier said than done.

However, I am learning that letting go doesn't necessarily mean giving up. It just means for right now and maybe for awhile, I will have to loosen my painful grip of what I want, bless it and blow it away, and trusting that some day, everything and all will return, and maybe more.

A part of me knows that my rainbow baby will naturally come on its own and that I'm probably worrying and wanting too much.

All the while, I guess I will enjoy the ride of living life in love and pain, and with heaven always by my side. Everything I need is here and everything I want will come.

To read more about my infertility journey, links are below:

* Read the full story about Elijah:

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