It's So Hard When It Doesn't Come Easy: My Journey Towards Infertility

"The jump is so frightening between where I am and where I want to be. Because of all I may become, I will close my eyes and leap."

~Mary Anne Rudmacher

Though I've been a mother for only 12 years, I had to be a mother to myself for virtually my entire life. With parents who did what they could while battling their own inner demons and a mom who died when I was ten, I have been mothering myself for over 46 years.

Throughout my life, I wavered back and forth about whether to have children. I did not want to pass down unhealthy patterns that I'd been exposed to by my parents, such as martyrdom, female disempowerment, unhealthy relationships and unhappiness. I knew having kids would mean a lot of personal growth on my part. I'd been in and out of therapy since I was 17-years-old, and talking about having children was part of the process. In the end, I decided to have kids, with the determination that any negative patterns would stop with me.

In August of 2003, the first month we tried, I was pregnant with my first daughter. My pregnancy was not easy. The nausea was so bad at times that I didn't know if I could continue. I constantly asked myself if it was worth it. At the end of the day I needed to eat more calories, but every time I ate, I felt nauseous. Organic ice cream became a way to get the calories I needed, fast. There were nights when I would sit on the stairs in tears, with a bucket of ice cream next to me, wondering when this would end.

Jack and I met three years earlier while I was training for a 100-mile bike ride. He was about five years older than me, well educated and smart. Hanging out with him was a nice change — I'd spent the previous year very isolated, recovering from a car accident. We went on a lot of bike rides together and he even trained with me for the century. In January of 2003 we got married. It was a pretty wedding, held indoors with lots of bells and whistles. I was happy.

When I was pregnant I found myself in need of emotional support from Jack for the first time, and he was unable to give it to me. It was challenging for him to be present while I experienced hard emotions such as anger and despair — I would be in tears and he would avoid me or sit with me without really being present. It had never occurred to me during those first bike rides that this was how Jack would respond when things got tough. Hard emotions were simply not part of his repertoire. This would be a theme for the rest of our marriage.

I was in graduate school during the pregnancy and my work slowed to half-tempo. The nausea subsided at around 20 weeks and the rest of the pregnancy was easier. The baby's estimated due date was at the end of May.

I wanted to experience a hospital birth since my mom died in a hospital. There was something special about bringing in a life in a place where a life had been taken from me. But hospitals weren't my favorite place and I knew I didn't want to spend a long time birthing my baby.

I asked my friend Caroline, a doula and birth photographer, to work with me before and during the birth. Caroline went over breathing techniques, the use of a labor ball and many other things so I would be ready for the big day. I practiced visualizations of an easy and healthy birth process. I talked with the baby often to ensure that we could work together to get her here as easily and safely as possible. I had numerous conversations with my body, constantly reminding it that it knew what to do, that it knew how to grow and birth a baby.

All of this preparation worked wonders. I was in the hospital just over an hour when Rose was put into my arms.

I was so excited to be a mom. The first few days I held Rose as much as I could. I couldn't get enough. Then, the crying started.

Beyond tired and unsure of how to soothe her, I needed emotional support from Jack. While he was willing to help out with the day-to-day activities with Rose, he failed to understand my emotional needs. To Jack it was always, "Nancy is just overreacting. She'll get over it soon." Things between us continued to be tense.

I took a year off from school when Rose was a baby to be a full-time mom. Right around the time she turned one we got pregnant again. The estimated due date of this baby was the anniversary of my mom's death. I was sure nothing would go wrong — it was meant to be. The nausea started a bit earlier this time and continued, and I thought it was just a sign that the pregnancy was proceeding.

When I was pregnant with Rose, we found out that Jack and I were carriers of cystic fibrosis. We decided to undergo genetic testing with our second baby at ten-and-a-half weeks to make sure that everything was okay.

Jack and I sat for a while in the waiting room filling out forms until it was finally our turn. Donna, a nurse with straight brown hair and a blue medical gown, escorted Jack and me to the examination room. The environment felt sterile and not particularly inviting. Even though I knew what was going to happen, I was nervous about having someone put a needle into my abdomen.

I lay down on the gurney in a room with a sink, an ultrasound machine and other medical paraphernalia, as well as a few posters of growing fetuses. Once I was comfortable, Donna put goop on my belly and started looking around with the ultrasound machine. She looked for several minutes without saying anything. I saw the baby on the screen, and I kept wondering why Donna wasn't talking. In my mind, nothing could go wrong with this pregnancy because of the marvelous coincidence of the due date and my mom's "death date." I thought this was going to be such a wonderful healing experience, bringing in my child on or around the date my mom passed away many years before.

The nurse then told us she wanted to get the doctor. The doctor arrived and took a look. It didn't take her long. In a calm voice, she matter-of-factly told us that the baby was dead. With the level of development of the fetus, the heart had stopped approximately two-and-a-half weeks earlier at eight weeks. The tears started streaming down my face. The shock set in. I wanted to throw up. Jack was there with me with seemingly no reaction. We left the doctor's office through the back door. I was crying and completely distraught.

We walked to the car in silence and got in. I couldn't comprehend the information. How could it be? I'd just...