After Multiple Miscarriages and an Ectopic Pregnancy, I Finally Became a Mom

After multiple miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy threatened this woman's dream of motherhood she finally saw the other side.

Ever since I can remember, I knew I wanted to be a mom—I felt almost destined for it. It wasn’t a matter of “if,” but simply “when,” until the time came and my world got flipped upside down. 

Despite expecting that it would be natural, simple and easy, it was anything but. I had what felt like the hardest time becoming pregnant.Achieving my dream felt impossible and didn’t seem fair, by a long shot.  

I watched friend after friend, colleague after colleague, stranger after stranger seemingly get pregnant without trouble, but that was not the case for me. Far from it.

My husband and I started “trying” maybe six months or so after we got married. At first it was just “let’s try and see what happens.” A few months went by and nothing, so I started tracking my ovulation, as many do. Finally, after just returning from a long, stressful business trip, I found out I was pregnant. It was really early, so I didn’t tell anyone, and good thing because within a few days of getting that positive, it was all over.

I was bleeding a lot—more than I ever had. And just like that, my first miscarriage occurred.

I couldn’t believe it. We had already been trying for close to a year—why was it SO HARD?! Why was this happening to me? These were just a few of my first dark thoughts.  

I didn’t share this loss with anyone. If asked about babies and plans, I just said we were trying and that it would happen when it did, but inside, I was sad—so incredibly sad. I tried my best to keep it together, but one situation completely caught me off guard and every ounce of my sadness spilled out.

I was at a girls’ dinner with a few friends when someone shared that they were pregnant after “hardly trying at all.” I tried to be happy for her, but instead, the tears came, the sobs spilt out and I couldn’t hold back.  

My friends knew I wanted to be a mom, but, until that very moment, they had no clue it had been so hard for me. After hearing that it “just happened” so easily for someone else, I simply couldn’t be strong one minute longer.

 

And that was the start of my journey of multiple losses … and as I’d come to find out, it was one of the easier ones, if there is such a thing.

About six months after that first loss and trying more, I felt…different. Sometimes, even dumb or forgetful.

I was in Costco with my husband and put my keys and phone down in one of the aisles. The next thing I knew, I was across the store and had no idea where they were. This was so unlike me that I turned to my husband and said, “either I’m pregnant or suddenly getting really forgetful!” 

We laughed it off, but I just knew it was our time.  

It was too early to take a test, so off I went to New York City for another business trip. When I got back home, I took a test and there it was—POSITIVE! I was the happiest I could be. I was so sure that this was the time for us that I was crying with joy and relief.  My husband was so happy that he sent me flowers that day with a card that said, “WE DID IT!” This was the moment we were waiting for, until, once again, it wasn’t. 

I went to the OB to get my blood levels checked to make sure the HCG was rising as it should. After a few draws, I was told the numbers weren’t quite as expected, but not to worry—that this could happen. After the third blood draw in a week or so, I went in for an ultrasound. 

The technician, as nice as she was, could not hide the fact that something was wrong.  She searched my uterus in every possible place a tiny little growing embryo could be, but could not find a thing. Then she checked my fallopian tubes and there it was. My perfect baby that could not be found was, in fact, in a place where it could not survive. 

The doctor explained that this was called an ectopic pregnancy. The embryo—or rather, the sac—was stuck in my fallopian tube and there was little-to-no chance of it moving at this stage—or surviving. 

She explained that we had to act quickly to save my fallopian tube and give us a better chance of conceiving again. She said we had to “force a miscarriage,” which meant I had to rid my body of this little being that I was so desperate to keep, in order to hopefully have a chance at another pregnancy. 

At this point, I was just sobbing and in complete disbelief. I still didn’t understand. I was all alone in the office, hearing all this, and yet, not hearing anything at all.

I was given Methotrexate, the drug that is used to stop the growth of the “baby”—the cells, because it is simply too dangerous to allow it to stay where it is. This new reality put me into a fierce depression. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t focus on work. I just CRIED. Cried and cried and cried. 

I didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I repeatedly asked why this happened, but of course, there is no real reason. I tried to figure it out, but there was nothing to figure out. And I could not snap out of it. Not for weeks.

There was nothing anyone could do or say to help or to make me feel better. All I wanted was the baby I was never going to get to meet. That baby would have turned ten years old  in early February 2024 and still, not a day goes by that I don’t wonder who that child would be or who I would be as a mom had I not gone through all this.

About three months later, the doctor said we could try again. So, we did.We went out of town for a wedding and that weekend happened to line up with my ovulation, so that seemed perfect—a romantic weekend in a nice hotel celebrating love. The perfect setting to try again. And it worked. A few weeks later I started to feel all the pregnancy feels again. I couldn’t stay awake, I felt woozy, I felt forgetful—all of it.  So, I took a test. Again, I saw a positive except, this time, I did not get excited. 

I got nervous. Reluctantly, I called the doctor and scheduled a blood test. And within a week or so, that positive again dissipated. This time was not as dramatic and torturous as the last, but it was another miscarriage. All I could think was why? Why me? Why was this so hard? Wasn’t I meant to be a mom? Nobody told me it could be this hard, and I just couldn’t understand why it was.

At this point my OB suggested that I meet a fertility specialist. We all spoke about what I had been experiencing— the heartbreak and emotions, the clinical aspect and everything else, and she suggested that the next step would be a procedure to flush my fallopian tubes called a hysterosalpingogram (HSG).

This was set up fairly quickly and, with my mom by my side, we went ahead with the procedure.  Let me tell you—the amount of pressure and discomfort you feel when doing this is not fun, but, if it would help me have a baby, it would be worth it. The procedure is done in the doctor’s office and involves them injecting dye into the uterus and fallopian tubes to detect any blockages or reasons that may affect fertility … and I was told it would also potentially improve it.

In addition to this flushing of the tubes, I had to have another surgical procedure to clear out my tubes and uterus even more. Again, there was extreme discomfort, but I did not care if in the end, I could become a mom.  

All this turmoil took a huge toll on me physically, of course, but the mental and emotional toll was even harder. Being around pregnant friends was hard, but I forced myself to do it. I wanted to be happy for them, and I was, but inside, I was crumbling.

I remember a couple weeks after these procedures, my sister and her family were in town for the holidays. I loved my sister and her kids; being an auntie was something I was so proud of. But for the first time ever, their visit was hard. They didn’t know and I didn’t tell them, but every time I saw them during that visit, I went home and cried. As much as I loved being an auntie, I wanted to be a mom too. And being with them was a cold reminder that I was not—and seemingly could not—be a mom. 

After these procedures, I went back to being monitored regularly which meant a lot of expensive tests, a lot of poking and prodding, multiple blood tests and intrauterine ultrasounds to get the timing right and ensure my eggs were growing and healthy. 

I had to start giving myself daily shots in the belly—blood thinners that I’d have to keep up with for months and months. The hope was that these shots would help prevent blood clots so that, if I did become pregnant, it might help prevent miscarriage. 

I won’t sugarcoat it: these shots were awful. I looked like I was being beaten repeatedly in the stomach, but once I got past the initial worry, cost (because these are expensive), pain of the shots and all the emotions that came with them, I didn’t care anymore—not as long as it meant I’d get my baby.

And then came the day that my doctors said it was finally time to try again with a little fertility help in the form of intrauterine insemination (also known as IUI). My tubes were clear, my egg production and egg health were good, my husband’s sperm was checked and good, my body was ‘ready.’ There was no reason I shouldn’t be able to get pregnant again. The only change now was figuring out how to keep a pregnancy when it happened, which was the next ‘fun’ step.

In addition to doing the IUI (a not-at-all romantic way to make a baby), I had to take extra progesterone as soon as we even thought I could be pregnant. This was to help my body keep a pregnancy, since, as was evidenced by the multiple losses, I could get pregnant, but not stay pregnant.

About 10 days later, my doctor called to see if I had taken a test. I hadn’t—I was too nervous and anxious for the potential disappointment that could come. She urged me to do it so that, if I was positive, I could start taking the progesterone as soon as possible. 

I took the test, and it was positive. Just like the times before, I was not excited, but rather, scared. I started the progesterone immediately and had my blood taken to check the HCG levels. This time, instead of declining or holding steady, the HCG raised so much. Instead of doubling they almost quadrupled. My doctor told me it was safe to get excited, but I couldn’t—not yet.

Around six weeks in, my husband and I went in for the first ultrasound and saw our little bean very-well implanted and heard the heartbeat. I cried instantly. We saw something that may or may not have been a second baby, but was not a viable pregnancy. It was the first time I heard the words “not viable” and didn’t get upset—because at least I was getting my wish of one healthy, viable pregnancy. 

Not even two weeks later, right before we were heading out of town for another wedding, I started bleeding. I was devastated and scared, but the doctor said to keep using the shots as I had been and to take it easy (no ‘hotel fun,’ much to my hubby’s dismay), and to try to relax. She said that bleeding can happen and wasn’t a sign of concern unless it was a lot. 

At around 10 weeks, we found we were having a girl. I cried with so much happiness. Finally, I was going to be a mom and on top of it, I was going to get my little girl, who I always wanted and had been waiting for. 

At 13 weeks, we told our families. It was safe and it was time. We finally were going to be a family. It took multiple losses, months and months and months of trying, being defeated, being poked and prodded, excited and depressed, but approximately a year and a half after that first miscarriage, the sadness was finally replaced by true happiness: my daughter Emma. And two-and-a-half years later, my son Jaxon.

I sometimes think about those babies that were lost and who they would have been, but then I look at my two healthy children and know I wouldn’t have them if those others had been viable, and that brings me a little bit of peace. I am deeply saddened still to never know those souls, and that time of loss haunts me still, but I must find happiness in what I do have too … now that I’ve come through the other side.

It can be very lonely when you are going through loss. This is a topic that is rarely spoken about, and ectopic pregnancy even less so, so when you are going through it, you feel alone and broken, but I am here to tell you that you are NOT alone, you are NOT broken, and you WILL get through it.

 

Author

  • Wendy Wolf runs a boutique PR firm in Los Angeles, with a focus on lifestyle clients in the fashion, accessory, beauty, home, health and wellness categories. Prior to that, she worked in entertainment marketing and PR. She has spent her career securing placements for her clients in many major outlets, nationally and internationally. Aside from her work, Wendy stays very busy with her two children, who are truly the most important aspect of her life. You can find her spending time and going on adventures with her family, exercising, and occasionally binge watching her favorite shows.

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