I suppose the best place to backtrack is when I started dreaming of becoming a mother. We got married in the early 2000s and immediately started trying for a baby. Simple enough, right?!? Nope. We went a few years without even a pregnancy. Finally, in the fall of 2005 I found out I was pregnant. Now, I don’t know about everyone, but I always knew before I even was able to get a positive urine test. I can’t explain it other than to say that it was like feeling a “woosh” of hormones coursing through my body. Unfortunately, I was only able to enjoy being pregnant for a little over a week. I woke up bleeding and heartbroken. My Doctor assured me that it can be completely normal and encouraged me to try again after having a normal cycle. Stubborn me did just that, and it didn’t take long. I found out I was pregnant for the second time in the very beginning of January 2006. Everything seemed great. I was tired, nauseous, I had cravings, the whole thing. I started spotting when I was around 9 weeks along. I was not able to get in with my regular OB, but was assured by another in the practice that I just had a few small blood clots within my uterus that were nothing to be concerned about. I took it easy and did everything I was told. I lost my son in early April. Let me be more specific: I gave birth to my son in my home on that early April night. I woke up bleeding the morning of and immediately went into my OB’s office where I had to see the same Doctor that had told me the blood clots were not harmful. Obviously, she was wrong. She confirmed that the baby had no heartbeat and sent me home with an appointment for a D&C the following morning. That night was the most heartbreaking night I have ever had. I was told to save any tissue that may come out. I knew when I stood up at one point that my baby had dropped down into my canal. I pushed him out and held the tiny, precious angel for a long time. I remember counting his fingers and toes. They were all there. He looked perfect, just so tiny. I called the Doctor and informed her there would be no need for a D&C. She didn’t believe me that I had had the baby. She told me to save, “the tissue”, and bring it in first thing in the morning. If I ever had a reason for a hit list, this chick would definitely be at the top. I felt so incredibly unimportant. I felt like my intelligence was called into question. Add that to raging hormones and extreme depression and I can tell you, I wasn’t a pretty sight. I was 14.5 weeks along, but my son had stopped developing around 9-10 weeks because of (you guessed it) the blood clots. My regular OB was kind and caring. She decided to refer me to a specialist before waiting for a third miscarriage to happen.
So, off to the specialist I went with guns blazing. I had my third miscarriage while under his care. This prompted more testing. It turned out that I wasn’t working with all my parts. I have what is called a unicornuate uterus. It means I only have one half of my uterus, with only one Fallopian tube. Incredibly rare and incredibly sucky! I had no guarantee that I could ever carry a pregnancy to full-term. It was at this point that I encouraged my husband to leave me. I thought that this was all my fault because I went into a marriage knowing that I was gay. I thought this was God’s punishment for me. Yep. I had that on top of all the other guilt that comes along with miscarriages, and I carried that burden solo. You see, my husband had no clue. I thought I could encourage him to find a woman who could give him children and be the kind of wife he deserved to have. Don’t get me wrong, we had a ton of sex, it was just all for the purpose of procreating. We decided to not try for another baby. I could not take any more heartache. It was not very long after that that I learned I was pregnant for a fourth time and against all odds, I carried to full-term! I enjoyed every single moment of being pregnant. All of it. Even being nauseous 24/7. We celebrated every pregnancy milestone. I loved watching my stomach grow and feeling the baby move! Yes, I had a severely lopsided stomach at the end, and it was amazing. I enjoyed breastfeeding, even when it hurt. I held my oldest child for hours at a time, just so astounded and humbled. I cried and thanked God.
We consciously decided to try for a sibling after our oldest turned one. I had another miscarriage before becoming pregnant with my middle child. Once again, I enjoyed every single second of being pregnant. After the birth, I suffered from what I now know was a pretty severe case of post partum depression. It was really, really, really not good and I didn’t feel like I could go to anyone for help. Right before my middle child turned one, I was suicidal. Looking back, I know a lot of it stemmed from my guilt over my sexuality. Was I cheating my children? The guilt was horrible. It was then that my husband found out my deep, dark secret that I had hoped to keep locked up forever. It started as a fight over sex. Our youngest was almost one and we had not had sex since I found out I was pregnant. He started throwing out potential reasons: “Are you too tired because of the kids? Is it because of breastfeeding? Have I don’t something to really piss you off?” And then the sentence I dreaded hearing from anyone’s mouth: “I mean, what is it?!? Are you gay?” All I could reply with was, “I don’t know, maybe, yes, but I do love you.” You would think this would have been the end, but not for us ostriches. We buried our heads in the sand and acted like that conversation never took place. My guilt intensified. His anger intensified. I let him come and go as he pleased. It seemed like he was always out doing something with friends. There I was, stuck at home with the kids, feeling like that’s what I deserved. A penance, if you will, because I dragged my husband into it.
My third, and youngest, child saved my life. I was ready to go through with my suicide plan. I figured everyone all around would be better off without me. My youngest was conceived because of Christmas. Neither one of us had ever mentioned the conversation of my sexuality, but we pretty much stopped having sex. It was Christmas, though, and he pointed out that I couldn’t say no on Christmas. Bada-Bing, Bada-Boom, here comes baby number three. Here comes me feeling even more ashamed and guilty, but at least suicide was off the table.
Well, that’s my fertility journey as well as how my husband found out my sexuality. For the record, while I still have moments, I am currently on anti-depressant as well as anti-anxiety medication. I am not suicidal now. I have every intention of being here to support my children and see them grow. I know this was a super long post, so I would like to thank anyone who actually read this far. If no one reads, that’s cool too. I think I am beginning to like this whole blogging thing. My shoulders feel a bit lighter!
Peace and Love