(Guest post by Erica)
I got pregnant with my first child when I was seventeen and had not planned on it. The pregnancy went really well until the end when I went into labor early. The doctors were on it and put me on bed rest and medication, and then right on time my healthy daughter was born.
Shortly after I had my daughter I got on birth control that wrecked my body, so I had to switch. In the process of switching birth controls I once again got pregnant, but I miscarried at about 5 weeks. I chalked it up to the birth control, but little did I realize the path I would be taking from then on.
One thing I have not mentioned is I am Rh negative, so after every miscarriage I had to receive a Rhogam shot to prevent antibodies from building up in my system. At the time of this early miscarriage I really honestly did not know much about being Rh negative and thought it was just something I would have to worry about when I was pregnant.
The doctors forgot to give me the shot, and since I didn’t know I needed it I went home and recovered.
A couple of years down the road my husband and I, the father of my first child, decided to try for another baby. I miscarried a total of four times with each time the length of my pregnancy increasing, the longest being over 11 weeks.
I quit telling people I was pregnant so that I wouldn’t have to tell them I had miscarried. I was tired of it. I couldn’t understand why it would be so easy for me to get pregnant with my daughter but find it so hard to conceive a child we were planning for. I felt horrible for my husband who didn’t know how to console me and was also suffering from the continued loss.
After my fourth loss, I got fed up and went and saw a specialist. All the tests were run, and as I sat in that office I hoped he would tell me something. All he could tell me was I was healthy and that the miscarriages were probably from not receiving the first Rhogam shot but that it shouldn’t stop me from having further pregnancies.
I left his office frustrated due to lack of answers but also feeling a little relieved that there was nothing seriously wrong with me.
A month after that visit, I got pregnant again. This time I waited until I was three months along to tell anyone due to the fear of loss. I had my son several months later – a healthy boy.
When I look back at the heart break that came with those losses, I just have to look to my two healthy children. I’m not saying the what-ifs aren’t still there, but they make it a little easier to know that it was not all in vain.
When it all comes down to it the moment you have that child you have tried so hard for and you look on their tiny face the battle seems worth it and the sadness seems less.