DH and I tried to get pregnant for three very long years with no success. We had all the tests. DH's part was pretty easy, he just had a little date with a cup, whereas I had weekly blood tests for nigh on six months (checking hormone levels during my cycles) plus multiple encounters with dildo-cam and it felt like half the hospital was on intimate terms with my ovaries.
This might be long - sorry!
DH and I had the 'what if' talks. Should we adopt? If the problem is with me I want you to find someone else who can have kids. I won't leave you over this. Are you sure that in fifty years when it's just the two of us you won't resent me? And blah blah blah.
All of the tests came back to show that DH's swimmers were fine and my equipment was fine but I had a mildly polycystic left ovary and wasn't ovulating at all. Can't make a baby without eggs. We were given an appointment to go for a follow-up where they planned to give us a prescription for Clomid (fertility boosting drug).
The week before the appointment I felt 'off' and people commented on the symptoms I was complaining off saying could I be pregnant. I decided to do a test, the fertility clinic would do one anyway so I thought I'd save them the bother.
It was only flipping positive!
I'd pictured in my head so many times how I'd break the news to DH if I ever got pregnant. When it actually did happen all of the sweet, sappy schemes went out of the window and instead I ran into the kitchen at 6am, stark naked, sobbing and waving a pee soaked stick around. We hugged each other and cried and laughed and cried.
We were so happy.
Based on my last period I was around 6wks. I won't go into the mechanics or specifics but three days after the positive test I began to bleed. Seven days after the test I had a scan confirming I'd miscarried.
I was a little bit lost for a while after that. My doctor prescribed me some pills to chill me out and help me cope. I remember going to the cinema to see Wall-E and all I remembered afterwards was the colours and feeling incredibly sad. I still can't watch it because it reminds me of feeling so broken inside.
Later that year DH and I went on holiday. It would have been around the time of my due date and it was nice to draw a line under it all with a lovely week away. Two weeks after we came back I commented that I was late. DH said to do a test. I said no, a missed period does not equal a pregnancy. He said do a test. I did a test.
Positive.
We went to the 24hr Asda and bought lots more.
All positive.
Nine months later we had DS. Our wonderful, funny, amazing boy. He was well worth the wait.
The following year I had another miscarriage, a missed miscarriage at 15wks. I'd have been due on 5th December.
On NYE that year, convinced I was pregnant, I did a test. Positive. When I counted back and when I had my 12wk scan, I'd conceived on 5th December.
DD arrived in dramatic fashion - an emergency section thirty minutes after a scan at 40wks - but she's brilliant.
On June 3rd this year we decided to push our luck and try for a third. On June 4th we decided to wait another 2-3 months so DD would be at preschool by the time we conceived and baby arrived. One attempt on June 3rd was all it took :o
I managed to keep it secret from DH until Fathers Day and have him a 'from the bump' card. I had some bleeding early on and went into full on panic mode. The hospital saw me same day for a scan and it showed I was 9wks. The nurse who scanned me and did my follow-up chat afterwards recognised me. She was the nurse who sat with me after my first miscarriage and hugged me and told me it would all be okay. She came out into the corridor to meet DS and DD (we kept them out there with DH so as not to upset anyone in the waiting room). It was like everything coming full circle.
I'm so sorry for the essay and I'm so sorry for your loss. I sincerely hope you get your happy ending one day, whatever that might be x