I’m beginning to feel pissed off and resentful.

The following statement is soaked in a horrific attitude, and I acknowledge that: Some people have it way too easy.

Sorry, not sorry.

I just don’t understand why my husband and I have to suffer so much. I’ve mentioned this before, and I will again: I don’t take pride in the fact or wear a badge of honor because it took three years, six IVF cycles (not to mention pre-IVF treatments), donor eggs, pre-eclampsia, a NICU stay, and the passing of my precious daughter … in order for me to finally have a family. I don’t have or appreciate a victim mentality. Trust me: I would have gladly become pregnant from my first Clomid cycle without hyping it up and trying to relate to an IVF veteran … or something like that.

But I am a victim, and it’s really starting to tick me off. My husband and I have fallen on the other side (bad side) of statistics too many times. We started trying to conceive when I was 23 years old … only to learn three years later that I need donor eggs…? What the fuck? We told multiple doctors multiple times, “I just want them to survive. Will Baby B survive?”

“Survival? Oh we’re not even worried about survival. They’ll survive.”

The survival rate for babies of my girls’ gestational age is, like, 95 percent or something.

Sooo … Why exactly did my daughter die?

Okay, so this entry may read like I’m calling people out, like my TTC sisters have been making me mad and bringing upon these emotions. Nope, I’ve not read a blog or seen a post that has caused resentment.

I just need to get it off my chest, though: Don’t try to relate to me, world. Because it’s going to be really damn hard to.

I remember feeling heartbroken for my sisters who’ve suffered miscarriages. I still feel awful and broken for them. How dare they suffer like that? I used to honor days like National Pregnancy & Infant Loss Day for my friends who’ve suffered from miscarriages. Sure, some people would say I’ve suffered from two miscarriages. I would say I’ve suffered from the loss of two pregnancies, which were and are extremely heartbreaking. I used to think to myself, though, that my losses just didn’t carry the magnitude of my friends’ losses. Please don’t get me wrong: I cherish babies whether they are embryos who have barely attached to the uterine wall producing HCG of 34, or eight-week embryos who have heartbeats and arm and leg buds. They are all precious; they are all people. But the magnitude of a heavy period and feeling out of control as your body loses your baby, and seeing your baby’s heartbeat then losing your baby with human parts and tissue – for me, the magnitude is a bit different. My emotions are raw; I know some of you will appreciate what I’ve written above, and some of you will think I’m a monster. Please bestow some grace upon me.

So, that was my reasoning before October 9. Well, it still is. I just happen to have experienced a different scenario from the ones listed above.

With regard to honoring October 15 and its meaning, I lost my baby. I lost my baby who was born alive. My baby died on my birthday.

So, universe? Fuck you.

Jesus, I asked for you to take care of my babies. I prayed desperately for my babies. I prayed to you that morning over and over again as I watched my Emmanuelle struggle. I prayed to you out loud in front of everyone. I begged of you. I begged you to save her. She was mistreated. What more did you want from me? What more could I have done?

Am I really that terrible of a person to have endured what I’ve endured so far? What the hell have I done? Please tell me. Give me an answer!

Infertility doesn’t scare me anymore. You know, the condition that brought me much suffering? The phase in my life that I believed would be the most difficult one for the rest of my life? YOU TOOK MY BABY FROM ME.

Even the doctors said, “After everything you’ve been through to have a family, I just don’t understand.”

Me neither, guys. Me fucking neither.

Sometimes it amazes me. It amazes me that I haven’t completely crumbled. I can eat. I can take a shower. I can put my damn make-up on. I can even smile and laugh. What the hell? Did this really happen to me? Are my baby’s ashes really in her remembrance drawer in Rowan’s room?

I see ultrasound photos. They were taken down and hidden from me, but I still cross paths with them. I see ultrasound photos of my Baby B – my Emmanuelle – from two, three weeks ago. She was alive; she was living. And now she is ashes? In what world is a baby deserving of that? I know she is with Jesus; I know she is not suffering. But I can’t comprehend her life in heaven right now. All I know is that she struggled, died, and is now ashes on this earth.

It hits me. It hits me whenever and wherever. Yesterday I was gauging my feelings based on my husband’s.

“I can’t feel anything. I’m worried it might be the Zoloft.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not,” he says. “I’m numb too.”

Four hours later, I’m sobbing silently on the couch while a comedian – a fucking comedian – is on TV.

So, universe? Just to give you a little taste of the hell I’m living, allow me to put it bluntly as my husband has expressed.

“How are your daughters doing?” she asks.

“Well, one of my daughters is doing well in the NICU … her breaths are supported by oxygen, and sometimes she forgets to breathe – but that’s normal. She weighs about two pounds. But – she’s doing well … in intensive care.”

“My other daughter is dead.”

25 thoughts on “Raw

  1. My heart breaks for you. I won’t for a second pretend that I understand what you are experiencing, but I have experienced so many if the emotions you described here. I have no answers, no amazingly supportive words, but please know you and all your babies are loved.

  2. I hate that you are going through this, just hate it. I do feel losing an infant is different than losing an 8 week old embryo- they are both loss- but you know what I mean.

    I wish I had better words…I just really appreciate your writing and honesty. You are entitled to feel all the feelings. You’ve been through hell.

  3. I wish I could take the pain and devastation away from you. The whys of life are never-ending… I’ll never comprehend why, after all you’ve endured, there is still pain and hurt.

    I love you, Al, and I’m thankful for your honesty. xoxoxo

  4. So sorry Allison. I tried to follow what you wrote above–what I get out of it is that you can’t imagine being in more emotional pain than what you are currently experiencing from having lost a child post-birth. That’s understandable. Grief is incomparable and needs no justification, regardless of the magnitude. I feel for you. XO

  5. I can relate to so much of this post! There were so many days I felt the same way and was angry because we had struggled so much to have a baby only for him to be taken from us so quickly. The days do get better and there are days with no tears, but know the feelings are you feeling are normal. Praying for you! Feel free to email me anytime.

  6. My heart swells with love for you. I am constantly thinking of you and how unfair this all is. Human nature is to wish I could take it all away and make it all better. This shit sucks. It’s not ok. And there is nothing I ir anyone can do to make it better. Love love love to you. All my hugs.

  7. My heart is so incredibly heavy for you. I think that your anger, hurt, pain- all of it- is totally understandable and justifiable. I can’t imagine the difficulty of living out the juxtaposition of mourning the loss of one daughter while trying to celebrate the life of another. I just can’t. Yall are constantly in my heart and my prayers.

  8. I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through but I do appreciate the emotions you are feeling and thank you for your honesty and bravery. I pray that you find the strength to get through this very unfair and difficult time in your life. My thoughts are with you, your family and your daughters.

  9. I wrote out things, and then I erased it.
    What can I say? I’m pissed. I’m confused. I’m hurt for you. Life is cruel and I know that some people have it much harder than others in the terrible things they experience. You have gone through too much…your babies too. I cry for you, and all I can continue to offer is my support and understanding. Be angry, absolutely, but…continue to get up every day for Rowan. I believe that one day, your beautiful and strong baby girl will learn just how much you fought for her and her sister. Just how loved and wanted they were. Rowan will learn what a warrior her mother is.

    From across the country, know that you’re all in my thoughts.

  10. I have no experience to mirror yours, and what I’m going to say may seem strange…I’m so damn proud of you. Your honesty and willingness to share, I guarantee, will help countless others.

    I know that’s not why you write…but it is a wonderful effect of a horrific event.

    I’m damn proud…and I love ya.

  11. You are entitled to all of these feelings. All of this anger. It shouldn’t ever make sense; it is too great a tragedy. I’m just praying that every day it gets a little easier to breathe. For your heart and for your precious Rowan.

  12. I am so sorry. My heart breaks for yours. It is completely unfair, it is tragic, it is devastating. There are no words. I don’t understand it at all. And i’m so sorry. I also understand where you are coming from when you compare a miscarriage to losing a baby post-birth. It makes sense and it doesn’t offend me. I miscarried at 6 weeks pregnant, and i’m emotional and angry and devastated, but i still recognize how much more intense the pain would be as it got later in the pregnancy and especially after birth. I don’t know why. But i’m so sorry. And i’m praying for you.

  13. I know it’s politically correct to say it doesn’t matter whether it was an embryo or a 2nd or 3rd trimester loss, or whatever, but I’ll say it (and it’s just my opinion of course)… No way in hell is it the same to have a chemical pregnancy vs. a still birth or passing of an fully developed or even older child. They share similarities, but no way could they ever be considered equal. My heart hurts for you so badly and I am PISSED OFF for you. It’s so not fair. Be mad, even if it’s at God if that’s what you need to do to work through the pain. He will still be there waiting for you to come back to asking for His grace. He WILL be there to hold you in the palm of His hand if you let him, and when you are ready. We will all be here too, praying for you and supporting you in any way possible, even if it’s just words on a screen. XOXO

  14. I just want you to know that NOTHING you are feeling or have written makes you a monster. YOU, my friend, have been through it ALL. Too much. I truly don’t have any words to share with you… Other than the words to tell you how sorry I am that you have to deal with this. It’s just not fair. None of it. Offering you my continues prayers.


  15. I’ve read your post three times over the last few days hoping that the right words would come to me… but there are simply no words.

    I’m so angry for you, too. I remember reading the encouraging words your doctors were sharing, how confident they were and it just makes me so mad. But who is there to be mad at? I’m so sorry honey, but I hope you know that everything you are feeling (and more) is completely normal and simply makes you human.

    Hugs sweet friend, BIG HUGS!

  16. I feel relieved to read about your anger. There is so much to be enraged about in your situation. It doesn’t take away from your love and deep joy at having Rowan here with you. But your daughter Emmanuelle was taken too soon.
    I keep you in my thoughts each day.

  17. I’ve been reading this for days now. I wanted to respond but I will save you the faith speech. You are hurting at a level I can’t comprehend. It’s devastating, I also try not to use the word fair but it doesn’t seem fair either. I know God has a plan but neither of us can see that far I just pray he brings you and your husband comfort until redemption comes.

  18. I agree Allison… Fuck the universe! You didn’t deserve this, no one does but especially a couple who have been through so much already.
    I was stunned to read of Emmanuelle’s death, why?? Really… Noooo!!, it couldn’t be. It doesn’t make sense and I’m not living this nightmare like you are.
    I am a serial lurker and hardly comment but I was so, so happy for you when you blogged about your beautiful little girls being born, I just had to comment. My words remain the same, you are inspiring, you deserved this and you are a wonderful mum, I just know, Rowan is going to have an amazing life.
    You, your husband, Rowan and all of your family, friends… you have all lost a beautiful daughter, sister, grand-daughter, neice… she was too much to lose.
    Take care of each other, you will get through this sorrow as a family, Emmaunelle will never be forgotten.
    Kia Kaha.

  19. I have admired your courage and your compassion since I began reading your blog. You are an incredible person, who has certainly been given her share of tragedy.
    I so hope you can find the peace and the love in your heart again…and start to look forward to the many years ahead with beautiful Rowan…you, your husband, and Rowan, all deserve to have a happy life. I do not blame you for your feelings…healing will be long and painful…. I know you are little but you have the strength of a giant…you can make it through the rain…for Rowan….and for you and your husband. They are counting on you. You are, my dear, their rock.

  20. You have so many reasons to be angry. I know that I can’t relate to your pain so I won’t try to console you. My words will always fall short. But I’m praying for your healing.

  21. I had 2 miscarriages. One a chemical and the other at 9w5d. I in no way whatsoever would compare those to what you are going through right now. I cannot even comprehend the pain you are feeling. It is so unfair and I am so incredibly sorry for your loss. You have very right to be angry at the universe. My heart hurts for you.

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