This year my social media feeds have painted a happy picture. I’ve been working on my own business, raising my son and enjoying our unique, offshore lifestyle in the northern suburbs of Sydney. My posts are full of smiling faces and fun adventures.
So often, my friends comment, “It has just been such a good year for you!” And in many ways, it has.
Except for the two miscarriages.
This week marks the start of Never Forgotten: Mamamia’s Pregnancy Loss Awareness Week.
We have been trying to add to our family since October 2014. We’ve conceived twice and lost both pregnancies. The second miscarriage, back in June, was right at the nine week mark and resulted in surgery. It was shocking, painful and unbelievable to comprehend that I’ve now suffered three miscarriages in five years.
The thing about miscarriage is that the pain gets worse as time passes. My sadness grows instead of fading. I get swept away by a tidal wave of disappointment each time my period arrives. Regular sessions with my therapist help me cope but the grief and feeling that I’m not good enough is still overwhelming.
Every day I feel more keenly that something, or someone is missing. I love my son and am so grateful for him but I can’t get over wanting him to know the joys of having a sibling. He gets older each month and I’m forced to move the goalposts. The plan to be pregnant by the time he was two turned into hopefully being pregnant by his third birthday. Now I’m crossing my fingers that it will happen before he turns four.
I have one chance left in 2015 to fall pregnant. Hubby and I are more shagadelic than Austin Powers but there’s no joy in this forced, desperate game of sex-to-conceive. When I tell him it’s go-time again he actually sighs.