This post deals with infertility and pregnancy loss, and might be triggering for some readers.
Imagine a mirror that once hung so strong and steadily on your wall falls to the ground and smashes into pieces.
You stare at it on the floor, not quite sure what to make of all the glass scattered around you.
Gathering the pieces up, you start joining them back together one by one, piece by piece, and hang the mirror back on the wall.
Watch: A tribute to the babies we've lost. Post continues below.
But, from that moment on when you look at your reflection, it has changed.
Of course, you know it is still you when you stare into it, but the mirror will never be the same, will never be whole as it once was, and the cracks will never disappear.
That is infertility. That is pregnancy loss. It changes us. We break into pieces and put ourselves back together and break some more. The way we see ourselves and the way we view the world becomes different.
Some days it is dark and hopeless and other days it is light and full of hope and obstacles overcome. Then other days you don’t feel anything at all, completely detached from reality.
My story has been filled with a number of chapters over the course of the last four years. Chapters detailing the immense highs of the two lines on the pregnancy test stick and seeing the joy on my husband’s face, to the lows, on more than one occasion, of the “sorry, there's no heartbeat” at the scan.
From the strength in knowing you can try again, to the fear of wondering how you possibly can.
And the absolute shock within the span of 24 hours going from thinking at the 13 week mark, “this is it”, to being told that really the only option is to terminate your pregnancy because no matter what you do, your baby won’t survive.
And waking up from that “simple” surgery seven hours later informed you almost died from blood loss and had to undergo an emergency hysterectomy.