Five Losses, Two Miracles, and One Incredible Journey

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Infertility is a strange place to live. It’s where hope and heartbreak hold hands, and you somehow learn to function while carrying both.

Since 2020, I’ve had five miscarriages. Five tiny lives we celebrated, followed by five waves of excitement that ended in quiet grief. And if you’ve ever walked that road, you know it changes you. It makes you cautious. It makes you guarded. It makes you Google things at 2 a.m. that no one should ever Google.

We did everything we could. Bloodwork. Tests. More bloodwork. More tests. I became very familiar with waiting rooms and phrases like “it'll happen next time.”

Now listen. No one warned me what fertility treatments would be like. Clomid was a wild ride, because hallucinating was not on my infertility bingo card. I expected mood swings. I did not expect to feel like I was in a low-budget psychological thriller where people were whispering in the air vents.

Zero stars. Would not recommend.

Then came the Femera. It made me sick as a dog. Violently and with dramatics. Again, nobody tells you this part when you’re starry-eyed and hopeful.

Month after month, medication after medication, disappointment after disappointment — you start bracing yourself for bad news as a form of self-protection. So when I found out I was pregnant again, I didn’t throw confetti. I blinked. I stared at the test. I checked it again. I may have even accused it of lying. It's hard to be hopeful when you’re tired of getting let down. But then it all became very real with the ultrasound.

2 little blobs.

Dos.

Twins.

Identical twins to be exact.

This may sound magical and adorable — and it is — but our excitement didn't last long before the doctor gently explained the added risks. We learned a lot about twins, and ours were either Mono/Di or Mono/Mono. Thankfully, our girls were the former. Had they been Mono/Mono, I would have been hospitalized at 24 weeks and would have stayed till I gave birth. I may do another blog about that little side adventure another day… Anyways…

After five losses, it felt like I couldn’t just celebrate. Infertility does that to you tho. It steals the naïve excitement and replaces it with whispered prayers and held breath. I will be honest, the first question I asked our MFM Dr. (Maternal-Fetal Medicine) was, “what happens if we lose one? Could I still end up with at least one baby?”

Again… I Googled a lot of scary things.

But here’s the thing. Every appointment after that, every extra scan, every nervous wait — they were growing and fighting. My body, the same one I had quietly resented and questioned for years, was carrying two tiny miracles. And now look! Now I look at my twin girls and marvel that they are really here. God knew what he was doing, and I truly was unable to imagine the plans He had in store for us.

It wasn’t the journey I would have chosen, but it gave me my girls. Infertility didn’t break me — though it tried. It made me a little softer in some places and a little harder in others. But it happened, and I have made peace. And if you’re still in the waiting, still in the trying, still in the heartbreak — I see you. I remember being you.

Don't give up.

“For I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord…”