They called it an abortion

I was 38 years old when I was diagnosed with PCOS. Polycystic ovarian syndrome. This condition explained a bunch of symptoms I had experienced for many years, such as acne, weight gain, painful periods. I thought all of these things were so not cool but I had no idea that the worst was yet to come. My ovaries sucked. They did not easily produce viable eggs. Eggs needed to create a human being.

So it began. Tests and pokes. More tests. We would need medical assistance to start our family. We couldn’t start fast enough. So into the world of infertility we went. We started where they recommended we start. Tom was not the problem. I recall the nurses stating that he appeared to be “showing off”. The problem was me. Me and my shitty ovaries.

We started with medication to give my ovaries a boost. It was so exciting the first few cycles. Hyper focus on each day of my cycle, taking oral medication and having vaginal ultra sounds to track the activity on my ovaries. While my ovaries were able to produce a few viable eggs, there were never more than a few to three on one or both ovaries. When the time came, there was a sperm transfer made. Not in the romantic setting one would hope to experience when creating a family with your spouse, but in my fertility doctor’s office. With my husband in the chair across the room, while I grasped the crisp sheet on the clinic table. Granted, the place was NICE. I’ve been to beautiful spas that remind me of my fertility doctor’s office. Peaceful, dim lighting, tender care.

The setting was easy to overlook. We’d do anything to create our child.

After several failed attempts we took another step to improve our dismal odds of conceiving. We knew I had a benign fibroid tumor. It was time to get it out. I consulted with a doctor for the removal. She set the date. Moments prior to the procedure, when I confirmed that the fibroid would be removed, she looked at me like I was insane with a sharp “we can’t take that out today! You will likely need a hysterectomy to get that removed!”. Wait, what? I was in shock. How did she misinterpret our first meeting when I told her, “I need this fibroid removed, can you help me?”? How? I went forward with the hysteroscopy that day and there were a few polyps that were removed but the fibroid remained. Everything else looked good.

Future fertility treatments were on hold until I was fully healed from the procedure. I won’t lie. It was nice to take a break. At the same time, we could not wait to keep going. The months are flying by and my age is also not on our side. I needed one more period and we could start the next cycle of treatments once the cycle clock started to tick. It was the period that never came.

I was pregnant. Naturally!

I can’t explain the feeling. Mostly disbelief! I’ve always heard that it will happen when you stop trying! It was true! Jubilation and thanks to God above! I called the doctor right away. By the time I had my appointment, just a few days later, I was experiencing light bleeding. The nurse assured me that it could be a number of things and arranged for an ultra sound the next day. They estimated, by my blood test, that I was 8 weeks pregnant. They sent me home with books and folders about being a mom. All of our prayers were answered but I could not stop the sinking feeling I had.

The next day, the bleeding did not stop. It got worse and worse. Huge clots. Gushing blood everywhere. I knew this was not normal. By the time I made it to my appointment for the ultrasound, I could barely walk due to blood loss and cramping. It was gruesome, emotional and left me literally speechless. The shock and horror of this situation was indescribable. Although the pregnancy was confirmed by blood testing, the ultrasound confirmed that there was no baby to be found. I gasped for air to cry. I was in shock.

Days later, the doctor called to tell me that the benign fibroid tumor that I had asked her to remove that she didn’t, had gone from the size of a grape to a grapefruit and that I should probably get in touch with a surgeon to remove it. So, I did just that. The surgeon ended up closing me back up with the fibroid intact because it was connected to a very tricky spot. It was likely the reason our baby did not survive. With the skillful hands of one of our fertility doctors, a second attempt was made to remove this fibroid from hell. It was a success. All we had to do now is wait for me to heal up and we are back to fertility treatments.

I started with pills to boost my ovaries. Next level was injections. At $5000 a month out of pocket, we didn’t question it. Not that we had a money tree, but because we would do anything to keep going. Injections, vaginal ultrasounds, transfers. I can’t remember how many cycles of the injections we did. Failure after failure. By this point, we are sick and fucking tired. Emotionally and financially devasted. Every cycle. Praying it’s the one that works. Please God. No period. I can’t take it. I can’t take it! It crushed my soul. We were beyond defeated. We are running out of time! Please God, I pray! PLEASE! I couldn’t do it anymore. But we had one more option to consider. IVF with donor eggs. Fuck it. Let’s do it.

We picked a donor after carefully reviewing profiles. We chose our donor and she created the eggs that I could not. We ended up with enough embryos (with Tom’s sperm) to try two transfers of the embryos to me. Both failed.

As with most of my life experiences, I learned a lot. While at a doctor visit, my history was on the screen. There it was. “Abortion”. What in the absolute fuck is that? I nearly jumped out of my chair. I DIDN’T HAVE AN ABORTION! Tom! They called it an abortion! Why would they call it an abortion??!! I would never abort our baby! I obviously did not know that “abortion” was used as a medical term for loss of pregnancy. It took me a while to accept that yes, I had an abortion. But it wasn’t at all what my perception of an abortion was.

My pregnancy was naturally extracted from my body. There was no further needed procedure to complete the abortion. This is not the case for so many women! My heart goes out to every woman and family that goes through this beyond awful experience.

As I revisit these memories, my heart is still as heavy as it was back then. It was the most heartbreaking time of my life and far worse than being told I had months to live.

My abortion was a medical emergency that if I had any control over, would never have happened. I cannot imagine being in my situation and not having medical choices for my own body. When I think of my daughter’s future, I panic. To deny choice is cruel and inhumane. I will never understand this.