TTC after Loss

Trying to get pregnant is hard enough when it doesn’t come quickly or easily. Trying to get pregnant after a loss is a whole new horror even before you begin. Just the thought of bringing it up with your partner can be terrifying.

Will I be imposing on their grief?
Have I grieved long enough?
Am I really ready for pregnancy again?
Did we honor our baby’s memory correctly?
Will I be able to emotionally handle pregnancy?
And, of course, will I survive if we lose another baby?

If you asked me about having another baby just a month after losing our son Miles at 19 weeks, I would have said I was ready. I wanted another baby. I wanted to be pregnant again. I wanted to be pregnant still but that wasn’t possible. Losing Miles never once changed my desire for more children or for a sibling for my son Cillian. All it seemed to do was delay my timeline. I was prepared for another baby in the fall of 2020. I was prepared for my children to be exactly 4 years apart in age. I wanted to have all my babies before I turned 35. Now I was back to hoping my timeline didn’t stretch too much farther, maybe even so far that it became impossible to complete.

My doctor recommended we wait until my periods returned for a few months to “try again.” How I hate that phrase now. It feels like reducing pregnancy to some obstacle course we were attempting, and losing our child was akin to falling off. We just needed to get up and “try again.” As in, it didn’t work this time around but maybe if we “try again” we’ll have better success.

I use the phrase because it sum things in up in a nice fashion but I hate it.

I did not see the benefit to waiting to get pregnant again. I knew I wanted another child. We already knew we wanted a third baby before we lost Miles. That is just how we saw our life going at that time. Three beautiful babies to raise to be good people. Losing Miles was not a failed attempt at having a baby that we needed to reattempt but I did want to continue with our family plans. His death and additional children were completely independent thoughts. Trying again was not to replace him or start over, but rather to continue on.

We lost our son.
Full stop.
We want more children.

Following the doctor’s recommendation to wait to begin trying to get pregnant felt like an unnecessary delay. I saw my perfect timeline spiraling out of control as waiting three months led to trying for another nine and before I knew it, I would be facing down 35 without a baby in my arms. I wanted none of that.

In true Beka fashion, I questioned the doctor’s suggestion. I wanted to know why we needed to wait for my periods (since we had been instructed to use some form of birth control while we waited for it) and why we needed to wait two cycles after that at all. I’ve heard from others and read for myself that periods don’t have to return in order to get pregnant after giving birth (hence the BC suggestion) and that the chances of getting pregnant might actually be better if you wait less than 6 months after a loss or birth. When I pressed our OB, whom I trust and respect very much, she admitted that waiting for a period was simply for ease of tracking fertility cycles and calculating due dates – the former never worked for me and the latter never meant very much to me. Based on that and my own research, I knew that once my body was physically healed from any tears or ruptures and I was physically able to have sex again, my body was physically able to get pregnant.

Besides the physical factors, there were the emotional ones to consider. Were we emotionally ready for another baby? And not just a baby, for the whole process of trying to get pregnant which was so emotionally demanding. Were we ready to add that stress on top of our grief?

If you asked me on day one, yes. I was willing to add that struggle in on top of my pain because of what it would mean if we DID get pregnant. The joy another pregnancy would bring might balance out the grief. I saw no emotional benefit to delaying our TTC (trying to conceive) timeline. I knew it was going to be hard for us and even harder after losing Miles. Delaying it was not going to help that. Being pregnant after losing our son was going to be full of fear and anxiety and probably some PTSD. I knew that and I knew no amount of time would change that. I also knew I wasn’t ever going to be finished grieving my son. Waiting for the conclusion of Miles before “trying again” meant we’d be waiting for the rest of our lives.

My pregnancy with Miles, even more so than my first pregnancy with Cillian, was so full of joy and excitement. Anxiety and fear were present too, but it was overwhelmingly positive for me. I felt like a goddess with life radiating from my very being. I was happy. I couldn’t possibly fathom how adding something so beautiful and joyful to my time of grief would be anything but healing.

I was well aware that being pregnant again would not be a second attempt at Miles. It would not be “trying again.” It would not be a replacement baby. It would be continuing with our lives as we always intended to. It would be finding something joyful to focus on in our dark time. It would not be an attempted to stifle my grief.

If my husband and I were to decide to take a vacation during our grieving period, no one would tell us we were trying to avoid our pain or replace our situation. They might say we were seeking peace and finding a time of healing. If my husband were to find a sliver of joy in getting his truck repairs covered under our wrap warranty, no one would tell him he’s trying to replace his son with his truck. They would say he was focusing on joy in this time. Joy unrelated to Miles, but joy that might help the pain not burn as hot. If my son were to spend extra time with his friends, no one would dare accuse him of using others to forget about his brother. They would say he is seeking the comfort he recognizes he needs.

But if a mother expresses the desire for another pregnancy, another baby, others accuse her of trying to replace what she lost. They think she is trying to bury her grief. They say she’s not ready or it’s not healthy to “try again” so soon. They remind her that another baby won’t replace the one she lost and it might cause her to focus more on what she lost. Let me assure you, nothing could possibly make a mother focus more on the child she has lost – she is already focusing on it every second of every day. She doesn’t need a reminder, she will never forget what she lost and the pain will never leave her. It will change and maybe fade, but it will always be there. She knows more than anyone that another baby won’t be a second version of the one she can’t have. The only reason others dare to make that comparison is because the thing she is turning to or leaning on in her time of grief looks similar to what she lost. She is finding joy in pregnancy after the loss of a completely unrelated pregnancy. She is focusing her hope on a life that is separate from the one that won’t ever be.

Maybe for some, time to sit in grief is what they need. Time to just be sad or angry without seeking comfort or relief from it. They might need to feel the pain as intensely as they can so that they can let it fade later. They need to just fall apart until they are broken and numb and they will rebuild themselves later. But for me, I need to find joy and comfort as I grieve. I need to fill the cracks as they appear. I’ll be broken, yes, but I won’t be destroyed. I still feel the pain and loss of Miles like a brand on my heart. I feel a physical pain in my chest when I think of that mother looking at the sonogram screen and having to ask what no one would say out loud, “Is it dead?” I feel her anguish ever second of ever day. I will be her, forever.

Also and unrelated, I want another baby and that’s OK.