Three Months

Today marks three months.

Three months since I felt that twinge of pain on my left side and my doctor immediately ended the exam.

Three months since we finally gave in to what we had known was going to be the truth of our situation.

Three months since my husband scooped me up off our bedroom floor and put me on the couch, so the EMTs did not have to drag their equipment, and me, all the way through the house.

Three months since we lost our baby.

Some days it feels like it has been an eternity. Other days, it’s hard to believe it has already been that long. It was a Wednesday, just like today, and we had been stretched between hope and reality for 12 days. Hope that this was just a scare and things would turn around – that we were just off to a rocky start. Reality that my symptoms were not healthy signs, and every test that had been run was confirming that. We had gone for another check-up with my obstetrician that day, after watching my hCG levels rise and fall in disappointing and concerning increments. Until that day, we thought my body was just hanging onto this pregnancy for dear life, explaining the slowly declining hCG levels. But for the first time, our doctor did not tell us not to stress, not to hold out hope. He was always honest and realistic, but cautious and optimistic.

This time, he looked at us and said that we were looking at an ectopic pregnancy, how it was not, and would never be, a viable pregnancy, and we would need to talk about the process of ending it in order to keep me safe and give me a chance at a healthy pregnancy in the future. He looked at us with sad eyes, comforted us, and told me that I was in no way responsible, nor could I have done anything to cause a better outcome. It was not my fault. And quicker than it started, the bottom fell out of our hope and we were confronted with a fear worse than we had anticipated.

It was as if my body heard our doctor say he would take care of me, that we had a safe way to handle this, and good ole body decided to be the hero; because that night, while Bryan was taking the trash out, my tube ruptured and my body went into shock. I was bleeding internally, and my body was doing everything it could to survive. The only thing I could do was lay on the cold tile floor of our bedroom and pray to God that Bryan did not decide to start a project in the garage, where he couldn’t hear me crying for him to help me. I wasn’t there long when Bryan came in a found me. He scooped me up and put me on the couch, and called 911.

I underwent emergency surgery, which resulted in the removal of my left fallopian tube and the discovery of advanced stage endometriosis, likely the cause of my ectopic pregnancy. The following weeks, bringing us to today, would continue to uncover more bad news in the form of yet another diagnosis – infertility. We need advanced reproductive technology in the form of in vitro fertilization to have a baby. Infertility. A dirty, isolating word. Painful, time-consuming, and insanely expensive. But this is my only option, aside from a miracle, to get pregnant again and have a baby. To become a “real mom,” and end our waiting game.

So today marks three months and 12 days that I have been trying to keep myself together; to put on a happy face and will myself to accept the road we have to travel, and be grateful for the option. It’s been three months of missing the baby we never got to hold and not knowing how to mourn them. Three months of feeling broken and hiding from the world because of it.

This is where my little pet project of a blog enters the scene. My hope is to share my experiences, build a community of warrior women (and men!) who have traveled this lonely road, and make the journey not-so-lonely for all of us. When rolling this idea around in my head, I reached out to a friend who I look up to for several reasons – one of which is her uncanny ability to use words to connect and heal. When I pitched my idea to her, she said this:

That’s really the crux of the human condition, isn’t it? We just want to feel like we’re not alone in what we’re going through. I’d say that for you starting a blog, the worst case scenario is that you find a productive, creative element to chronicle your journey and the best case scenario is that you open the door for women across the globe to find comfort and solace in the fact that they are not alone.

Thank you, sweet friend, for the courage to do this.

Infertility is not a dirty word. It should not be isolating. And so I invite you all to walk with us, support us, cry with us, love us, pray for us, and send us words of wisdom if you have them.

19 thoughts on “Three Months

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  1. Wow, the courage you have to share your heart is nothing but amazing. Nothing anyone says will bring comfort so I will say I love you and I’ll be praying for you all. 💕

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    1. If anyone here is brave, it’s you! Thank you for being so open with your fight against cancer, all while being an amazing mom, and paving the way for women like me to share our story. Thank you for praying for us, and we continue to do the same for you and your sweet family! Love you!

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  2. My heart goes out to you. That loss is painful and indescribable and sharing is even that much harder. You are correct that infertility should not be a dirty word. The fertility road is hard and full of heartaches but it is worth it. I’ll pray yours is a little quicker than mine was. For me 2 miscarriages, 2 failed iui’s and ivf over 5 years was worth it too finally hold my baby. You’ve got this.

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    1. Thank you for sharing your story, and your encouragement! You are one tough momma. I’m not a good candidate for IUI because my ovaries are blocked, so we are fortunate (such an odd word in this situation) that our doctor recommended skipping it, and getting straight to IVF. Keep sharing your story, and being an amazing mom to that sweet baby!

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  3. I’m so sorry you had to experience this and walk this road. I, too, know brokenness and emptiness of losing a baby. Thank you for your willingness to openly discuss your pain so that we can come together and grow in strength and peace.

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    1. I remember the first time you told you had miscarried, and feeling at a complete loss as to what to say to you, but being so impressed with the strength you showed in sharing you story. Thank you for letting me in then, so that I can carry on knowing I’m not alone now! Love you, sweet friend!

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  4. The grief and feelings that go along with losing your baby are indescribably horrible. I’ve walked this road too. Our first was ectopic. Something that helped us was to make a build a bear that I could cuddle when I especially missed them and to give them a name. I embroidered the foot with the nickname we were using and the month/year. You aren’t alone. If you ever need to talk, do not hesitate to contact me. It gets easier. The pain never fully fades, but the light comes back into the world and things start moving again. I know it seems like it never will, but you and your husband are strong and you will both meet that sweet baby on the other side. Right now, they’re playing with all our loved ones and have the best babysitters we could hope for until we can hold them in our arms. Love each other through this and you’ll be okay.

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    1. Sweet cousin, it breaks my heart to know that you and Steven suffered such a great loss. Thank you for your words of advice and encouragement. The idea of a teddy bear is a good one, and something we might do for a future baby nursery. We never got to find out if Baby DiNunzio was a boy or girl, but we nicknamed them and pray for them constantly.

      We will keep you and your family in our prayers as you welcome baby Hailey into the world very soon!

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  5. Love to you sweet Kaylee. Remember that Jesus said…. in this world we would have trouble but to take heart cause He has overcome the world. Praying for you sweetie as you let the Lord lead on exactly how to overcome this disappointment. We don’t know how but He does…we don’t know when He will make things clear but He does. Keep looking up. I have a feeling He has something special in store for you. It may always hurt and for that we all hurt with you but please share with us when the Lord provides whatever He is working on in your future. ((((hug))))

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    1. Love you too, Mrs. Teri! It some time, but we are seeing God’s hand in all of this. I like to think that I’ve figured out some of the lessons to be learned and purposes for our pain. We’ve been able to reach and love a whole new group of people, and are building a strong community of people hurting together. Please continue praying for us. Love you!

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  6. My precious daughter, you handle this like you always have handled your life, with grace, strength, faith, and a little humor. You will be a great Momma to your future baby the way you ARE already to your 2 beautiful girls. I’m so proud of you, I love you way more than air, and I would literally do ANYTHING for you.

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    1. My thoughts and prayers are with you as you embark on your journey. Like you I also suffered through 3 ectopic pregnancies with my first being undiagnosed which also ruptured. My husband and I went through years of sadness after these three losses. However, my story is filled with happiness because after two attempts of IVF God and our amazing doctor assisted with the blessing of our precious Twins! Life would forever be changed after the birth of these babies that will be turning 21 in October! I am friends with your mom and I love her dearly. I will continue to lift you up in prayer and keep you in my thoughts as we share a similar story.

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      1. Hi, Kelly! I had no idea that you struggled with infertility and that your sweet babies were helped into this world by IVF. For as long as I can remember, their dance recital pictures were on the fridge at my parents’ house. And now they’re going to be 21?! Thank you for sharing your stories of heartbreak and success. They give me so much encouragement, and I know there are many other women who feel the same!

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    2. There is no way I could have made it through this hell without you. You are my rock and my hero. If I’m confident of one thing, it’s that I am, and will be even more so, a kickass mom because you are my example. I love you more than air!

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  7. Oh Kaylee, my heart breaks for you. I think using your words on a blog and connecting people on the same journey is a fantastic idea.

    I dealt with infertility for 3 years and I watched friend after friend get pregnant. While I was so happy for them, it was like a dagger in the heart each time. I felt like no one understood, and why couldn’t I just be “normal”. My husband was supportive but also said that maybe we weren’t supposed to have kids. While he was trying to help it just hurt even more.

    I am thinking and praying for you. Miracles do happen. After so much heartache, so many doctor visits, doctors telling me I could never get pregnant, I was able to 3 times now with natural medicine and a lot of prayer.

    I don’t know why things like this happen, but I do know that they cause us to lean into God and our stories later on can help someone else going through the same thing. Thank you for sharing your journey with others. ❤️

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  8. I’ve lost count of how many women I have talked to that said the same things you just said; that no one understood them and that they felt like it was their fault, or that they aren’t normal. But because there are women like you who have found the courage to lift others up, we’re helping each other to heal and find a way forward. It has absolutely made our bond and need for God stronger as well, which we count among our blessings. Thank you for your words of hope, and for praying for us! Give those sweet babies hugs for me!

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  9. Kaylee,
    You have such a kind and loving heart. I remember you from years ago “mothering” the younger ones. You are a “real mother” to your girls. They may not have grown under your heart, but they have grown in it….and that a “real mother” makes. Having had two miscarriages myself, I understand the pain, confusion, and numbness. God has a plan, even if we do not see it.

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