I had a miscarriage in 2019. I had to begin this post with that sentence simply because I might not have the balls to put it out there as I write this not-so-easy pregnancy story, kinda. So there, I said it, it’s out there.
I got so scared to get pregnant again.
The crazy pandemic came, and somehow, I got my mind off of it. But by the end of 2020, I wanted a child so bad, it hurt. I was diagnosed with PCOS in 2018. I wanted to so hard to prove that even people suffering from PCOS could have kids that easy if they wanted to, and so I went on Keto. I exercised so much, it became sort of like an obsession to me. I was at my fittest. Not sexy fit, not beach babe bod, but my fittest. Then I got pregnant. I was so happy.
When I lost the baby, I thought I was never going to get pregnant again. I gained most of the weight I lost when I was on keto. I stopped working out. I stopped watching what I ate. And so all the PCOS symptoms came back.
I visited our OB friend and I told her that I WANTED A BABY SO BAD. This was at the end of 2020. She put me on Metformin and birth control pills.
I was miserable. I did not want to control birth, I wanted to give birth!!! So why are they giving me birth freaking control pills?!
Little did I know that they actually really helped. I only took them for a couple of months. Metformin was horrible (TMI but what the heck: gave me crazy explosive diarrhea) but it also helped out with the PCOS and everything in between.
Fast forward, my OB gave me Clomid. I think this is also one of the medications that actually helped me get pregnant. These are tablets you take that induce the production of eggs. Women with PCOS could or could not produce eggs on their own, so Clomid helped with that. I was obsessed with taking ovulation tests at that time. My first Clomid month was February. You take two tablets a day from Day 2 of your period until Day 6. I bought so many pregnancy tests and I took them every day from my ovulation day.
Daddy passed away in March. So I stopped Clomid. Well, paused. A lot of other things happened then, but what REALLY happened was I got sad and discouraged and I was all over the place. But I knew I had to pull my shit together.
I took Clomid again in April. You usually take it, I heard, on the third or fourth day of your period, until you finish ten. That’s twice a day. But my brilliant (and by brilliant, I mean BRILLIANT) OB told me to start taking it on Day Two. And you see, with Clomid, you will experience a lot of things. My period was more painful than I was used to. I had night sweats that weirded me out, because I did not research any of these beforehand. And, on top of all these new symptoms, I was still heartbroken and all over the place. I was actually taking it just because my OB was asking about it, but I was feeling hopeless and discouraged. I felt like I was just going to be that girl with the dead father and no kids. Which should be fine, eventually, if that was what God wanted. I mean, who am I to complain to God?
BUT… I was fervently praying. Actually, this was the time when I had a dream of Jesus Christ. I was pretty pissed in my dream. I was angry because they weren’t “giving” me what I wanted. And they took my dad. I remember this dream so vividly, because in the morning, I was crying, and I told my husband about the dream like I walked in it. Like it really happened.
I went on with my life. Well, with the rest of the month. Before the month of May ended, this was about a month since my last period, my husband wanted to go somewhere. I, on the other hand, wanted to stay in. I wasn’t feeling like myself. This was the 23rd of May 2021. It was a Sunday. I peed on a stick that morning because I wanted stay in and I wanted to see a second line so bad just so I can convince my husband to stay in. And we actually did stay in. It was not a positive positive, but there was the faintest second line on the stick. We did respond to it like how we should have. Because we were not certain. And we were scared.
The next day, the second line was a tad bit darker. I messaged my OB showing her my test and she advised me to stay in bed until I am able to get an ultrasound, which isn’t until a few weeks from then. So in bed, I stayed.
My husband was amazing. At that time, he did everything I was supposed to be doing. He did the cleaning, the cooking, and everything in between, that’s after he gets home from work. I would stay in bed and cry from puking. And he would come home, tired from work, and take care of me and our home. He is pretty awesome.
After a few weeks, we were able to go to my OB. I was 8 weeks pregnant. We heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time, and we both cried.
From this very long post, I want you to take something with you. This is the lesson I have learned from all of this:
I was hopeless and discouraged and I felt like my prayers were not being heard because it felt like it was taking forever or just a no. At that time, I actually felt like God was turning my prayers on mute because He’s tired of listening to me. Which was reasonable, I could be pretty annoying.
But He’s there. He listens. He cares.
Just know that everything in this world has its own time. It could be today, it could be in the next year, it could be in ten. And everything has its reason. Things happen because of a reason. And one thing that we have to keep in mind is that we have to keep the faith, even if it feels like nothing is happening.
If things are meant for us, God will always, always find a way.