*Trigger warning: this story is full of hope but also recounts moments of pregnancy loss and grief*

This blog post is dedicated to all those wanting to be parents and to those wanting to support loved ones going through fertility struggles.

I’ve wanted to write a full blown book (and I will) about my fertility journey. It’s been a wild, and unbelievable (literally, almost totally unbelievable) ride. You know that saying: “truth is stranger than fiction.” I’ve learned time and time again, that statement is accurate AF.

My story has a handful of unbelievable aspects, but one strong message: don’t take a diagnosis at full value, because miracles happen all the time and YOU are worthy of one.

Here’s your new affirmation if you need it: “I am worthy of miracles.” Say it again if you have to. Heck, write it down to further instill it into your psyche. Put post-its on your mirror. Any little thing to remind you of this fact.

I’m going to try to keep this short and simple (which through editing has proven to be difficult), and save a lot of the medical and other details for the book; however, if you have any questions please reach out here.

I have written a little bit about the beginning of my fertility journey in my published chapter in Every Body Holds a Story. I discuss how I advocated for myself to get my endometriosis diagnosis, how I learned more about my gynecological health, and so much more. This particular doctor who helped me, my gynocologist (gyno from here on out), is also a fertility specialist! And, if you know anything about endometriosis then you know it can absolutely affect fertility—it threatens it, actually. Thankfully, my gyno insisted on monitoring me post-surgery (after removing my endometriosis cells) continuously for 6 month follow-ups until I was ready to start family planning.

Fast-forward two years after having my endo removed: it’s 2018, I’ve found my person I wanna do life with (Devin), haven’t had a period in two years (due to endo medication), and ready to simply learn more about my health for future family planning and where my fertility stands.

We started with bloodwork. I was 26 years old at the time, and got the call to come in and discuss everything, and in case you hadn’t guessed yet, it wasn’t the best news. I was informed that my egg count was SO low, I wasn’t even a candidate for the Canadian funded IVF program, nor would I be able to freeze any of my eggs.

He started by showing me a graph, where most women my age have a follicular count per month of 15-20… Mine was 1.

Out of 15-20 follicles for the average woman, everyone usually has only 1 follicle take center stage, then mature, and break out of the ovary to hopefully get fertilized. I had only ONE follicle for that chance to even mature, and even that one might not. (which would explain all my irregular cycles and breakthrough bleeding I’ve had since I was in high school.) This news felt absolutely devastating, as I had wanted to be a mom for as long as I could remember. I always pictured myself with children, so to learn my chances of conceiving were this low felt like my heart was being crushed inside my chest. I remember getting in my car and just bawling my eyes out, hanging desperately onto my gyno’s words: “this does not mean you won’t ever be a mother. I will do whatever I can to assist you and your spouse and take charge of your fertility when you’re ready.”

As devastating as this news was, all hope wasn’t lost: he sent me home with those words lingering in my mind, and said that when my spouse and I had discussed the best time for me to stop my endo meds (so I could have a cycle again), he’d help medically on his end with supplements and other medications if needed.

It was about six months after learning all this (give or take, I honestly can’t remember), and Devin and I agreed I would go off my endo meds and wait for my cycle to return. Some people might ask: “Why would you wait to stop taking your endo meds and not hop on the baby-making train immediately after that news?” Well, the short answer is that we weren’t necessarily ready to start immediately and I also needed to mentally process my diagnosis. Not to mention, I was running a business and self-employed, we were living with my brother-in-law, and so much more. We needed to both be comfortable with the process of when we would prepare for bringing a child into this world. The point of going to my fertility specialist in the first place was to figure everything out and come up with a plan, if a plan needed to be made — which one did.

When we were actually ready to prepare for the “stress” of trying to conceive, I did some Googling (terrible idea) and read from many different women on various forums that stopping the endo meds that I has been taking resulted in them waiting six months to a year for their cycle to return. This information certainly gave me some negative thoughts like: shit, did we wait too long already? What if I have no eggs at all and my cycle never comes back? etc.

But, I kept practicing having a positive mindset, and trying to continuously tell myself that “I’m a mom at heart and this will happen when it’s supposed to.” I did not want the stress of it all to totally consume me and I did my best to keep calm and stay hopeful. This was one of the most difficult tasks of my whole journey.

I took my last endo pill Family Day weekend (February) 2019, and thus began the wait for Cousin Red, Aunt Flow, Crimson Wave, whatever you wanna call it.

The odds were stacked against me up until this point, yet, things started happening in unexpected ways: imagine my shock and total feeling of complete glee when only six weeks later while at work, I saw red! Which was certainly a huge blessing when I was expecting to wait an entire year. It was the best early gift that I had been praying for, and one of the last times I was happy to see my period, to be honest. I called my fertility doctor to share the happy news, and he said to give this month a go on our own without his assistance and see what happens. I was very hopeful for a successful first try, as I had never had “unsafe” sex with a partner before without any form of birth control whatsoever. There was tons of excitement and a weird sense of freedom—it felt a little taboo to be “reckless,” except it wasn’t reckless at all; it was 100% intentional.

I had never had regular periods before without birth control, and had also gone through nine or ten different types of birth control since puberty for various reasons. So, at 24 days my first cycle off meds, thinking if I had a 21 day cycle, 24 would be a good time to test. It was negative. I waited a few more days and then again, thinking I must be experiencing a 28 day cycle, I actually waited to test at 30 days thinking for sure it would be positive. Still negative. I waited a few more days, a little nervous to take another test, and finally at 38 days I went to the fertility clinic for bloodwork because I still didn’t have my period. I was really hopeful and had even read online that some people had negative home pregnancy tests but their bloodwork showed up positive.

However, my bloodwork was negative and indicated I ovulated abnormally late, and two days later I got my period. I was upset, but I had to remind myself this wasn’t defeat, and other people go through years of failed months. Not to mention my body was probably trying to get regulated after stopping the endo med. I gave myself some grace and reminded myself that one of my best friends was four years into trying for their second one, after easily getting pregnant with their first. Talk about a mindf*ck and stress for them. Secondary infertility is very much a common reality for many folks as well, which—spoiier alert—also became my own reality.

I went through a natural cycle again, yet, this duration was only 21 days. When that period arrived, my fertility doc decided to step in because of the variation in length, and because of my prior bloodwork indicating my egg count was critically low. He did a scan, bloodwork, prescribed an ovulation medication with a 5 day duration, and a compound medication which I only know as DHEA (and it wasn’t covered by our benefit plan). The DHEA was supposed to be a combo of things for the healthiest eggs possible, because there’s an automatic assumption that egg quality isn’t the greatest when it comes to limited supply.

On day 10, we did another scan and bloodwork to see if I’d had any follicles. I had ONE, and it also appeared to be maturing. He looked at me and said “this looks like it has a really good chance, so you best get home and get busy.”

On Monday, June 17th, 2019 at 7:30am while getting ready for work, I was on day 24 and decided to do a home test early because I was very hopeful. My hopes were so high because I had been diligently taking my supplements, I had the promise of a maturing follicle, and ovulation was projected to be “normal” that month.

I was on the phone with Devin that morning while getting ready when that little faint line ACTUALLY appeared. It was POSITIVE! I didn’t want to tell Devin over the phone, because I desperately wanted to celebrate with him in person and see his live reaction, plus I really wanted to confirm with bloodwork to be sure. The waiting almost killed me, because I couldn’t get in for bloodwork until the next morning before work, which meant I’d have to wait until the following evening to tell him face to face. BUT, it gave me time to create my little announcement for him. At 10:00am the next morning, my fertility clinic called me and left me the best voicemail I’d ever received: “Congratulations, you are pregnant!”

At 8:30pm that night when I finally got home and Devin was out of the shower, I showed him a picture of a black onesie, where I edited the front to say that Baby T was due February 2020. And we felt ALL the emotions, together.

How crazy is it, that this one follicle actually matured and got fertilized? If I went through a failed 3rd cycle, Devin was going to have to get tested too. Yet, here we were, pregnant within 3 months of trying, with my body and science against us, with the help of my gyno, ovulation meds, DHEA, scans and bloodwork. We couldn’t believe it. Of course, we immediately told our whole family within a week. At the time, I figured if anything bad went wrong, I’d want the support and understanding of our immediate family and closest friends, so we didn’t care about sharing our news “too soon.”

The usual fears of miscarriage and birth defects crossed my mind several times, but as soon as they popped in, I kicked them out, because I really wanted to relish in the excitement of it all and not be torn down by intrusive thoughts. I know those thoughts are real fears, but I was making no room for them to occupy any long-term space in my mind.

My gyno was having me in for scans every two weeks for my entire first trimester. At 12 weeks, my genetic scan and bloodwork showed nothing of concern, and I was already in the care of my midwife. My pregnancy was about as smooth as one could imagine (minus getting a cyst removed at 23 weeks pregnant—but that all went well). I only physically vomited three times, and I was working at the salon 12 hours a day 5-6 days a week until 38 weeks standing on my feet all day. I just sailed through.

Our perfectly healthy little girl was born in February 2020 at the hospital on her due date after 13 hours, with no epidural, no tearing, and no health concerns for either of us.

We were actually allowed to leave two hours after she was born because there was no medical reason to keep us and we had our midwife for home care.

My post-partum, however, wasn’t so smooth. As we entered the beginning of the global pandemic, we had moved a few months prior to my in-laws as we searched for a house of our own, I couldn’t go anywhere or see anyone, and we were navigating parenthood in the scariest time. Not to mention, my bleeding did NOT stop for an entire 11 months. Normally, post-partum bleeding stops around 6-8 weeks. Therefore, I had to go for more bloodwork and scans and discovered my body was apparently trying to ovulate but couldn’t, and I also had a small uterine polyp.

My gyno kindly booked me in to have the polyp removed to see if it would help anything, and then I finally asked for an IUD (before being as involved in my holistic journey as I am now, and desperate to stop the bleeding). I still bled. By the end of those crazy 11 months, my gyno decided to put me back on the endo meds that previously stopped my cycle, in conjunction with my IUD. Talk about being pumped full of synthetic hormones. But, my bleeding stopped within days. That was January 2021, and unfortunately and my frustrations with my health and body didn’t end there: my acne and fatigue really took a turn for the worst, familiar pain with sex flared up, and the quest for answers continued.

So, in the Spring of 2021, I went for more bloodwork for the lethargic concerns, and was informed I am pre-menopausal, AKA premature ovarian failure, at the age of 29. That was certainly difficult to hear and digest, considering I knew we eventually wanted one more baby. However, I knew this diagnosis made total sense with having a low egg count already just a few years prior, and it went hand-in-hand with my body trying to ovulate postpartum like a normal woman my age.

My gyno, Devin, and I, decided I’d feel better without the end meds and the IUD and booked to have it out by the end of June. By then, our daughter was almost a year and half old, so it was a decent time for us to try for our second anyway while we still had hope. I repeated the ovulation meds, DHEA, scans, and bloodwork for two cycles, which were unsuccessful. By this point, I was struggling physically, feeling lethargic most days, and still in pain during sex for no known reason (I suspected my endometriosis may be coming back but with trying to conceive again there wasn’t much for me to do about that). My hormones were all over the map and I was trying desperately to practice positivity and mindfulness to keep depression symptoms at bay.

For some background information, if I want my gyno’s fertility help, I have to report my day 1 of my cycle. For my third month after having the IUD removed, my day 1 fell just before leaving for a five day vacation, child-free. I didn’t want to delay vacay and decided I would let this month play out however it may, and go back for fertility tracking next month. I desperately needed this vacation and wanted to stop stressing and try to feel like “me” again.

Fast-forward four weeks: I thought I was crazy, because this was only my third cycle, with no meds and no scans, yet, I felt the need to take a home pregnancy test.

That little pink line showed up and I just couldn’t shake my shock and surprise. I called my gyno to confirm with bloodwork, and the next day it was confirmed that sweet baby T #2 was on its way.

Another miracle, right? My gyno told me he couldn’t believe I was pregnant on a natural cycle without intervention, but was elated for Devin and I, and he booked my first scan for 7 weeks to see how everything was. We were both so overjoyed, and I was incredibly grateful even though I was feeling way more sick with this pregnancy and having food aversions to everything—even beloved coffee.

At my 7 week scan, I was by myself as Devin usually can’t take time off work. I was so eager to get that first image and so excited to see a heartbeat, seeing as I heard our daughter’s at 6 weeks. I had my flash drive in my hand ready for images to be downloaded to take home with me, when a sigh filled the room followed by a palpable silence. My gyno’s body language changed, and I could see and feel that he was mentally preparing to deliver news he hated delivering.

“Unfortunately, there is no heartbeat and there is a concerning mass in your womb with the embryonic sac. I can’t determine if the mass is what we refer to as ‘molar’ or not, given that there’s also a yolk sac like a normal fetus. The mass could be interfering with the heartbeat, but I feel because I can’t give a proper diagnosis, I need to refer you to the local Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit.” (EPAU).

When I get bad news, sometimes I freeze and it takes me a while to feel my emotions. Not always, but sometimes. I just nodded at the news, not knowing what to do, and went to my car. I sat there for about 20 minutes, just trying to comprehend that I felt very pregnant and sick, my breasts were tender AF and huge, I was having aversions, but he couldn’t find a heartbeat and there was a giant mass in my womb? Do I hang on to hope that this mass really was interfering with viewing the growth of the baby? Sometimes it’s hard to find a heartbeat that early, even with “Wanda” —the probe (if you know, you know). I called Devin, finally crying, and we determined together we should remain hopeful until we knew for sure what was going on.

For those that don’t know, molar simply explained means a form of “pregnancy cancer” or a pregnancy tumour that mimics the hormones and feelings of a real pregnancy. The confusion was that there was this potential molar, as well as an actual separate embryonic sac that may or may not still be developing.

The toughest part about holding onto hope that a baby could still be growing inside me, was waiting an entire week before being seen by the EPAU doctors. I kept having to take a mental baseball bat to my thoughts of potential loss, while still feeling sick and pregnant. Top it off with having to reschedule clients (something I really hate having to do as a hairstylist) and the stress of it all was attempting to consume me.

My efforts to remain hopeful were futile, as the EPAU team determined my pregnancy was not viable and the fetus was not growing, but the mass was. They recommended a D&C (Dilation & Curettage) procedure because they thought it would be in my best interest to have a biopsy of the mass as there was still a concern for cancer.

I was outraged when they couldn’t immediately do the D&C and I had to wait for another entire week feeling like a human casket, with a foreign thing growing as well.

While I was consumed with grief, and concern for my health, I’ll be honest and admit I completely (unintentionally) disregarded the fact that Devin was also going through the loss of his child, while simultaneously worried about his partner’s health. Everyone kept texting and checking on me (yes, we told the fam early again), and asking him how I was doing. But people kind of side-stepped asking him how he was.

So, if you happen to go through a loss, or a friend tells you about theirs, I highly recommend reaching out to the other parent as well.

I got Devin a little memento keychain off Etsy, with a poppy seed representing our daughter, and a tiny forget-me-not seed for our lost baby.

On October 28th, I underwent the D&C procedure, booked a therapy appointment to make sure I was handling everything appropriately afterwards, and began my healing journey. If I’m being honest, I really wanted alcohol; a nice glass of dry red wine. If it weren’t for the antibiotics and pain meds, I would have absolutely had a drink, but, in hindsight, that wouldn’t have been the appropriate coping mechanism to turn to, and for my health I’m glad I didn’t.

When I got my first cycle after our loss, I knew we weren’t ready to try again right away. I wanted to feel better SO badly, and not just mentally, but physically: I still had pregnancy hormones running through me, I had to go for routine bloodwork to make sure those hormones were going back to normal properly, and my post-procedure follow-up showed I had two cysts (one on each ovary) that may or may not cause me problems.

By Christmas 2021, I was starting to feel somewhat better. I tried to focus on our toddler’s holiday experiences and memories and cherish every moment we had with her. My gratitude for motherhood in general had expanded exponentially after our loss, from simply looking at our child right in front of us, not wanting to take her for granted. She really was and still is a huge miracle.

However, the week between Christmas and New Years was a week of further ramping up my nervous system that I later learned hadn’t fully settled after our loss. At that point however, I wasn’t even aware of my nervous system. All I knew was that I couldn’t handle even the slightest stressor, everything gave me anxiety, I couldn’t sleep, and I was absolutely miserable.

By the beginning of January, I was still experiencing pelvic pain and began to see my pelvic floor physiotherapist again (I went earlier for pain postpartum), and she actually gave me my first lesson about the nervous system and how it greatly impacts our mind and body. This, of course, prompted tons of searching and reading and I discovered It all made sense—for me. I had practiced mindfulness and breathwork before, but there was my physiotherapist giving me further informational printouts and guidance for similar methods to re-set your nervous system. Bless her. PLUS, my family doctor also offered hypnotherapy (which to me, is essentially a guided meditation—but was equally helpful and I’d recommend a session to anyone). All these efforts helped to calm my nervous system, and I slowly began to feel more at ease, physical pain started to slowly get better, and I was JUST starting to get a handle on things.

By the beginning of February 2022, I thought maybe I was somewhat ready to go back to the fertility clinic since I had more knowledge and awareness of what my mind and body needed. So, after talking with Devin, I called to report my Day 1, booked my bloodwork for the next morning, and carried on.

Except later that day, I hit a brick wall and became very sick. Within a few hours, I had learned my coworker had COVID; I tested myself, and so did I—so did our household, including our toddler. Thankfully, everyone was better within 48 hours, but I still had to cancel my bloodwork, of course.

I was fine with this and took it as a sign from the universe that I still needed the extra time to focus on me and my health. Fast forward to the end of the month, I got my period again and decided to book bloodwork again.

To my complete surprise (and uncertainty), the clinic called me a few hours after my bloodwork and congratulated me on my pregnancy.

“How could that be? I’m bleeding, heavily.” Instant worry and panic consumed me. The nurse replied, “try not to worry, we see bleeding in the first trimester all the time, and your hcg levels are very high. We will test again in 48 hours to be sure!”

One of my best friends bled throughout most of her pregnancy due to a subchorionic hematoma, and she had just given birth to a beautiful and healthy baby girl 8 days prior to me learning I was pregnant again. I did my best to focus on that knowledge.

My bloodwork 48 hours later confirmed rising pregnancy hormone levels. I was still bleeding heavily, which was worrisome and hard to ignore, but I strived to embrace the facts of it all: I was pregnant. Until, four days later, call it mother’s intuition or whatever you will (or maybe the fact that I was learning how to pay better attention to my body), because I called the clinic and said I felt like something was wrong. I got in for more bloodwork two days later, they called me and told me my hcg levels were starting to plateau and I’d need to go back in 48 hours…again.

Keep in mind, my toddler’s birthday weekend was happening during all this, and we are surrounded by friends and family, and I had to try and keep my cool. Not to mention, my fertility clinic is 50 minutes away from where we live, and I had to try to find people to watch our daughter every time I went. I could actually physically feel all the progress I was making with my physical and mental health start to deteriorate, once more.

On our daughter’s actual birthday, it was confirmed I was passing another sweet baby on my own, and I’d have to go for routine bloodwork again to ensure my levels would go back to normal.

I felt numb, mostly. A blank mind at first, not knowing what to do or where to go. Our daughter’s birthday was a decent distraction, at least. But there we were again, only months later, losing another baby. Some people might scoff and say “it was only chemical,” or, “at least you weren’t that far along,” or, “at least you can get pregnant.” Just an FYI, THESE WORDS DO NOT HELP. It was still a loss and it made us really wonder if we were at the end of our fertility road.

You know what does help? (Kinda), a simple: “I’m sorry” with a hug. Or, “can I do anything for you?” even though you really can’t, it’s still so supportive to hear the offer. I’d actually love to hear what other words helped people going through fertility loss.

Two weeks later, I was told my levels were back to normal. Normal being 0. Did you know hcg under 25 is negative, but 0 is normal? So if you linger between 0 and 25 after a certain period of time, investigative work needs to be done. Thankfully, I was 0 again. The strangest part though, was that I was STILL bleeding from the beginning of my cycle that started this whole situation. But, I figured my body had always been weird and I’d give it more time to run it’s course. Abnormal bleeding was somewhat normal for me after almost two decades of cycle bullsh*t.

Over the next two weeks, I still bled, but I was also cramping more and more. By the end of March, I went to bed in so much pain on a Tuesday night, that I couldn’t sleep and decided to do some yoga. Wednesday’s were my long work days at the salon, so I was trying to mentally prepare myself for the upcoming day and the hour drive to work. I dropped our daughter off with family, made it to work, started my first client, but my cramping was just getting worse and worse. When I was halfway through my second client, with my first one sitting to process her foils, I became so dizzy and disoriented that I excused myself to have a break in the staff room. I was hot and cold, and trying really hard not to cry from the growing intense pain in my lower abdomen.

I am so grateful for my incredible clients, who both told me not to worry about blow-drying their hair, and convinced me I needed to cancel the rest of my day and go to the hospital. My second client actually followed me there to ensure I arrived safe!

I was admitted quite quickly, despite long ER wait times in Ontario. I didn’t know what to expect, but I had bloodwork done, was sent for an abdominal ultrasound, and was given really strong pain meds. Sadly, they wore off quickly and I couldn’t even lay down comfortably while waiting for answers. Half the time I was actually standing beside my bed, hunched over.

Later, the ultrasound revealed some kind of mass on my left side near my ovary, along with some free-fluid in my pelvic region. Since the heavy-duty pain meds wore off so quickly, and because I was still hot and cold (a common combo indicating infection), they wanted to admit me and also not let me eat if they needed to do surgery. ALSO, they were wildly confused about my hcg levels now sitting at a 10, not 0 anymore like they were too weeks prior. 10 is still not pregnant, as I said before, but it’s not “normal” either. And, keep in mind, I had been bleeding almost a full month at that point.

The doctors and nurses were confused about all my tests and my history, so I was kept overnight and admitted to the gyno floor to investigate further. My history indicated one thing, my tests indicated another, but my response to the pain meds indicated something totally different. They had no idea what could be going on. They suspected the mass on the left was a ruptured cyst—especially because I had two on each ovary back in November at my D&C follow-up appointment. This meant the fluid should be reabsorbed slowly, and my pain should start to ease up over the next couple days, especially with the antibiotics.

This was not the case. I could still feel the pain meds wearing off after 3-4 hours when they should have lasted 6-8 (they were administered via IV, so strong stuff), and it was still painful to walk, lay down, or stand. So sleep was hard to achieve, which doesn’t help anything. From Wednesday to Friday was all about observation and trial and error. By Friday evening, with no improvement, they concluded I needed laparoscopic surgery to investigate further. With talk of a possible ectopic pregnancy floating around, since none of my tests and their efforts to make me feel better without surgery weren’t working, I wondered if the mass on my left side was actually ectopic. Ectopic wasn’t highly suspected, seeing as my hcg levels were so low, and I had just had a pregnancy loss 4 weeks prior without a new cycle occurring. But, if it was, and they couldn’t save my tube, then all hope would really be lost.

You might be wondering: “why would all hope be lost—you’d still have the other tube!” Well, my friends, in the three years of fertility tests and tracking that we had done, I never had a single follicle develop on my right side. Which would make total sense with my egg count. My gyno had unofficially concluded that my right side just didn’t work and was essentially “dead.”

I called my gyno that Friday from my hospital bed, and explained the entire situation to him. To which he said: “if it’s ectopic, and it’s your left side, your best chance at ever conceiving again is to have them do everything they can to save your tube. Your right side has never shown any activity; I wish I had better news for you, and I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

My mind was racing. And, I was all alone in the hospital—COVID restrictions were high at the time. I was calling and texting Devin with every update I had, and that phone call was terrible *potential* news to deliver to my spouse. If the doctor’s could save my tube, we’d have a 50% chance of having a successful pregnancy with a mature egg. The other 50% could result in another ectopic. I was alone and upset, trying to stay positive, and he was alone taking care of our daughter for the 3rd day in a row, unsure if I’d be okay. We were both so unsure of everything, and wildly stressed out.

I was starved again in prep for surgery, with my last meal being Friday night. I was being treated as an “elective” surgical patient because I was stable, and the surgery was exploratory. Saturday was absolutely miserable, as I kept getting bumped for more high-priority cases (fair, I get it), but I was also starved, on pain meds, and had a migraine like you wouldn’t believe. I threw up from pain meds on an empty stomach, and felt so lethargic it almost gives me PTSD just thinking about it now.

It was finally Sunday morning at 4:00am when they took me for surgery. All I remember is the gas mask being put on my face, and praying as I closed my eyes. I prayed for a miracle. I prayed that everything would work out just as it’s supposed to. I prayed for strength to surrender everything to the universe. And, I prayed for peace and overall health.

I came-to around 10:00am, feeling tired, groggy, and absolutely starving. It was within seconds of being awake that the resident confidently walked up to my bedside to inform me of everything they discovered.

I braced myself.

“Unfortunately, it was a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, approximately 7-8 weeks in size. With the rupture, we were unable to save your fallopian tube. However, the good news is that, surprisingly, it wasn’t on your left side.”

…What?

“It was on my right? How?” I asked rhetorically.

I started crying out of joy, grief, disbelief, relief, and pure wonder. I lost a third baby, all within less than half a year—but the chance was still there with my left (good) tube intact. Feeling so overwhelmed and conflicted on this news, I cried for a bit longer and tried to rest knowing I just needed to heal.

Fast forward again, and I’m leaving out a lot of details like how I should have been off work for 4-6 weeks but I’m self employed; I was in and out of the hospital again for pelvic pain wondering if it was endo returning of if I was having post-op complications; my nervous system was shot again; and I got my first cycle post-op on May 4th, 2022, before having my 6 week follow-up with the surgeon.

Oh, I also learned that since the ectopic was 7-8 weeks in size, that meant it was from my cycle at the beginning of February. Which means, when I tested positive while bleeding at the end of February, passed my first baby naturally, this one continued to grow. WHICH MEANS: I conceived fraternal twins.

Now, I must explain that during one of my hospital visits post-op, I was informed that the rate of twins is a lot higher in older women who are near the end of their reproductive life, as the body begins to purge follicles and viability begins to decline with age (which goes hand in hand with being premenopausal)—my body thinks I’m older than I am, and I’m near the end of my reproductive life. Read this study here.

After losing two babies in a rather dramatic way, I was finally in a mindset post-op where I knew I wasn’t going to go to the fertility clinic for a while—a long while—and I was okay with that. My 30th birthday was coming up, I was slowly integrating healthier living practices, and I just wanted to focus on being the best version of myself in order to house a healthy baby when the timing was right. I didn’t pressure myself about the timing even though I had little to no eggs left. I knew what was more important at that time: me.

Taking care of me, meant I could be a better mother and spouse. It meant I could work harder towards my career goals, and really focus on propelling my life forward, to be in a better position to grow another baby and bring my best to the scenario. I had finally found peace with this course of action.

I carried my lost babies in my mind every day. I prayed for them and their souls. And I felt like they were still with me somehow. I cried occasionally, but only when I was alone, and I made sure I let it all out.

On May 12th, I got in with a naturopath because I felt like I was making all these choices and changes, but was still feeling lethargic and slow. I was losing hair, gaining weight, and worried about my thyroid. So much had happened to my body in such a short period of time, I wondered if a naturopath could lead me in the right direction towards feeling healthier and finding answers. I was even hoping for hormone regulation to try and prolong my reproductive life.

He sent me for some expensive *cough* extensive bloodwork, and we had picked a day for me to go during my cycle that would give me the best interpretation of all my female hormones, as well as my thyroid and cortisol levels. After my bloodwork date, it took five weeks before I would hear what my results were. So, I kept my health course in the forefront of my mind by not drinking, and trying to make better lifestyle choices until I knew more. I was really practicing patience with myself and the entire process unfolding in front of me.

I had a lot going on, I wasn’t feeling “normal” yet, and on Sunday morning of May 29th 2022, Devin and I had gotten into a little quarrel to which he said “you’ve been so sensitive lately!” and he went downstairs, leaving me alone in the bathroom to finish getting ready for a friend’s baby shower. As I was looking at myself in the mirror with my foundation brush in hand, his words hung in the air, like a hug, or a guiding arm to the bathroom closet to find my Amazon pregnancy test strips.

I can’t be pregnant…again?…already?…can I? Am I just sensitive because my body’s got some shit going on? There’s no way I’m pregnant again. We’ve only had sex like 4 times this month because I’ve still been in pain. There’s no way. But why am I so sensitive? ‘Cause your body’s outta wack, Auj. Yeah, but…what if?

I had to do it. I had to pee in a cup, knowing I’d take two tests just to be sure, no matter what the outcome. Once the thought was there, I couldn’t ignore it. I quickly peed, set my timer, and finished my makeup. I wasn’t hopeful. I was actually expecting a “negative” because I wasn’t ready to deal with the fear and potential loss again. I was numb, thinking of what my bloodwork would reveal to me from the naturopath, and just dying to feel healthy again.

Except, I saw a pink line. It was faint, and I really couldn’t believe it. So I did another one. Another faint, pink line.

Oh. My. God.

“DEVIN!”

Two more times, and I finally his aggravated “WHAT?!” due to our argument just minutes prior. I told him he had to come see something, and when he finally made it to the bathroom, he looked at the strips on the counter and immediately went off on a tangent:

“Oh my god, you have COVID? We saw my grandparents yesterday. We just had it a few months ago! I just started my new job, I can’t take time off, what are we gonna do? You’re supposed to go to the baby shower today, do you think Ryah will be okay? Do you think we will get it worse? Why did you test? Are you feeling sick? Ugh! F*ck!”

I had to grab his shoulders to bring him back to the moment, and I calmly said “babe, that’s not a COVID test.”

Silence. Then:

“You’re pregnant? AGAIN? How?”

*insert laughing emoji here* We all know how. But, really…how? How could I be pregnant so soon, again, without trying, with basically no eggs, while my body was still healing slowly from surgery. It didn’t make sense.

I felt ALL the emotions (mostly worry—if I’m being completely honest).

Two days later, my pregnancy was confirmed and I was filling my prescription for support meds to help sustain this baby and keep it safe. These meds didn’t work the last time, so the worry was still there, but I tried my hardest to remain positive and ride this wave.

Fast forward five weeks later, I was approximately seven weeks along give or take, I had my first ultrasound, and I went to my naturopath follow-up to hear about my bloodwork. I’m also feeling like crap at this point and obviously feeling lethargic—quite honestly, not much different than how I’d been feeling since I was pregnant with our first daughter.

When I told my naturopath that I was actually 7 weeks pregnant, he congratulated me with the most perplexed look on his face, quickly referring back to my bloodwork results.

“I don’t quite understand how you’re pregnant based off of these results: you have the bloodwork of a menopausal woman. There’s simply no indication here that you would have ovulated at all in the month of May. The date you went for your bloodwork would have been right after ovulation, and these levels certainly wouldn’t be like this if you were already pregnant at that time, especially with how far along you are.”

How wild, right? Especially now, considering I’m 32 weeks while writing this in December of 2022, and I’ve been measuring ahead this entire pregnancy and they’ve been conflicted about my due date. At 30 weeks I was measuring 31, at 20 weeks I was measuring 21, at 12 weeks I was measuring 13 (all from scans by the way). They aren’t even going off of my May 4th period date anymore. So being further ahead, meant I would have been pregnant for that bloodwork, yet everything showed I had the bloodwork of someone in menopause. Ring a bell? This is now the second doctor and second set of bloodwork results to declare me in premature ovarian failure, aka, early menopause, aka, having the lowest of low chances to conceive. Literally, with no indication that I even ovulated in May. As I’m writing this, I think of my kicking baby in my belly, and truly believe she is ANOTHER miracle, along with her big sister.

So, if I can have two miracles. No, let me correct myself because my losses were also miracles—if I can experience FIVE miracles when all science goes against it, don’t you think you deserve miracles too? Not just even in the realm of fertility, literally any miracle you are praying for that seems so out of reach. YOU deserve a miracle—and not just one. Don’t limit yourself to just one.

“I am worthy of miracles.” Say it loud, and say it DAMN proud.

If you made it to the end of my story, my sincerest “thank you” is due. I certainly hope my story can empower you to shift your mindset and dismiss lingering thoughts of doubt and concern, because you too, deserve to be a parent.

If you were triggered in any way, shape, or form, please reach out here and feel free to share your thoughts in a safe space.

If you’re wondering what supplements I was taking for healthy eggs, ask your fertility doctor about a DHEA compound, AND/OR, I also took this: OOCYTE SAP.