This is Chapter 15 in the Infertility Memoir. Read previous chapters here.
Even though I was still recovering from our traumatic loss, duty called for my husband in the form of the Yearly Training Brief (YTB). It always involves extra calls in the evenings and traveling to down trace units, and the higher-ups. In true military fashion, he needed to travel the weekend after everything happened, and thankfully, my dad could come up to help with my daughter. Once again, I felt like we couldn’t take the time we needed to process and grieve because of the military. A week after our loss, and an hour after my dad left after assisting all day with my daughter, I started experiencing chest pains, shortness of breath and a migraine with blurry vision while my husband was TDY for the YTB.
While trying to entertain my daughter and stay calm, I called my doctor to see what I should do. Deep down, I knew they were going to want me to go to the ER for what seemed like the hundredth time; I just needed to know if I could be seen at the local ER since I was no longer pregnant. Thankfully, I could go to the ER a few minutes away for the first time.
I was relieved that I didn’t need to drive far, but I was terrified about what was happening. I couldn’t reach my husband — he was likely in a secure room without his phone. I called and messaged everyone he worked with whose numbers I had and I couldn’t get ahold of anyone. I called my dad, who at that point was nearly home, and asked him to turn around and meet me at the ER to watch my daughter.
I think the ER staff took pity on me when I arrived because as soon as I was checked in they took me back. I can only imagine how terrified I must have looked, thinking I was having a heart attack and trying to manage a toddler. Eventually, I was able to get ahold of my husband, and he immediately left to drive back to meet me at the hospital.
The ER took chest X-rays, EKGs, blood work, and lots of other tests to get to the bottom of what was going on. In the end, I was diagnosed with unexplained chest pain and a migraine. They were concerned about my resting heart rate being in the 130s, but given what I had experienced the week prior, along with my low blood levels, it was likely the cause. We were all relieved that it wasn’t anything more serious and began to understand that this was going to be a much longer recovery than we thought. With that, my entourage and I left to return home.
The days and first few weeks that followed were a blur of being restricted to the second level of our house so I could rest. I barely had enough energy to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom, so going up and down the stairs was out of the question. My daughter began going to “work” with Daddy since I wasn’t able to care for her, and I had several follow-up appointments. I was depressed and terrified that I would have a heart attack or long-term damage to my heart because I couldn’t get my resting heart rate below 110. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest at times. I felt utterly useless, unable to do some of the most basic things.
Eventually, my strength started to return and my resting heart rate slowly began to lower. During Presidents Day weekend we were on a planned trip to visit with family in Virginia when the IVF community was dealt a blow like never before with the Alabama Supreme Court Ruling. I remember being in the car and glancing at my phone when I saw the news. My heart instantly sank, knowing the implications that this ruling could have on accessing IVF. (Per John Hopkins: The Alabama Supreme Court issued a ruling on February 16 declaring that embryos created through in vitro fertilization (IVF) should be considered children. Several of the state’s IVF clinics have since paused services, and lawmakers, doctors, and patients are raising concerns about the far-ranging impacts of the ruling on health care, including reproductive technology.)
The following days brought opportunities that I had never even dreamed I would have. About six months before all of this I was asked by RESOLVE if I would be a spokesperson for the organization through sharing my story and possibly being interviewed. I had done a few interviews over the summer, including a feature article for BBC, that I still can’t believe happened. Then, when everything started happening in Alabama, a new flood of interview requests came. I was still recovering from everything that had happened, my heart rates were still dangerously high, blood levels low, etc, but I was poised to do something very few people have the opportunity to do. I was given a platform to help educate the public and give a face to the raw, personal, and emotional topics of infertility and IVF. More importantly, I could provide the perspective of how this issue impacts military families like mine.
The rest of February felt like it was nothing but rest and interviews. I remember sitting at my dining room table waiting to go live on CNN Primetime with my heart pounding in my throat, and during the interview, I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. I was nervous and scared, but incredibly humbled to be given the chance to share a glimpse of my story to help people understand more about infertility, IVF, and what it’s like as a military family to navigate it all. With each interview, I felt more confident, and with each week I was getting stronger with my recovery.
With IVF thrown front and center into the news cycle, my volunteer role with RESOLVE’s Advocacy Day became more important than ever. If I’m being honest, that work was really hard in the first few months after my loss. At times I felt unworthy of being in a leadership role, not because I wasn’t capable, but because I felt like a failure for not being able to stay pregnant. As a leader, I had to do my best to separate myself from my own personal tragedy and remain focused on the task at hand because we were seeing record numbers of advocates registering to participate in the event. Honestly, focusing on the work that needed to be done was really therapeutic. I could take all of that pain and channel it into making a difference for the next generation.
As April approached, our work preparing for Advocacy Day increased, but I also had my first appointment with my fertility clinic since our loss. I was working with both my fertility clinic and OBGYN’s office to try and determine what went wrong and wondering if we would finally discover a cause for our unexplained infertility. The doctor at my fertility clinic wanted to get me in as quickly as possible for surgery to ensure that everything looked good with my uterus. She was concerned that there was still some pregnancy tissue retained. My surgery was scheduled for April 25th, the morning after a National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW) event I was attending in New York City.
The hospital graciously put me last on the surgery list, but I still wouldn’t know the time until the night before. So, on the 24th, I drove to NYC to attend the lighting of the Empire State Building in orange in honor of NIAW, not knowing when my surgery would be. I remember walking down the streets of NYC to the event when I finally got the call that I had to arrive at the hospital by 10 am. It was an incredibly powerful event that I will always cherish, but I couldn’t fully enjoy it with the looming surgery.
The next morning, I arrived at the hospital for the hysteroscopy, and of course, they were running behind. I knew it would go one of two ways: it would either be a quick look around my uterus, or it would be more extensive, removing any remaining tissue. As my luck would have it, there was retained placenta and membranes from the pregnancy in my uterus. Additionally, several endometrial polyps were removed and had some extensive bleeding, which complicated the surgery. When I learned all of this, I was in a little bit of shock. All that time, there were still parts of the pregnancy that weren’t removed. There was a risk of infection, and I am thankful that my doctor wanted to do the surgery as a precaution.
Following the surgery, I had to give my body time to heal. My heart rate finally returned to normal levels but some of my blood levels were still low even into early May. So, I focused my attention on my nonprofit and Advocacy Day. Advocacy Day was a huge success, both in turnout and in momentum. In June, The Right To IVF Act was called for a floor vote in the US Senate, and I was invited to participate in a press conference. It was the opportunity of a lifetime to stand with patients, doctors and U.S. Senators talking about IVF on the lawn of the U.S. Capitol. The next day I witnessed history as IVF was voted on for the first time. While the vote and subsequent votes have failed, progress was being made.
In early July, I finally got the all-clear from our fertility clinic that we could proceed with another IVF transfer, but the movers for our next PCS were arriving the following week. It felt like a weird twist of fate. We still weren’t sure whether we wanted to try another transfer. Was it worth the risk if something like what we just experienced happened again? Sadly, politics is a part of our decision-making process now, too. We told our clinic that we were moving and weren’t sure if we would be pursuing another transfer.
As it would turn out our household goods were scheduled to be delivered in our first door-to-door move on July 16, which should have been our son’s due date. We couldn’t delay it, my husband had to report to his new unit, and we knew that having our stuff put into storage increased the risk of lost and broken items. While I felt backed into a corner, not able to honor our son or grieve how I wanted to, my mind was distracted by the move.
Still, almost a year later, we aren’t sure what to do. It’s difficult to give up the dream of what we wanted our family to look like. We’ve always wanted to have at least two kids, but now I have to question if that pursuit would leave my daughter without a mother. With the ongoing policy changes in the states, high-risk pregnancy care is becoming even riskier in some states. It’s terrifying for me to know that had I been living in a different state when all of this happened I might not be here telling my story. That, combined with the fact that I am not sure I can mentally go through another pregnancy, constantly fearing another miscarriage. But that dream and desire for another child just doesn’t go away. While the future for my family is still unknown, I’m turning my focus on supporting and advocating for our military community, so maybe they can avoid some of the heartache and stress I have endured throughout this eight-year journey.