Guest Writer Wednesday: Heather's Unicornuate Uterus Story

Guest writer, Heather, shares her unicornuate uterus (UU) story. Heather mentions in her bio that writing has recently become her therapy. You are brave, Heather. For everything you’ve been through. For sharing your story. Thank you. I hope putting it down on paper was helpful for you, and I know it will be helpful for other women with UUs. Thank you, Heather!

A Journey to Motherhood

Having a family of my own has been a dream of mine since I was young. Writing out our dream jobs in grade school was challenging because I didn't have a career picked out like most kids do. To be a mother and with a loving husband and at least two kids, a boy and then a girl, was all I wanted. I never imagined what my future would hold or how painfully rough the road to becoming a mom would be. 

As a teenager my menstrual cycle was always irregular. Until one day it started and would not stop for months on end. So I was prescribed birth control to regulate it, which felt like a band-aid on the problem. Even though my cycle was now regulated the cause of the problem was never looked into. 

At age 20 I stopped birth control because I was now on my own, living with my boyfriend (now husband) and broke. My menstrual cycle never returned after that and we knew something was wrong but couldn't afford to figure out what. After all, we were still young and had plenty of time to worry about it. We pushed the issue aside and focused on other aspects of our future instead. 

Four years later, we were married and had purchased a house together. We thought we would do the responsible thing and wait to have children until we were a year or two into our marriage and more financially stable. However, by our mid 20s we came to the realization that we were never going to be truly ready. So we decided to move forward with trying to have a child and we didn't know how long it would take to conceive given the fact that I still had not menstruated once. Regardless, we were optimistic about having children and the thought of being parents filled us with a sense of joy and anticipation. We didn't know how long it would take us to conceive but we were excited.

Conceiving naturally was proving unsuccessful so we decided to see a reproductive endocrinologist (RE), a fertility doctor, to address my issue. This began months of what felt like endless testing with various imaging and medications. One by one, potential causes of my missing periods were ruled out until I finally received a diagnosis. I had Hypothalamic Amenorrhea. In other words, my Hypothalamus, which is the part of your brain in charge of regulating hormones, emotions and many other things, was not sending a signal to my ovaries that it was time to ovulate. As a result, I would never conceive on my own. Our hope of having a family might never happen and we asked ourselves why this was happening to us.

After additional testing, it became clear that my body would only ovulate if I took an expensive hormone medication. Another problem arose at this point. I was now diagnosed with infertility and because of that my appointments and treatments were no longer covered under our insurance. We had to save our money to pay for everything out of pocket going forward. 

Our next steps were to try artificial insemination, or IUI, after taking these hormone injections and hoping that this process would get us pregnant. It involved several days of painful shots into my belly. After the first few days, another injection was added. We alternated the location of the injections in an effort to mitigate the pain, unsuccessfully I might add. Quickly I became sore, bruised, full of tiny needle pricks and wishing it would end. Regardless, I pushed ahead reminding myself of why I was doing this.

After the stims were over I had to take a "trigger shot", which had to be at a very precise time so that the (hopefully) mature egg follicle would be ready for insemination. The ultrasound revealed that we did have one beautiful mature egg. This was great news! All we needed to do now was to schedule the procedure. 

The IUI went smoothly and my husband and I sat back in the exam room with smiles on our faces. We might have just gotten pregnant and our lives might have changed at that very moment. My husband was convinced that we were pregnant. After all, an egg was ready and sperm was injected into my uterus, it was a done deal right? We had to wait two long weeks before we knew if it had worked and our hopes were quickly dashed aside when the test came back negative. Reality set in and we were crushed. We had been so sure of success before but now we just felt naive. Trying again immediately was not an option either, we had just spent a few thousand dollars with this attempt at pregnancy. It was disheartening and the knowledge that this process would not guarantee anything really sunk in. Still... we were determined to try and make this happen. 

A few months later we were ready to try IUI again with the financial help of our loved ones. Once more, eagerness overcame us. Surely another shot at this was going to work! After all, our bad luck had to run out some time right? This time around our doctor told us he wanted to perform an HSG test (dye is injected into your uterus to reveal blockages) before our next IUI to ensure that everything looked okay. I wasn't looking forward to another test but I was still willing since this seemed a logical next step. Confident that my tubes were fine, I instead focused on what discomfort this procedure would bring. 

The procedure started while I laid nervously on the exam table. My discomfort quickly turned into painful cramps as I watched the dye begin to flow into my uterus. Why was the dye only filling half of it? I thought as my heart dropped and a new feeling washed over me... dread. 

I lay in silence and disbelief as the image of my uterus did not fill out like it should. It was not the shape I've seen in pictures. What was going on? Sensing what he was about to say, I felt the room close in around me. He spoke in a hushed tone that reinforced the dread I felt. "I believe that you have a Unicornuate Uterus but you'll need an MRI to confirm this." He briefly explained what that was, a rare condition in which only half of the uterus is formed in utero and with it can bring a whole slew of complications. I knew that this news was devastating even though I did not fully understand it yet. What were the chances that an MRI would change what I saw on the screen? I quickly threw a wall up between me and whatever part of me felt things. I numbed myself until I walked out of that office and got into the car where my husband was waiting. When our eyes met, I felt that wall crumble. I broke down while telling him what had just happened. It was already hard enough to get pregnant and now we had to worry about something else. 

“I lay in silence and disbelief as the image of my uterus did not fill out like it should. It was not the shape I’ve seen in pictures. What was going on?”

During the follow-up from my MRI, my husband and I sat across from the doctor and we knew what he was going to say. He confirmed that I do have a UU and that he would only move forward with another IUI if the medications only produced 1 mature egg. Conceiving multiples was not a risk he was willing to take. A smaller uterus came with so many pregnancy complications and made it hard to carry full term. Googling this condition was a terrifying peek into what I was in for. It was hard to find research that showed positive outcomes and due to the rarity of this condition, I felt so scared and alone. Still, we were thankful that trying again was an option.

Following another round of hormone treatments, we tried to remain hopeful that I would once again produce only one egg but the ultrasound showed differently. We weren't so lucky this time and had multiple mature eggs. The RE refused to move forward with the IUI and we were left feeling lost and frustrated. Another chance at pregnancy (along with another few thousand dollars) resulted in a lost opportunity.

With somber moods we went into our follow-up appointment. Our doctor told us that IUI was just not going to work for us. The complications of my infertility and my small uterus were just not right for IUI. InVitro Fertilization, IVF, was our best chance, really our only chance, at having a child. We were also told that IVF could cost 10s of thousands of dollars out of pocket for one attempt at a pregnancy and we should find insurance that will cover it before coming back. 

My wall, which so comfortingly numbed my feelings, was once again standing tall. It did not, however, protect me from the creeping, dreadful thoughts that found their way into my head. When my husband and I walked out of that appointment we felt like we had been given a death sentence. My life would be meaningless if I could not have children. We could not afford IVF or even the insurance that would cover it. This was as good as hearing "you'll never have children". Not only did I get screwed out of being able to conceive naturally, I had to then submit my body to all kinds of invasive tests just to find out that I needed extremely expensive medication for a chance… a small chance apparently. On top of that, we found out that I have this deformity that meant we had a better chance of losing a child than actually carrying a pregnancy full term. Why me? Why us? What did I do to deserve this? Why the hell was my body so broken?  

Learning more about my infertility and my UU was awful. To say we were crushed is an understatement and I fell into a depression as a result. We tried to move on with our lives because affording IVF was so far out of our reach that we were resigned to the fact that children were just not in our future. Maybe one day we would get lucky, but not anytime soon. 

Together we decided to focus on other areas of our future. We had to find a new purpose in life, a new goal to aim for because our dream was out of reach. It was so hard for me to do that though. I didn't want to work or go out to see people. I was content just staying at home and existing. I could not get our infertility issues off of my mind and I thought about it almost daily. Yes we knew adoption was there and yes we'd already thought of that route but it too was expensive and difficult. I knew there were a lot of children who needed homes but I wanted a child with our blood. A child that would look like us and have a blend of our traits and new ones. A person that we created together. It might have been selfish but I didn't care. Why should we be denied parenthood? 

Several years had gone by and my husband and I were in our early 30s. I had finished my bachelor's degree and we were in stable, decent paying jobs. Early into my new job I discovered that, by some crazy coincidence, I now had amazing medical insurance that covered up to $25,000 of infertility treatments. We couldn't believe it! This was great news and we felt like we had won the lottery. Suddenly our dream was within reach once more and we felt alive again. We were so anxious to get started but we tried to keep realistic expectations going into this new journey. 

With a consultation scheduled we let our family know the good news; they too were overjoyed. We had been open with them early on and it is a decision my husband and I have never regretted. Their love and support helped us (and continue to) through one of the toughest times in our lives. 

The new RE was positive, yet honest with us. He discussed the odds of IVF and that because of my UU, my chance of carrying a healthy baby to full term was about 40%. It was also mentioned that he would only transfer 1 embryo at a time instead of using multiples. Our bubble of happiness suddenly popped with this news. A success rate of 40% was too low for me to be comfortable with and that was IF: the endless medications, appointments and blood draws resulted in mature eggs, my husband's sperm was good, those mature eggs fertilized, they were still growing after 5 days and the embryo transfer worked. There were so many ifs that we were once again scared and anxious but his optimism rubbed off on us. I knew we were about to jump back onto the roller coaster of emotions and progress but we were not going to waste this opportunity. It was our first break from being constantly hit with setbacks. Thirty five years old was not far off now, when my egg quality would start reducing and the potential for developmental issues increased. This was it... it was now or never.

The process for growing eggs was very similar to what I went through with IUI. The first thing we needed to do was get as many eggs to mature as possible so the doctor could go in with a gigantic needle and retrieve them from each ovary. 

When I went in for my first ultrasound to check on the progress of the stims, my body hadn't responded to the medication as well as they would have liked. So my dosage was increased and I continued with the injections for a total of 13 days. This time my ovaries were responding better and they were able to retrieve over 15 mature eggs. We were thrilled with this news and breathed a huge sigh of relief.

I was ready for the injections to be over. They weren't over though because right after egg retrieval I had to start progesterone injections (in the backside of my hips this time) to get ready for an embryo transfer. The progesterone injections hurt quite a bit more. It was mixed into oil and really thick. As the number of shots increased so did the size of my bruises and welts where the shots were given. They grew more and more painful as the days increased until you could hear the scar tissue tearing as the needle was inserted. My husband gave me almost every shot, each time carefully trying to minimize my pain and gently massaging the areas while I cried. This process was so much more demanding than I could have imagined. It was a second full time job managing my medications and appointments. The side effects of the medications and hormones were stacking up as well. I was bloated, moody and sore among other things. I had to keep going though. I had to shut that little voice down that whispered, "is this worth it?" Of course it was. Too much was at stake so I made the determination to fight through it all. 

In the end I'd had a total of two egg retrievals that resulted in 5 embryos, a failed fresh transfer and a chemical pregnancy (early miscarriage) with embryo transfer #2. We grieved those lost embryos, lost opportunities. I held them in my heart and viewed them as my babies. With each passing day I began to feel as though our dreams of being parents were farther away. I had to endure the "maybe God had bigger plans for you" and "maybe it wasn't meant to be, kids are so expensive anyway" comments. I know those words were spoken with good intentions but they didn't know what it was like for my husband and I. We were fighting so hard and sacrificing so much for a chance, a gamble, on something that comes so naturally and easily to many others. They didn't know what it was like to turn on Facebook and see a pregnancy announcement and feel a flood of conflicting emotions. I was envious of the couple, relieved that they did not have to experience the heart wrenching pain of infertility and I grieved that fact we might not have those moments. For years I had grieved the moments I felt we had been robbed of, like realizing your period is late, surprising your spouse with the good news and then telling your family. 

“We were fighting so hard and sacrificing so much for a chance, a gamble, on something that comes so naturally and easily to many others. They didn’t know what it was like to turn on Facebook and see a pregnancy announcement and feel a flood of conflicting emotions. I was envious of the couple, relieved that they did not have to experience the heart wrenching pain of infertility and I grieved that fact we might not have those moments. ”

My husband and I had taken a break from IVF for a month or two while we grieved our miscarriage but soon enough we were going in for transfer attempt #3. It was a frozen embryo transfer, FET, this time and when we arrived at the office I was trying to keep a neutral thought process. I did not want to get my hopes up nor did I want to dwell on failure. We sat quietly while the RE explained the process and that sometimes when embryos are thawed, they didn't survive. I hadn't even thought of this as a possibility before, now I had another worry to add to my list. The doctor set two pictures in front of us and began to explain them. Embryo A was thawed first and was not doing very well. It was still alive but they were going to refreeze it in hopes that it just needed a bit more time. Embryo B was also thawed just in case embryo A didn't make it. The good news was that B was not only looking great, it was hatching! "It's looking for you," the doctor told me. I felt myself grinning with tears filling my eyes. It was looking for me. I felt so happy at that moment. Those words still echo in my head. 

Now that the transfer was over we had to wait the two long weeks before the pregnancy test and I was growing impatient. I wanted to take a test the night before the blood test at the clinic but my husband was firmly against it. He didn't want to see a positive only to find out that it was a false positive, on the other hand, he didn't want to see a negative either because he knew he would still question it's accuracy. I couldn't blame him though. If I was in a more logical state of mind I would probably agree with him... but I wanted to take a test anyway because I was desperate for that experience. "I don't care," I said with tears streaming down my face, arms flying up in defeat and my heart feeling so heavy it thought it might sink through my chest. "It won't be positive anyway! Why would anything ever go our way?" I yelled as I grabbed the pregnancy test and stormed off to the bathroom, still crying. 

After carefully following the directions I stared at the test through blurry eyes and waited for the first pink line to show, the one that always stands there lonely, reminding me of my future. The first lonely line appeared and then came the moment of truth. I felt my breath quicken and my body grow warm as my nerves went haywire with anticipation. "Please, please!" I pleaded. I began to see something... a second pink line! My little hatchling! I couldn't believe it; the test was positive. The line was not faint either, it was almost as dark as the first line! I ran to my husband and showed it to him excitedly. I broke into a smile while my tears turned to joy instead of frustration and grief. The moment I was so desperate to have finally happened! It was positive and I was pregnant! He was not so happy though. He was upset with me for taking the test anyway. He had his own walls up and couldn't allow himself to be happy, not until the proof was more concrete. The idea of getting his hopes up only to be shot down again was too much.

At work the next day I waited impatiently to hear from the clinic to confirm the news. When the phone finally rang I felt myself flush with nervousness and excitement all over again. I had this feeling two times before and both times my heart broke after hearing their words. Would this time really be different? With butterflies in my stomach I listened to the results and I heard the words I was hoping with all of my heart to hear. "Congratulations, Heather, you're pregnant!" 

That moment felt so surreal; I was elated and also scared. I didn't know what our future would look like going forward, yet I grinned widely and teared up as we discussed our next steps. It was really happening. My HCG levels were really good this time, unlike when I had my chemical pregnancy. I had to go back again for another blood test to make sure this baby was sticking in there this time but I had a feeling it would. This was it... this was our moment. We had gambled over and over and we finally hit the jackpot. 

I wanted to surprise my husband when I got home with a card,  balloons or something but I couldn't make him wait. He was just as anxious and wanted this just as badly. We shared tears of joy and disbelief over the phone and decided we were going to celebrate when I got home.

Thrilled, I began to list everything I wanted to experience with this pregnancy since it could very well be our only one. I imagined pregnancy announcements, gender reveal parties, baby showers, maternity photos and more. First, we decided to surprise our family during our Christmas celebration and it was everything I had always wanted. The joy and thankfulness filled the room to bursting, we hadn't felt this happy in such a long time. 

The excitement didn't last long for my husband and I though. These long years of heartache, fear and longing lead to us feeling very guarded. I tried to enjoy my pregnancy and allow myself to be filled with happiness but I couldn't help but worry over my baby and if my small uterus could handle this. 

Due to the fact that we conceived via IVF and that I had a Unicornuate Uterus, I was sent to a high risk OB specializing in Maternal Fetal Medicine, or MFM. I received extra monitoring and we would go in every two weeks to see our little baby grow and make sure nothing was going wrong. With each appointment we felt both delighted and a little trepidatious. As my pregnancy symptoms progressed I dealt with mood swings almost daily. Some of these emotions were fear, concern, excitement, apathy, pessimism and feeling like it was surreal. I thought that at this point I would just be happy, floating on cloud nine but I was filled with worry instead.

As we counted the weeks I found myself wondering more and more if I had really acknowledged what was happening or not. I felt like I was becoming disconnected from this pregnancy. Disassociating myself from it in an effort to protect my feelings just in case the worst happened. All I was doing was protecting myself from feeling the joy of the moment and that too worried me. A part of me was enjoying this pregnancy, however that part was being suffocated by anxiety.

Friends and family would express their congratulations. Admittedly, I would respond on occasion with a comment resembling, "thanks but our chances of this working out aren't great". I would feel bad afterwards because everyone else just wanted to give their love, support and excitement but all I would do is bring the mood down. My husband would try to remind me to stay positive every time I was being negative and so I decided to put more effort into projecting my happiness for the blessing we had.

I tried to keep positive when I could and remind myself that I am pregnant. We had wanted this and fought for this so hard. I needed to let myself enjoy it and not look back with regret for how I had acted. I turned my focus to my symptoms to help ground me in the moment. They were a positive sign that my body was changing. A new life was growing when we had started to doubt if it ever would. I told myself that each symptom was reassurance that it was real and that our baby was growing and I was going to be thankful for it.

I do remember the moment that marked a turning point in my mood. I was standing at the bathroom mirror at around 19 weeks gestation, getting ready to shower, when I noticed that dark line that some pregnant women get from their belly button down (called linea nigra or the pregnancy line). Joy overwhelmed me to see it because my pregnant belly was starting to show and now this line. I was finally starting to feel pregnant and feel like it was real. My husband and I beamed with excitement and basked in the warmth of the moment. 

The next week flew by and my attitude was noticeably lighter. After all, our MFM told us that if we made it to 20 weeks our odds of a successful pregnancy were much higher. So once I hit the 20 week milestone my husband and I both felt weight lift off of our shoulders as some of our worries melted away. The statistics showed that the rate of miscarriages dropped at that point and our hopes of this baby staying with us full term skyrocketed. We were half way there and soon we could start shopping and planning for our baby.  

My 20 week anatomy scan was coming up and we already knew the gender. Our first child was going to be a boy, just like I had wanted as a little girl, just like my husband wanted. We had discussed having a boy versus a girl many times and we dreamt about what he would look like, what his personality and traits were going to be, whose eyes he would have. We decided on a name for our son pretty quickly as well, Luke Andrew, named after my husband's great grandfather and my father who had just passed away. 

When the day of my anatomy scan came, I got up early to get ready. As I sat and ate my cereal I began wondering what the appointment would involve. I hoped that we would get great ultrasound pictures! Before I was finished eating though, abdominal cramping started. "Maybe I had to go to the bathroom", I thought as my gut twisted in pain. "Yup, I definitely need to," I thought as I suddenly got up and hurried to relieve myself. Concern filled me as to why I was cramping and had diarrhea so suddenly. When I was finished I began to wipe and saw blood... lots of bright red blood. I immediately panicked and went to my husband. "I need to go to the ER, I'm cramping and bleeding". Please.. please let our baby boy be okay. 

The next few hours were a flurry of emotion and a lot of waiting. I was alone in the emergency room because we were in the height of the Covid-19 quarantine and my husband was not allowed in the room with me. An ultrasound technician and a doctor examined me and they told me I was 1cm dilated and that I was having labor contractions. I prayed desperately that my baby boy would be okay while I tried to keep my anxious husband updated. Soon, I was being transferred by ambulance to another hospital with a Labor and Delivery Unit and my husband could finally join me.

The next 4 days we waited, quarantined in our hospital room while doctors would tell us that my amniotic sac was protruding into my cervix, that labor was inevitable, that he was only 20 weeks and when he was born there would be nothing they would or could do to save his life. Two of the complications of my UU had presented themselves, something we had been dreading since day 1. I had cervical insufficiency (the cervix is weakened and opens prematurity, leading to labor) and suspected placental abruption (placenta tears away from the uterine wall leading to excessive blood loss). On top of it, the nurses would tell us how strong and full of fight Luke was. Our hearts would break every time we heard those words. 

All my husband and I could do was wait.... a long, painful, fearful wait for labor to begin. He put on a brave face, despite being terrified for my safety as well as our baby's, and kept the family updated. I was medicated in hopes of a miracle, inverted on my bed, bleeding heavily and my mind bouncing between devastation and numbness. We tried to stay positive at first but on the second day we were told that it was only a matter of time until my water broke. We grieved quietly together as we listened to Luke's heartbeat thump repeatedly on the monitor. We tried to be strong for each other but it was so hard. Our world was crashing down around us and nothing could stop it now. 

In the midnight hour of April 23rd 2020, I gave birth to our first child, our son, Luke Andrew Goldade. He was so small and much too young to survive but I held him while he grasped our fingers. We cherished the precious few moments of his life despite our exhaustion until his heart beat its last beats in my arms. As his life slipped away we sat, wondering why such cruel things happened in this world. It was so unfair that he didn't have a chance to live despite his wanting to fight. As he died... a piece of our hearts went with him. 

Those days and the days following were painful. I had to recover from blood loss, labor and deal with my milk coming in without my baby. We had to deal with the aftermath of his loss... our loss... and how so unfair and cruel life could be. I remember staring at the doors of the mortuary, wondering how I still had the strength to go inside and pick up our little boy's ashes. Yet, the months went on and we decided at the end of that year we were going to try another FET. Once again we were looking forward to another chance but taking our steps forward with cautious optimism. 

After another round of painful stims, blood tests and ultrasounds the day of our next transfer finally came. We were looking forward to it but with a more realistic expectation this time. We weren't going to get too excited unless two weeks from now that phone call told us we were pregnant. 

We sat down for our brief consultation before the procedure and our RE told us that the embryo they thawed was embryo A from our previous attempt. This time, instead of it looking pretty rough and needing to be refrozen... it looked "perfect". We left the procedure feeling very hopeful and my husband (being of Norwegian blood), told me that he had a good feeling about this one and that this baby was our little viking. "It survived the deep freeze twice and came out stronger in the end," his tone was hopeful. He turned on his viking playlist for us to listen to and we drove home in good spirits. We decided that we were pregnant until proven otherwise.

In February 2021, I sat with my phone in my hand all day. Once again we were waiting for the phone call from the fertility clinic to see if embryo transfer #4 had worked… if I was pregnant. I decided not to test early this time. During the two week wait I started to feel indifferent about the results and resisting the urge to test was much easier this time around. This feeling concerned me, I had no idea if this would work and I didn't want to speculate on if it did. Losing Luke was still so painful that I had a hard time feeling anything else. My husband assured me that my emotions were justifiable and I appreciated his support while trying not to stress anymore.  

When the call finally came later that day I felt the indifference melt away instantly. I got the good news and turned to my husband with a big grin as I held my tears in check (which I'd become better at doing over the years). We were pregnant! Our little viking had made it and so far it was sticking around. My HCG level was good too, higher than when I was pregnant with Luke. My husband was right with his good feeling. After I hung up I turned to him and he hollered while tearing up in excitement. However, my grin quickly faded and I felt grief well up inside of me. 

Memories of our chemical pregnancy first came to mind. What if the second blood test is bad news? Then I remembered our precious Luke and how many things could go wrong, how my body had failed our baby and he lost his life as a result. I was also a little shocked that it worked, our first try since losing our baby almost a year ago. Would I worry all the time about this one too and forget to enjoy this new experience? I felt heartbroken that we had to try this again because I still missed him and I thought about how he would have been 5 months old by then. My thoughts had to change though, I shouldn't feel bad or guilty for being pregnant again and this was a different pregnancy. This child would never replace him and now I just needed to focus so we could bring our miracle home in good health and in our arms the way we've dreamt for so long.  

There was hope and happiness once again.

The second pregnancy was filled with many of the same emotions as the first. I tried hard to enjoy this one more than I did the first time. I didn't want to regret spending it in a darkened state of mind. We felt so lucky because there were so many people going through IVF with less success and more heartache. We sought out a new MFM, one that was more optimistic and gave the impression that she cared about our pregnancy as much as we did. I elected to receive a cerclage early in the pregnancy and take progesterone injections weekly (don't even get me started on how painful those weekly auto-injections of progesterone were). 

My husband and I felt much more at ease knowing that we were doing even more this time to prevent early labor. We just needed to get to 24 weeks, when the baby would be viable and have a chance to survive if born early. Every week was a milestone and we enjoyed watching our baby grow and bounce around in my womb. Luke had been quiet and still but this one had a much different personality already.

Beginning at week 21 we noticed that my cervix had started shortening. We were going in weekly this time and every week we saw it get shorter and shorter while our anxiety grew higher and higher. It was happening again. My body was failing and we just hoped we could make it to 24 weeks. 

I was 25 weeks exactly when I went into labor with this child, our little girl. It was so sudden and so terrifying. Memories of what we went through with Luke resurfaced while we rushed off to the hospital 30 minutes away. By the time I was put into bed the contractions were minutes apart and so painful I could barely think. I was immediately given pain medication and magnesium to try and slow or stop the contractions. We managed to last 3 more days before Sylvi Marie made her debut into the world. 

My husband smiled with teary eyes of relief and joy as she emerged and her tiny cries filled the room... and our hearts. At that moment all of the pain and sorrow from these long years left my mind. Sure I worried for her, being born so early, but I was also happy. We finally had a child... a child who had a chance to fight, a chance to live. 

I barely saw her for a moment before she was whisked away to her bed where a team was waiting to attend to her. A dance of organized chaos ensued while she was being tended and all I could do was watch from my bed. I could tell my husband was dying to go over there but didn't want to leave me so I urged him to go be with her. The doctor was still working on me but all I could do was watch the backs of the people attending her. 

Soon Sylvi was rushed off to the neonatal intensive care unit, affectionately referred to as the NICU. That in itself has been quite a journey, one we have been navigating for over two months now as I write this.  

Our lives currently revolve around our little miracle, Sylvi. We spend long hours by her side in the NICU as she fights to survive and begins to thrive. I can't help but look back at where we've been and what we've had to endure to finally achieve our dream of having a family. We've learned so much about ourselves, about supporting each other and how to navigate these seemingly impossible  obstacles together. I've learned how to be kinder to myself and I'm amazed at what my body has been able to do and what I've been able to survive and overcome. I fought through depression for years because of the myriad of emotions that surfaced. We felt like we were kicked over and over again but in the end we fought together and emerged stronger. I still feel that pang of sorrow once in a while when I think of our struggles with infertility or how my body just can't carry a baby long enough to keep them from harm. We hate that our daughter has had to fight so hard to survive in the NICU since birth. There's a touch of guilt there because we forced her existence into this world. Although our journey isn't over, we are overcome with amazement at how fierce she is. She thrives against so many odds and we are so fortunate that we are able to call Sylvi our daughter. 

I will forever think of Luke and the hole he left in our hearts. His loss was not in vain, however. If not for our experience with him we would not have Sylvi in our arms. We found out about my cervical insufficiency with my first pregnancy and therefore could take precautions to protect our second pregnancy. Our challenges have taught me so much about how precious life is and how humans often take these moments for granted. It's so easy to forget how fragile life is... how fragile our children are.

Our daughter is the rainbow after our storms. She is the promise that something better comes after the pain and hardships we've endured. This is not at all how I imagined my story evolving over the years but it is our story... and it is very dear to my heart.

About Heather

I am Heather Goldade, a 35 year old Web Developer who was born and raised in Arizona. I am a dog mom, wife and mother who has always had an interest in writing. Recently it has also become my therapy.