At my last therapy appointment, I may have used the phrase "only three miscarriages." Cue the horrified look from her. It's never a good sign when the therapist shows any facial expression. So the "only" part is a problem, I sweetly ask? From my perspective, three miscarriages makes you in the minor leagues. Some doctors don't even authorize any testing until three. (Cruel, in my view, but I'm no expert.) Here in blogland, three first-trimester miscarriages are sad - but they're no showstopper. Studies have found that if you keep rolling the RPL dice, you're bound to end up with a baby eventually. My blog friends have been through much worse and still persist. Yet I "gave up."
I feel like the weenie who could handle "only" three miscarriages. Stopped trying even though I didn't have all the testing done. Stopped trying even though my odds for a successful pregnancy were still good. Stopped trying even though I still hope (at least sometimes) that we'll eventually have a biological baby. Many people credit their infertility or RPL with showing them how strong they are. I feel the opposite. I thought I was strong enough to handle anything, but the thought of another dose of misoprostol or another heartbeatless ultrasound sends me shrieking the other way. Does that make me a quitter?
Most of the time, I'm proud of the decision we made. I always wanted to adopt. (See how I worked in that disclaimer again?) I kept the end goal in sight, which - for me - is to have children, not to have biological children. I cannot wait to meet my child. I admire other people who keep trying, and I admire the people who decide not to. I just wish the bully inside would let me admire myself... instead of twisting my arm behind my back until I cry Uncle.