Of Hoping, Hurting, Healing 

Three little letters, or more accurately, what they represent, have turned my life inside out: recurrent pregnancy loss. RPL is one of those vague acronyms that describes a problem, but not what causes it. In my case, the problem is that in the past year, I’ve carried three separate pregnancies and lost them all. In the past year, I’ve been through cycles of hoping, hurting, and healing — and then doing it all over again. And again.

If you knew me, you’d never guess what I’ve been going through. How could I have a fertility problem? I have several adorable children, I’m young and healthy. As I push my cart down the aisle at the grocery, or push my toddler on the swing at the park, I look like every other busy, happy, slightly harried mother. Sometimes I can hardly believe it myself; is this really me? Is it really me, breathlessly rushing out of work to get another blood draw or see another specialist? Is it really me, examining her face in the mirror each morning, wondering if makeup can mask the red-rimmed eyes?

Sometimes I really feel like I’ve made it. I’m coping with my reality and managing to forge ahead and smile despite the pain. But then, something always comes up that shakes me off balance, and I’m reminded of how fragile I really am. Like the time I came to work one morning, and as I turned on my computer in the school office, the date on the screensaver stung me like a slap across the face. April 11. It was my due date. What’s a due date without a bag packed, help on call for the other kids… without a baby?

It was a really hard day at the office. Trying to ignore the tightness in my throat, I swallowed hard and got to work. Just a few minutes later, a morah walked over to my desk with a shy preschooler trailing behind her. “Give a big mazel tov to Yaelli! Her mother just had twin boys, and we’re here for some posterboard to make a mazel tov sign!” I barely managed to choke out a response as I got her the paper she needed — I pasted a smile on my face until they were gone. After they left, I crumpled. I tried not to let my mind wander, but the contrast was too much to bear. I came home that day dejected and hopeless.