By Carol Jacobson
“Are you trying again?”
That question! I’m not meaning to be rude, but I don’t think it’s anyone’s place to ask if Bill and I are “trying again”. It’s a deeply personal question that now comes with so many emotions tied so tightly to it. On one hand, if we are not ready, then you’ve probably upset us by asking. On the other, if we are ready for another baby, the question “are you trying again?” doesn’t fit the situation.
Of course this is just my take, but I think it’s an angle most people don’t see. I was reading a few articles and blog posts recently about “trying again” after stillbirth. When I read those words, it always hits me deep down – it’s not really “trying again.” Every month for 18 months, we tried again and again. And again. Again. And finally conceived last April. Then it all came to a very abrupt end only a week later in miscarriage.
Given the all clear by the doctors to “try again” during my next cycle, we did. And then again the next. And the next. And there I was, pregnant, again. This was truly “trying again”, because our first glory baby didn’t “take” or “stick” or whatever you want to call it. But Joanna did. She “took” and she “stuck” and she grew. Joanna, my miracle.
Nearly two years of trying again, month after month. One miscarriage. And there, two pink lines. I was so excited. I wrapped up the Disney baby clothes we’d purchased a year before in NYC (an act of hope, that good things were coming our way). I stuffed the pregnancy test in the bottom. I set the bag on the table and waited for Bill to get home from work. As I sat, I doubted. This baby could be gone in a week as well. This baby could make it 8 or 9 weeks and then be gone. What if this baby is not mine to keep?
Back track. I took the items out of the bag I’d so carefully wrapped them in. Put it all away. Sat on the couch, positive test in hand, begging God for this baby to stay with me. Anxious. Scared. A wreck. Those words don’t quite cut it. When Bill finally got home from work, there was no gift bag. There wasn’t even a cheer. A smile. Not until I could see his face react. I handed him the test. He looked at me, a little unsure. I said, “We are having a baby,” which came out more like a question than an exclamation. He smiled, calmly, laughed a little, and hugged me. His smile said, “It’s OK!” And it said, “Be brave, my love.” This baby is going to make it.
And she did. For a while. About 26 weeks. The best 6.5 months of my life. But here is the simple truth of stillbirth: when your baby dies, you don’t “try again.” You knew this baby. You saw this baby’s face. Saw her heart beating. Saw her arms and legs flailing around inside you. You felt her moving. Kicking. Punching. Rolling. She grew, and you grew with her. You held her on her birthday. You counted fingers and toes. You stroked her little nose and you cuddled and kissed and rocked her. You sang her special lullaby.
“Trying again” is something you do when you haven’t met your child. When you haven’t held her in your arms. When you haven’t had to decide to cremate your daughter. To have or not have a service or memorial. When you haven’t made a memory box full of sympathy cards. “Trying again” is for when you haven’t spent the last five months cuddling a stuffed elephant because you need something of hers to fill your aching, empty arms. Not for those who labor and deliver in the same physical pain as any other pregnancy, but in terrible emotional anguish as well. Not for those who enter the hospital full and leave empty. Who go home to empty nurseries. Empty cribs.
“Trying again” is not for those who have to prevent milk from coming in with compression, rather than praying there would be enough to fulfil tiny infant needs. To me, “trying again” is for those who don’t know – the innocent. You’re a mother from conception, but you don’t know what it feels like [what it is, how you’ll miss] holding your baby in your arms. Joanna is our child and not replaceable by “trying again.” Any other children are siblings; they won’t bring Joanna back. They won’t fill the hole that is a permanent part of my heart.
Finally, to me, “trying again” feels like an implication of failure. It’s taken me a long time to work beyond the feelings that I was the failure, so I don’t need this type of language to take me back to where I don’t want to be. I did not fail. Joanna was perfect. I love her. There is no failure in that. So, when we do discuss more children, we ask “should we have another baby?” or “are we ready to have baby brother/sister?” – but never “are we ready to try again?”
*Please note: I am not meaning to offend or upset anyone. These are my personal feelings based on my motherhood journey through infertility, miscarriage and stillbirth. Every situation is different. Every pregnancy is different. Each person will feel differently.
Carol Jacobson is wife to a wonderful husband, the love of her life, since September 2010. She is a mama to two much-loved and wished-for babies in Heaven, “Bean” – a miscarried little one at 6 weeks and Joanna Rose, a perfect, beautiful girl, who was stillborn at 25w6d on December 29, 2014. She is also a puppy mom, writer/blogger, marketing professional, Dunkin’ Donuts lover and Jesus follower. Carol shares her story — the story of her daughter Joanna, her journey through fertility struggles, miscarriage, stillbirth, grief and healing — on her blog, [Still] Gracious. Carol lives in Northern Virginia, where she enjoys reading, kayaking, visiting the zoo and going to the movies with her husband.
You can find Carol at: blog | twitter | instagram
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You are a wonderful writer, Carol. Thank you for sharing. I don’t think I had thought of this before, but you put it beautifully.
A lot of people ask, but when I answer honestly it’s like I’m speaking Chinese. They don’t get it. In my experience only moms that have lost a child understand.
You’re exactly right. Only people who get it understand. Thank you for sharing ♡.
Granted my loss was not a stillbirth but it still rang true. I lost my son a day shy of 17 weeks. During this time I saw him move, heard his heartbeat and just started to feel him kick. I had full blown preterm labor and delivered him into this world. I have heard trying again or just try again so many times and it makes me sick. Yes hearing that makes me feel like a failure and that my son was nothing meant to be remember. We are trying to give our son a sibling but never are we ‘trying again’. He mattered and will always matter. Thank you for this.
Yes! Precisely! It’s a new baby, a sibling, never just a “do-over”. Thank you for sharing ♡.
“Trying again” is something you do when you haven’t met your child.” Your words are very true. I try to explain this to my sister who had a number of miscarriages at 7 weeks pregnancy (some without ever hearing/seeing a heartbeat), when she compared her miscarriages to my 28 week stillbirth and my 2 sons SIDS deaths. She. Did. Not. Get. It.
By the way, I “tried again” twice after we lost our daughter Freyja at 28 weeks. Both my sons were healthy but were SIDS deaths at 7 weeks and 3 days respectively. How someone can then seriously tell me to “try again” I will never understand. As if (like you said) my sons and daughter were failures.
Thank you for sharing ♡
I’m so sorry that your sister didn’t understand. I lost my baby at 11w6d and had only seen baby on the screen 1 time and seen the heartbeat once before losing her. I would never compare my loss to a stillbirth or an infant death but i DO understand the hurt that comes with the idea of “trying again”. I get anxious just thinking of my in laws asking the question because we are still grieving the loss of THIS baby. I may not have seen or felt my baby moving but I did lose all the innocence of having a healthy pregnancy. I too will look at my future pregnancies as a sibling to the baby I never got to meet.