Now What?

(Editor’s Note: This article does touch on hopes and fears of having another child. If this is a sensitive topic for you, please read with caution)

I lost my daughter two years ago now, as unimaginable as that seems to me most days. But, the days have passed, the months go by and now the years are moving in what feels like fast forward.

While she will forever and always be a part of me and I will forever hold her close to my heart, I’ve found as the time has passed, my feelings have changed.

I still feel overwhelming sadness unexpectedly on days where it seems to smack me in the face, but now I feel something else that’s new. I feel fear.

The thing is, I suffer from Endometriosis and the reality is, when I got pregnant with Quinn, I felt like I had won. I had beat some of the all too real side effects and statics surrounding Endometriosis – I wasn’t infertile. After years of doctors visits, surgery and doctors cautioning both the possible and inevitable side effects, here I was expecting.

Then, I lost her and my world fell apart. I’ve spent the last two years rebuilding after the fall out, focusing on myself, working through my grief and ultimately finding my happy again. Now I find myself genuinely happy, which is something that would’ve sounded absolutely ludicrous and impossible had you asked me two years ago. But here I am on the other side of her loss. Yet, I still have this plaguing feeling inside.

I’m left with so many “what ifs”. What if Quinn was my only real chance at having a child of my own? What if I get pregnant again and something happens? What if I can’t survive losing another baby?

While I so badly want to welcome another child into this world when I am ready, I am paralyzed with fear. I fear it won’t happen for me. Or, I fear if it does, I won’t be able to enjoy being pregnant and the excitement that comes with it because I will be too scared of my baby and my joy getting ripped away from me again. While I try to bury these pestering concerns deep down until I can silent them completely, they remain.

I know I can’t live in a world of “what if”, it would consume me. But, I still find it difficult not to wonder, not to fear. The future is full of uncertainty, which leaves me with a certain level on unease.

I do take solace in knowing I am not alone in this, but more days than not, I feel myself thinking, “now what?”.

Ashleigh McDonald
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I’m 28 and live in Providence, RI. I work in marketing specializing in social media and creative content. Quinn Beverly is my only child, whom I lost unexpectedly around my 8th month of pregnancy ultimately due to heart failure. I have a 3 year old collie/shepherd mix named Athena who keeps me plenty busy in my off-time. I eagerly look forward to football season every year- go Pats! I spend my time with family, friends and try to give back in Quinn’s memory whenever I can. I carry her memory with me every day and have been vocal on my personal social media channels about both her life and my struggles. By being open and vulnerable, my hopes are to remove the stigma surrounding infant loss while also hopefully helping others who have also suffered a similar loss.

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