An Open Letter to My OB/GYN
A tribute to all the women who find themselves in a group they never wished to belong; in a word, infertile.
November 10, 2020. It was a day that I will never forget. It was the day I learned I was expecting for the very first time. After speaking with other women who have been trying to conceive, and become pregnant, I learned that the phenomena I experienced is somewhat common. In a matter of minutes, I was changed. The hope that I felt in thinking about the privilege of being this little bean’s mom for the rest of my life is still something that makes me smile, today. Feeling a completely new flavor of love: imagining what he (I just had a feeling he would be a boy) would look like , making plans about how to nourish him as he grows inside of me, and considering all of the ways I would show him how wanted he is; it was instantaneous, and it was permanent. All of this, and more, made the pain of loss indescribable. We found out we were losing him on November 25, 2020—the day before Thanksgiving—and I can still hear the sound of my wails and feel the pain in my gut when I think about it.
Unfortunately, we miscarried again in April 2021. I was adamant that we begin testing, despite recommended testing begin after three losses, and thankfully, my doctor obliged. When tests returned normal, she referred us to a fertility doctor (Reproductive Endocrinologist and OB/GYN) to run a complete work-up of both of us. I met with the doctor, received some confusing information, and scheduled a consult with a second RE/OBGYN. The following is derived from a letter I wrote to my second doctor, after I had a breakthrough surrounding the impact of the losses on my ability to advocate for myself as a patient and remember the information I was being told during appointments.
Dear Dr.,
I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to write you to tell you a little bit about my story, explain a little bit behind the tears that don’t seem to ever stop when I am in your office, and why I seem to call the office to review information we already discussed during appointments. It wasn’t until I got off the phone today with your receptionist (after a very pleasant conversation) that I burst into tears, did I begin to better understand my emotional experience. I find it ironic that even as an LPC, that sometimes I still struggle to understand my own emotional experiences about my fertility journey. During our first consultation, I explained my complete medical and women’s health history to you, but what I did not share with you was the emotional toll this has taken on me.
It is important to me that you know that the person you have met is not “me”. You are meeting the worst version of myself—a woman full of anxiety, self-blame, sadness, anger, fear, and pain. Someone I hardly recognize. Every time I walk through the door of the fertility clinic I am reminded that I am here because my body has failed me and there is absolutely nothing I can do to control it. This process has been excruciating, as I am sure you have heard from many different men and women. I am a planner. I have pretty much had my life planned from the time I was in middle school. Both personally and professionally, I have been incredibly blessed with privileges that have afforded me to meet my goals with hard work and perseverance. I finished college, grad school, internship, worked three years, all with the plan of having a baby a few years later. I did not plan for the devastating and unpredictable things that have happened to my body and mind in the last year.
My first due date would have been July 21, 2021. I write this with tears streaming down my face, because although I mourned the loss, I found great comfort in knowing that by the time my due date rolled around, I could potentially be VERY pregnant, and planning for my next baby to be born. My dreams were realized when we conceived again, with a due date of November 30, 2021. We found out the first time that I lost the baby on November 25, so it felt serendipitous that my second due date would overshadow the pain of searing loss. Today, with my due date quickly approaching, and an empty wound, I am overwhelmed with the losses I have experienced and feel angry that I have to even participate in fertility treatment.
Both appointments when I have communicated that I have grown frustrated by how long I have had to wait in the waiting room. I have been to doctor’s offices my whole life when I have had to wait in the waiting room. I have realized that what I am really struggling with is the powerlessness I feel over the clock ticking, and having to face more painful dates without the hope of a baby in my womb. Though I know I am “young,” I feel old, childless at 28, because it wasn’t part of my plan. I am thankful that you are willing to work with me and help me create a new plan. A treatment plan of hope.
Respectfully,
Kaylee Criswell
For me, writing this letter to her, and bringing attention to the depth of my pain was validating. It reminded me that there are reasons why I am struggling, and that I am not just crazy, or overreacting for no reason. In our case, we found possible answers surrounding our losses, but I am keenly aware of the countless women who have experienced infertility, or recurrent pregnancy loss without the gift of an answer to the question, “Why?” For us, the doctor identified a medium sized fibroid in my uterus, likely causing the losses. One of the doctors described it as the embryo running into boulder with nowhere to grow. I had surgery in August 2021 to remove the fibroid, and based on imaging completed after, I am healthy, and we can continue trying. Though I am hopeful that our story will have a happy ending, my heart still aches when I think about the fact without these losses, I would have a 4-month-old baby, or be 9 months pregnant.
My story is not every person’s story with fertility or recurrent pregnancy loss, but if you ever find yourself in this dreaded group, there are women willing to listen to your story, too. The women who have come out of the woodwork to share with me their stories of losses and pain related to pregnancy or infertility are so numerous I cannot count. Thank you for your vulnerability. Thank you for caring enough about me to share your heart with me. From the thoughtful gifts and words spoken, to answering the phone every time I call, I am so thankful that one day I will get to bring babies into a community of people like you. Until then, I will continue to remember and love my Angel Babies.
Angel Babies (written 4/18/21)
Two Angel babies up in the sky.
Hand in hand they play in perfect, blissful peace.
With the Father watching lovingly, keeping them near His side.
The babies ask the Father where they came from, how they arrived?
The Father then shows them mom and dad.
The babies say, “They look so worried and so sad.”
The Father tells these babies they were wanted through and through,
But he needed them in Heaven to make the sky a bit more blue.
The babies sparkle in the night as stars; they’re shining bright.
They give their mom and dad a little comfort and a light.
The babies remind their mom and dad more labor is required.
But soon Homecoming arrives, babies, mom and dad, and the Lord forever.
