Getting Pregnant and Staying Pregnant
How I finally did it, and how I hope sharing my story can help you, too
The fear of an unplanned pregnancy was one of my earliest adult thoughts. I remember feeling grown up for having such a mature concern. Doctors, teachers, and family had been warning me and other girls for years that “it only takes one time to get pregnant!” We were taught that pregnancy was something that must be avoided until you were absolutely sure you were ready for a child. But years later, when I was absolutely sure, I struggled to get pregnant. Then, when I did, I was unable to keep the pregnancy.
In two years of trying to conceive, I experienced three miscarriages in a row. First I had a blighted ovum at 10 weeks, then a missed miscarriage at 7 weeks, and finally a large subchorionic hematoma which sadly ended my pregnancy at 10 weeks, this time after over a month of bedrest. These different types of miscarriages meant that my health care providers weren’t sure why this kept happening; I didn’t fit into any one category for recurrent pregnancy loss. One doctor even told me she thought it was just a case of bad luck. And, partly because the idea of miscarriage had never crossed my mind in my younger years, I blamed myself.
During this time, I collected a very special group of friends and practitioners, all of whom helped me get through some of the hardest moments of my life. I came to realize that, like most aspects of our personal health, there is no one-size-fits-all approach or solution. Our unique differences in fertility can make it challenging to get the answers we so desperately seek, especially during times of mourning.
Many of us, myself included, feel like having answers will give us a sense of control in a situation that makes us feel powerless. However, in my case answers only created more questions and, in the end, there was no “Ah-ha!” protocol that was the game-changer. Instead, there was a series of things that I believe all contributed to preparing my partnership and our bodies for the outcome we were so hopeful for.
Today I’m extremely grateful to be 8 months pregnant. Although I would love to provide you with a “To do” checklist for achieving a viable pregnancy, that isn’t possible. But I would like to share my lessons, so that if you’re in a similar situation, my story may give you some starting point ideas or inspire you to ask your health care providers some specific questions. Even if you’re a partner, a family member, or a friend—rather than on the pregnancy journey firsthand—my hope is that something in my experience will resonate with you.
It takes two. For the first year my husband and I were trying to conceive, we spent a lot of time and money on investigating my fertility. A few ovarian cysts on my ultrasound meant I had PCOS; an early miscarriage meant my progesterone was too low; a blood clot in my womb meant I should have been on aspirin…the list went on. Assumptions were made. I chased numerous diagnoses and protocols, hoping that something would fit my situation. All the while, we never once looked at my partner’s health. Carrying a baby may be our task as women, but it turns out that getting there is absolutely a 50/50 job. There were definitely aspects of my health that were getting in our way, but when we finally decided to take a look at my husband’s overall health and fertility, we found some red flags that were easily mitigated once we knew what they were.
My lesson: For at least that first year, I chose to be alone in the process. My husband was half of the equation but I wasted a year ignoring his part in conception. It’s obvious now that I look back, but no matter what’s going on with a prospective mother’s health, there’s more to it than that. That’s why I always recommend my clients also have a practitioner evaluate their partners’ health through a genetic consult, blood work, and a sperm count analysis.
One of the largest impacts to our overall health and fertility is stress. When our body is in a fight or flight stage, it’s incredibly challenging to become pregnant. The body is far too busy trying to react to imminent threat to support healthy hormones or a pregnancy.
My lesson: Getting stuck in a vicious cycle of control, stress, reaction, and blame was unhealthy and impacted my fertility. I waited until I hit rock bottom to admit I needed a break. Once I did this, I threw my hands up, called a timeout on trying to conceive, and headed to Maui with my partner for two weeks. It was a relief and a return to myself that I definitely needed! Now I know the signs of depletion and I am dedicated to not getting too low. I make sure my clients all know that a stressed-out body doesn’t cooperate on many levels, and I use lifestyle techniques and boatloads of Sereniten Plus to support my clients in stress stages.
You knew this one was coming: genetics! Everyone is different, but with my stress response debilitated, my body was full of inflammation and I was lacking the basic nutrients I wasn’t genetically predisposed to easily absorb from food. My treatment protocol wasn’t going to be the same as someone else's, but it was clear something had to be done.
My lesson: My genetics played a key role in why I wasn’t able to process the stress, clear out the inflammation, or absorb nutrients. I had to focus on individualized support based on my genetic foundation to steer me in the right direction. I usually recommend starting with stress management and a genetic reset as the first steps in preparing the body for optimal health and fertility.
Go to the pros and listen to good referrals. In addition to working on my genetics with Dr. Penny Kendall Reed, ND, I was also a patient of an amazing fertility naturopath doctor, Dr. Karen Parmar, as well as Dr. Caitlyn Dunne, MD from PCRM Fertility. These women are all the best in their fields and I wanted their expertise on my side.
My lesson: Not all diagnoses or recommendations are going to sit right; but it’s important to gather a team that you’re confident in. Gathering information from multiple angles and making a choice based on what felt right worked for me. For my clients who are on their own fertility journeys, I highly recommend all of these practitioners. (They’re all seeing patients virtually, too!)
Pregnancy loss and infertility is a club that you don’t hear much about until you belong to it. The right support is crucial. It wasn’t helpful when people would downplay or over-generalize my experience to make my situation feel less uncomfortable for them. The people who said things like “It’s nature’s way of taking care of something that wouldn’t have been a good thing,” or “Sounds like bad luck!” were not those who I chose to be vulnerable with. Instead, I silently acknowledged that they were caring in the only way they knew how, and I moved on. I sought support from those who truly spoke my language.
My lesson: Our miscarriages, fertility journeys, and the way we process experiences and grief is different; when we generalize these things, we subtly tell the hurting person that their feelings are not valid. Nowadays, when I know someone is experiencing fertility challenges or pregnancy loss, I hold space for them and listen without offering my own advice. Sometimes it’s awkward, but advice isn’t usually what they’re looking for, so I resist the urge to give any.
After two years and three losses, my rainbow girl decided to stick around. I’m overjoyed! When I look back, I’m grateful I took the time off I needed to reduce stress. I’m grateful that I didn’t give up on chasing optimal health. And while some of my experiences were traumatic, I made it through those years. As a result, I’ve never been closer to feeling whole, peaceful, and healthy. My struggles with fertility and pregnancy loss helped me see that my health was dysfunctional and guided me to gaining a power over my health that I never knew was possible.
If you’re experiencing something similar, please feel free to book a free 15 minute consultation with me to discuss how we can support your unique needs and develop an individualized and integrated plan for whole-body health.