I was recently reading an old hellobee thread: “What surprised you the most about your loss?” For me the answer is that “it wasn’t all bad.” Before my BFP, I thought that loss condemned you to spending weeks feeling sick, exhausted, and emotional, ending in just sadness. For the first month after our loss, any time I thought about it, I would cry, and it was very hard to see a silver lining. But now I realize that yes, I lost, but I also gained…

My BFP came the day after our initial intake appointment with an RE, to do some basic tests in case there was a reason besides bad luck that TTC didn’t seem to be panning out. I was extremely happy, but also very cautious. “Don’t get attached yet,” my husband said. The pregnancy was somewhat complicated from the beginning. Less than a day after breathing a sigh of relief that my final beta draw looked good, I had heavy bleeding. I thought for sure it was over, but when I went in for an ultrasound, the diagnosis was an SCH, essentially a bruise that can develop if some blood leaks out during the formation of the placenta. I continued to spot off and on, but also felt sick, which seemed like a good sign.

At the dating scan, we indeed saw a baby with a heartbeat, but it was on the low side, and our baby on the tiny side. The doctor recommended that I go on bed rest in hopes of healing the SCH, and follow up in a couple of weeks. At the follow-up, we saw the heartbeat again, but our little one wasn’t growing and I knew that it was a matter of waiting for the heart to stop. The doctor suggested that maybe the fetus couldn’t get the nutrients he needed to grow because of the SCH.

I was heartbroken by the thought of a little person inside me whose heart was beating slower and slower. It brought back strong emotions of watching other loved ones pass away and reminded me of the fragility of life, kindling fears that other people I loved would die too soon as well. I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, but I hated the thought that our little one was dying because my body couldn’t get him the nutrients he needed. And I cried that he would never have the opportunity to know how much he was loved.

We did genetic testing, and learned that our little one had triploidy. He had three of every single chromosome, either because two sperm fertilized a single egg or because the egg had two sets of every chromosome rather than one. It was an enormous relief to know that I hadn’t inadvertently done anything to cause the demise of the pregnancy, and I will breathe so much easier in future pregnancies knowing this. Triploidy is a random event unrelated to the age of the mother or father, and the odds of it happening again are low – cue huge sigh of relief. The downside is that if the extra genetic material comes from two sperm fertilizing a single egg, it puts the mother at a substantially increased risk of developing abnormal growths or even cancer if any of the placenta gets left behind (a so-called partial molar pregnancy). Who knew? Sperm are programmed to invade a woman’s body and take all her resources and give them to the placenta, to nourish the man’s offspring. Eggs are programmed to say – “wait a minute, mister, mom needs some resources too.” If there’s an extra sperm in the mix, it can make the placenta grow like crazy, in extreme cases, consuming the women’s entire body. Thankfully, I had access to a D&E done by a skilled surgeon, and my HCG has fallen nearly to zero, so there’s little risk now of long-term health complications.

I started recently doing some guided meditations to send caring, positive thoughts to my ovaries. I realized through this that I was harboring an enormous amount of frustration towards my body, built up through the months of BFNs and then a pregnancy where we thought initially that the issue wasn’t with the baby but with my body. I used to be a semi-serious athlete, which was all about working super hard in training to get the response you wanted from your body. But with TTC, there’s really nothing I can do to make it work, and while I recognized that on some level, underneath it made me very frustrated.

The feelings of frustration towards my body couldn’t be a greater contrast to the emotions I have when I think about our little boy. All I feel towards him is a wellspring of love and tenderness, a love and tenderness that if applied to my feelings of frustration make them slowly dissolve. I realize now what a beautiful and special relationship we had. Unlike anyone else whom I’ve loved deeply, he will never do anything to hurt me, to anger me, to exasperate me… He had a complete extra set of chromosomes - 2/3 DH and 1/3 me, or maybe the other way around. Given how different he was from any person you’ll see walking around, it seems nothing short of a miracle that his heart beat for a full month. Normally, triploidy results in very early miscarriage. We were blessed with quite a long time together. Like many beautiful creatures, his life was short, his mark on the world nearly invisible, but he was beautiful to me and touched my life deeply.

So I realize now, it’s not all bad. I didn’t appreciate this when I was pregnant - I was just sick and exhausted and worried about viability – and for the first month after our loss, my husband’s most frequent remark to me was “you seem so sad.” But now I can think about the pregnancy and feel a sense of peace and appreciation for what we had. If we are blessed with a next time, I’ll have a greater appreciation for how unique the relationship is between a mother and an unborn child. If it becomes a lifelong relationship, I will appreciate this very special initial phase. And if it’s destined to be brief, I will cry for the experiences that my little one will never have, but I will also marvel at what we do have. Life doesn’t need to be long to be beautiful, or to inspire those whom it touches.