Snow Rollers... The Story of Our Loss (miscarriage mentioned)

Many people in Central Ohio may remember January 27th, 2014 as the day we experienced the rare meteorological phenomenon of the snow-roller.  These truly strange objects, are created when there is the perfect conditions of temperature, moisture, and wind (just enough, but not too much).  It starts with a little ice crystal, that gets blown over and over and over, until it gets bigger and bigger, until it looks like a roll of snow carpet, and sometimes a white rose.

Unfortunately, that is not how I remember that day...  On January 14th, after 9 attempts at getting pregnant, over the course of 12 months, with two different bodies, 2 different donors, a great many medications, and the determination that wouldn't quit, we found out we were pregnant.  We were uncontrollably excited, and proceeded with caution as we told those closest to us on our journey.  We had warning signs that things weren't progressing as they should, but we brushed them off.  After such a long and arduous process of trying to get pregnant, it seemed karmically impossible that we could lose a pregnancy.  But sometimes science just isn't on your side... 

When I walked in the door, on January 27th, and Amy told me that the doctor had called, and it seemed that our pregnancy wasn't viable, it hit me like a ton of bricks.  It wasn't what I had expected (denial definitely played an important role, as we just repeated to ourselves, this can't be happening to US)...  I had gone to work, thinking I was carrying our child, and was greeted at the door that evening with what felt like another dose of failure.

A white rose snow roller.

There are a great many things that a person goes through when they lose a pregnancy; and pregnancy loss, like fingerprints, are different for everyone.  But I think one thing is for sure... we don't allow ourselves to talk about them enough.  This just reifies that notion that miscarriage is some sort of failure... that could have been prevented, or that we should be ashamed.  It is idiosyncratic in our culture that when we most need support, we fear that people will take pity, and we don't seek the support that we need/deserve to avoid making those around us feel discomfort.  So we face our demons unaccompanied, or with those most closely surrounding us.  But these dark experiences aren't brought out into the light so that others can see that they are not alone.  This isn't fair... to ourselves, or to those who feel isolated when they find themselves in similar situations. 

Miscarriage is not uncommon... but identifying as trans and losing a pregnancy is a little bit more unique.  Because, at that point, I had little trust in my body that it could do anything that I wanted it to, losing our first pregnancy was incredibly hard.  It was hard for me to acknowledge that I couldn't get my wife pregnant, because my body didn't create sperm... and after 3 tries at getting pregnant (with fertility medication included) it seemed like my body wouldn't function on that level either.  When I finally was able to get pregnant, my body couldn't (or didn't) hold onto it.  I was neither man or woman enough to participate in procreation... I felt, again, stuck in a gray zone in a world of black and whites.  It took a long time to trust in my body again...  like until Hayden was born.

Our loss was early...  which was also hard to rectify.  We were pregnant, but even by "Christian Right" standard, it wasn't ever a baby.  Our little snow roller never had a heartbeat.  I am certainly not going to get into a debate about when a baby becomes a baby, but there was part of me that felt guilty mourning the loss of a child that never physically existed.  As if I wasn't pregnant "enough" to feel the pain that I did.  But for two weeks, that child did exist.  We had waited so long, and we had tried our best to be patient, and so as soon as that line turned pink on the home pregnancy test, we were planning birthday parties, and thinking about college funds.  The baby may have existed only in our hearts, but that was as real as necessary to feel completely in love. 

So, there we were in the dead of winter, with our hearts in our hands, wanting nothing more than to feel relief.  But just like a snow-roller, creating a baby takes critical, perfect conditions... and this little one didn't have those perfect conditions.  So we mourned, and we cried.  We held each other tighter than we ever had.  We were gentle with each other's hearts, and when one of us could no longer bare their sadness, the other would carry them.  We gave each other space when we needed it, and together we created a world where we still had enough hope to keep trying for our little miracle.

Coincidentally, Hayden was conceived on the second day of spring...  which has just come to remind us that although we never forget winter, there is always a thaw on the horizon.