My IVF egg retrieval took place August 1, followed by pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) of my eggs and my husband’s and my embryos, followed by a Day-5 embryo transfer on August 6.  My due date is April 23.

On August 18, the day after my positive pregnancy test, Celine Dion, also age 41, and her husband, Rene Angelil, age 67, announced that Celine was pregnant with their second child via IVF, with a due date of early May.   

I remember thinking that Celine and Rene were making their announcement prematurely, considering my embryos had only been in my body for 12 days, and my due date was at least a week earlier than theirs.  But, I assumed that, because of Rene’s “advanced paternal age,” they’d also done PGD and therefore were comfortable with the viability of the pregnancy, because chromosomal abnormalities are the top reason that either embryos don’t implant at all or, if implanted successfully, die within the first trimester of pregnancy.

Today the Associated Press (AP) released another story, which explains Celine’s and Rene’s super-early pregnancy announcement in August.  The fact that Celine had a positive pregnancy test, confirmed by her IVF doctor, was being leaked to the media, so Celine and Rene felt obligated to respond.

However, according to her U.S.-based publicist, Kim Jakwerth, Celine and Rene found out the very next day, August 19, that embryo implantation hadn’t been successful after all.

Can you imagine being forced to announce your happy news within days of becoming pregnant, then finding out you’d lost your baby the very day after the media explosion?

In the AP story, it states, “[Publicist] Jakwerth said Dion did not immediately announce that she wasn’t pregnant because she was hopeful another implantation would work and had wanted to keep the matter private.”

I’m sure Celine, Rene and their son Rene-Charles also wanted to mourn without the world watching.

Celine’s and Rene’s story demonstrates that, even for the rich and famous, even for those with access to the ultimate in assisted reproductive technologies (ART), success is not guaranteed.  Age does not discriminate when it comes to human reproduction.

Celine and Rene admitted that they had gotten pregnant with an embryo that had been cryopreserved when they were undergoing IVF to conceive Rene-Charles, now 8.  So, Celine was about 33, and Rene was around 59, depending on when they did IVF in relation to their birthdays.

Even at 33, Celine could have had problems with some of her embryos.  Last week, I heard from a 31-year-old who had just completed her first IVF cycle, only to find that none of her eggs are viable. 

And, at 59, Rene’s sperm likely would have created numerous chromosomal abnormalities in his and Celine’s embryos. 

For example, in our first IVF cycle, my husband, once again, age 43, and I, at the tail-end of 40 at that time, had 10 embryos.  Three were chromosomally abnormal because of my eggs, and three were chromosomally abnormal because of my husband’s sperm, so 60% weren’t viable because they either wouldn’t have implanted or would have died in the first trimester. 

Out of our four normal embryos, two simply stopped developing, leaving us with two.  We transferred one girl embryo, who simply didn’t implant.  So, we did PGD and transferred a healthy embryo, but she just didn’t take.  No explanation.  In fact, at our post-IVF consultation, my doctor asked, “Why are you not pregnant?”

During our second IVF cycle, I turned 41, and we created only six embryos, with four deemed chromosomally abnormal—one due to my egg, and three due to my husband’s sperm.  We transferred two healthy boy embryos, they both implanted, but one died in my 8^th week of pregnancy—with no explanation.

My husband and I, not wealthy, were able to afford two cycles of IVF because we are blessed to live in Illinois, one of only 15 U.S. states to have mandatory infertility coverage; we weren’t precluded in any way from receiving coverage, because Illinois doesn’t have the same age and time-trying restrictions imposed by other states; and I cashed out part of my retirement fund to pay for our 20% out-of-pocket for IVF, plus 100% of our uninsured PGD (at $4,000 a try) and 100% of our uninsured cryopreservation of our unused embryo from our first cycle (at $800).

I assume the fact that Celine was hoping to become pregnant again before announcing her prior loss means that she and Rene have had at least one unsuccessful IVF cycle since their mid-August confirmation of her leaked pregnancy test results.

Even if they’ve been able to use embryos cryopreserved more than eight years ago—and even if these embryos  were determined to be chromosomally normal via PGD—not all frozen embryos are viable after they are thawed; even “perfect” embryos sometimes don’t implant; and even chromosomally normal embryos can die in the womb.  Nature has its own rules.

If Celine and Rene have had to create embryos from scratch, they will likely face obstacle upon obstacle trying to conceive with her 41-year-old eggs and his 67-year-old sperm.

The AP article states that the couple is “disappointed but determined.”  I wish them luck. 

I respect how open they’ve been about having to turn to infertility treatments to conceive their son—and to attempt to have a second child.  And, I know how difficult it is to undergo IVF.  Having money doesn’t change the physical and emotional toll of the IVF experience, successful or not, and the devastation of each cycle that ends without a much-wanted baby.

The fact that I am now 16-weeks’ pregnant, and Celine is not pregnant at all, makes me sad.  And, as with anyone who has faced infertility and successfully conceived, I feel guilty when others are unable to get pregnant—or do conceive, then lose their babies.

But, because of Celine’s and Rene’s openness, their loss will teach aspiring parents a valuable lesson.  Even for multi-millionaire songstress Celine Dion, having a child isn’t guaranteed.  Having money and power and fame doesn’t guarantee a miracle.

And, we never hear that story from celebrities:  We never hear, “I tried and failed.”  And, it can happen to any of us.

Although I was 10 years old, it had never occurred to me. 

I knew how babies were made because my mother had explained “the birds and bees” to me two years earlier, when I had simply asked what a tampon was.  But, when my parents told me I would be getting a fourth sibling that summer, I never thought of sexual intercourse—or, worse, my mom and dad having sex with each other.  I thought it sounded disgusting.

So, when my classmate “outed” them not only to me, but also to my entire class, I was humiliated. 

Mortified, actually.

Of course, in the late 1970s, assisted reproductive technology (ART) was in its infancy—and shrouded in secrecy—so it was assumed that all parents had sex in order for their children to exist.  But, that didn’t make me any less embarrassed. 

My son, age 4, and my unborn son, due in April, won’t ever have to suffer that same type of humiliation because sex wasn’t involved in their creation. 

With my 4-year-old, I got pregnant as a single-mother-by-choice via intrauterine insemination (IUI) with donor sperm. 

To conceive the son I’m currently carrying, my husband and I had to undergo in vitro fertilization (IVF), so sperm met egg in a lab.  In fact, my husband was on a business trip in Dayton, Ohio, during my embryo transfer, so he wasn’t even in-state when I got pregnant.

But, just because intercourse wasn’t involved with the conception of my sons doesn’t mean there wasn’t an overabundance of love.

All aspiring single-mothers-by-choice have to be damned serious about parenting before embarking on pregnancy attempts.  We have no back-up.  Our emotional and financial resources are it, because, regardless of the goodwill of family members and friends, as single moms, we are the only person fully, completely, totally responsible for our children. 

Single-mothers-by-choice consider every scenario in advance, because we have to.  So, when we are lucky enough to bear children, we’re not resentful about sleeplessness, about thousands of dirty diapers, about the toll our children have taken on our bodies and our social lives.  Our children were desperately wanted, so wanted that we undertook what is considered an alternative lifestyle choice, sometimes to the dismay of family members, friends, and religions.

I’m Roman Catholic with ultra-conservative parents, so my choice to get pregnant on my own was not greeted with enthusiasm, for the Catholic Church approves only of conception via intercourse with a spouse. 

When I met with my parish priest six years ago, I told him that I felt that God was supportive of my decision.  He responded by telling me I needed to be forgiven for my arrogance, for assuming that I knew what God’s reaction was. 

But, I’d rather rely on God, whom I view as loving, than the fallible men at the helm of the Church, men who, over the life of the Church, have routinely changed their minds.  And, I feel that a loving God would approve of my becoming a parent, because He created me, a woman meant to be a mother, a woman whose destiny wouldn’t have been fulfilled if she hadn’t been able to parent a child.  And, He certainly hasn’t punished me; in fact, I’ve experienced a series of miracles ever since. 

I met the perfect man for me nine days before becoming pregnant.  He stayed.  We got married in late 2006, when my son was 21 months old, and my husband subsequently adopted him.  While many DES Daughters are never able to have children, I have a healthy 4-year-old son and am now pregnant again—at age 41, with a uterine abnormality.   

While single women have to be passionate about their decisions to be parents, so do couples suffering from infertility, as my husband and I were.  Having sex to procreate is easy—and free.  Having to resort to infertility treatments is time-consuming, emotionally draining, body-abusing, unbelievably stressful and expensive. 

Infertility treatments require complete dedication to parenting.  Otherwise, we wouldn’t be able to tolerate injection after injection, blood draw upon blood draw, countless doctor’s appointments, invasive medical tests and procedures, devastating disappointments, and pregnancy losses.

I find it bizarre that the Catholic Church only advocates conception via intercourse between spouses.  I personally know married couples who not only have unhealthy relationships with each other, but also should never have had children, because their unhappiness spilled into their parenting.  I know married couples whose parenting is based not on the best interests of their children, but on their personal preferences or their needs for their children to be extensions of them.  I know married parents whose love is conditional, whose parenting turns to manipulation and threats if their children aren’t “towing the line.”  I know married couples who have abused their children, both emotionally and physically.

My children were conceived with so much love.  They are and will be parented by a couple, deeply in love and now married, who suffered to conceive them, who will love them unconditionally, and who will nurture them into the men they’re meant to be. 

When our sons are old enough to understand their conception and birth stories, I hope they’re tremendously proud of how much they were wanted—and how much they’ve been loved. 

The fact that no sex was involved will simply be a bonus.

My hope that more celebrities will be open about having used ART doesn’t extend to the personal, private intricacies—what specific treatment(s) they used, how many cycles they underwent before experiencing success, whether they did pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) of their embryos, how many embryos they transferred, and whether they used donor sperm, eggs or embryos.

I know from personal experience that the decisions to reveal the personal details of ART and/or donor conception, once a child is involved, aren’t easy ones.

When I was 35, I decided to pursue single parenthood via intrauterine inseminations (IUIs) with donor sperm.  I chose to go the sperm-bank route, and my reproductive endocrinologist would only work with Fairfax Cryobank, stating that the sperm bank did more testing on its donors and semen samples than any other facility.  At the time, Fairfax Cryobank only had anonymous donors.  And, at the time, this increased guarantee of the medical health of the donor, sperm and resulting child outweighed, for me, whether the donor was “open” or anonymous.

From the start, I was honest with everyone about how I was trying to get pregnant—with IUIs and anonymous-donor sperm. 

I thought I was doing IUIs simply because that’s one way single girls using donor sperm can get pregnant, if they decide to not go the do-it-yourself-at-home route.  It wasn’t until after my fourth unsuccessful cycle that I found that I required ART to conceive—and might never conceive at all—because of my T-shaped uterus, the result of my exposure to the synthetic estrogen diethylstilbestrol (DES) when I was in utero. 

But, even before I knew exactly what my reproductive problem was, I knew the problem was me, for the sperm donor had a proven track record. 

So, try after try, when I didn’t get pregnant, I revealed my disappointments.  I was comfortable sharing what I was going through, and, not having an infertile partner or infertile known sperm donor to protect, I could.

So, I understand why some individuals or couples wouldn’t want to shout, “The problem is my low sperm count,” or “My uterus is deformed,” or “That STD I contracted in college made me infertile,” to the world. 

My body was the reason for my infertility.  And, being single and using an anonymous donor, my decision to reveal my infertility and subsequent treatments in detail was my decision—my decision alone.

Trying to conceive as a single woman, I also shared, from the start, that I was using donor sperm.  I went so far as to announce it to all of my Catholic relatives in my 2003 Christmas letter, feeling that they required some advance notice, rather than the shock of 35-year-old single me getting pregnant.  I knew, if the more negative ones found out after the fact, they would assume that my pregnancy was accidental, regardless of my claims to be a “single mother by choice” who actively pursued pregnancy via donor-sperm insemination. 

So, I was proactive, instead incurring the wrath of those family members who agree with the Church’s stance on using both ART and donor gametes.   

Regardless of the judgment of the Catholic Church and my Catholic relatives, I have never questioned using ART—or my honesty about using it—to conceive my son.  However, after he was born, I did question any future openness about having used donor sperm.  (Not in relation to him, because I’ve told him his special story since his birth.)  It was fear about others’ judgment of my son that led to this questioning.

My fear was precipitated by my now-husband, then my boyfriend, and I moving to the Chicago suburbs to be closer to his two sons.  Shortly before our move, I was told that his ex-wife referred to my son and me as “That woman and her mutt,” and I became terrified that she would reveal how he was conceived, with her negative spin, to people I hadn’t yet met, not giving me the opportunity to decide what to reveal and to whom.

Then, a long-time resident of the area to which we were relocating discouraged me from telling the truth, warning me that people might make fun of my son because he was conceived in a test tube.  He wasn’t, but I was scared about my son being mocked nonetheless.    

So, I struggled with being worried for my son, then concerned that hiding the truth would be, in effect, acting as if there were something wrong with how he was conceived, something that should be concealed in order to protect him.

And, there isn’t.

I knew I likely could get away with telling no one because everyone in our new community would assume that my then-boyfriend/now-husband was the biological father of my son.

But, for my husband and me, living a lie wasn’t an option.  As we’ve gotten to be close to new neighbors and friends, we’ve told them our story, which includes my husband and I meeting nine days before I got pregnant with my son during my seventh IUI. 

And, their responses have ranged from exclaiming that it is “the coolest story they’ve ever heard” to thinking that the fact that my son is donor-conceived is “no big deal at all.”  If anyone has a negative opinion, they haven’t shared it.

But, although we’ve been open, we don’t feel it’s right to make our son, whom my husband adopted after our marriage, the poster child for anything, whether being a donor-conceived child or having white-blonde hair.  He’s only 4.  So, I never mention him by name on this website, and the pictures of him posted are either unidentifiable based on what he looks like now or profile shots that, once again, make him unrecognizable.

But, I’m not a celebrity.  Paparazzi aren’t outside my home, clicking away at every opportunity.  So, my husband’s and my decision to be honest about my son being conceived with donor sperm isn’t the same as celebrities being open about the same.   Their stories would be splashed across every tabloid, online gossip site, television and radio outlet, etc.  And, having their children’s origins on front pages across the globe would be detrimental.

So, from personal experience, I don’t think celebrities have to reveal exactly how they created their miracle families.  But, if they could share that it took ART—and that ART is costly—it will educate aspiring parents that it’s difficult and expensive to outrun your biological clock—even if you’re rich and famous.

This doesn’t mean they have to reveal if his, her or their reproductive problems have stemmed from his sperm, her eggs, her uterus, dual issues—or unexplained ones. 

This doesn’t mean they have to reveal their specific solutions, such as intrauterine insemination (IUI), in vitro fertilization (IVF), donor sperm, donor eggs, or donor embryos.

In my view, as long as celebrities say, “I needed to use assisted reproductive technology—and thankfully had the financial resources to pay for it,” they’re being honest enough.

This doesn’t “out” specifically how their children were conceived. 

Yes, it reveals that the celebrities are imperfect, but so is everyone else, and we are all familiar with the infallibility of the rich and famous.  In fact, we embrace it, rooting for them to overcome their demons—their problems, no matter how minor—for we live vicariously through them.

And, being infertile is not a weakness.

Waiting to have children until the career is established or the “right person” is found is the norm, so celebrities won’t be judged harshly for either, if advanced reproductive age—waiting too long—is their one and only reason for infertility.  Of course, this assumes the celebrities aren’t senior citizens trying to conceive; then, the judgment will be brutal.

We know that celebrities can afford multi-million-dollar homes, extravagant amenities, glamorous travel, and so on, so it will come as no shock that they can afford treatment for infertility too.

So, why, in so many cases, do they choose “radio silence” about using ART?

Every person deserves personal privacy.  But, in the case of celebrities who have so much influence, their decisions to simply claim their late-in-life pregnancies “miraculous” can have detrimental effects, giving unfounded hope to the millions around the world who look up to them.

When celebrating much-wanted additions to their families, what is wrong with stating, with conviction, “I needed to use assisted reproductive technology—and thankfully had the financial resources to pay for it”?

Nothing.

Titled “10 Stars Who Had Their First Kid After 40,” the lead to the article is, “The birthrate for women ages 40 to 44 has more than doubled in the past 25 years, and Hollywood is no exception to the trend.  Here are 10 celebs who became moms at midlife.”

So, the birthrate for women ages 40 to 44 has more than doubled… 

Interestingly, More doesn’t provide any statistics, no information about what the birthrate has doubled from or to.

“More than doubled” sounds impressive, but I know the numbers from my considerable research as a 40-year-old, then 41-year-old, undergoing in vitro fertilization (IVF), and double of almost nothing is still almost nothing.

The reality is this, as excerpted from Sylvia Ann Hewlett’s book, Creating a Life: Professional Women and the Quest for Children (2002, Talk Miramax Books):

“There is a secret out there, a painful, well-kept secret:  At mid-life, between a third and half of all high-achieving women in America do not have children.  A nationwide survey of high-earning career women conducted in January 2001 shows that 33 percent of them are childless at ages 40-55, a figure that rises to 42 percent in corporate America.  By and large, these high-achieving women have not chosen to be childless.  The vast majority yearn for children.  Indeed, many have done to the ends of the earth to find a baby, expending huge amounts of time, energy and money.  They subject themselves to humiliating medical procedures, shell out tens of thousands of dollars, and derail their careers.  Mostly to no avail.  After age 40 only 3 to 5 percent of those who use the new assisted reproductive technologies (IVF and the like) actually succeed in having a child—no matter how much they spend, no matter how hard they try.”

Let’s do the math here:  This means that 95-97% of women ages 40 and above, 95-97% of those who can afford to do infertility treatments, will NOT have a child.

The reality is that for most women ages 40 and older, assisted reproductive technologies (ART) will be their only hope of having a child, yet these treatments are outrageously expensive and, more often than not, NOT covered by medical insurance.  And, only the high-earning career women mentioned above (or women tied to high-earning career men) will have the insurance coverage and/or financial resources with which to pursue these treatments.

In my July 18 post, “Uninsured IVF Costs Unaffordable for Most,” I listed each and every expense associated with my husband’s and my first IVF cycle, which took place in Chicago in May and June.  The total cost for the cycle was $29,608.98.  Our medical insurer has special reduced pricing with our IVF clinic, so our insurer was billed $22,571.59.  We have medical insurance in Illinois, one of only 15 states that has mandatory coverage for infertility, yet our out-of-pocket cost was still $7,156.73 because, due to our ages of 41 and 43, we elected to do pre-implantation genetic diagnosis (PGD) of our embryos, which, at $4,000, is not covered by insurance, and we paid another uninsured $800 to cryopreserve one embryo.

My husband and I are blessed, unlike the majority of Americans, in that we have great infertility coverage, and I was able to pay the out-of-pocket by cashing out part of my retirement plan.

But, I didn’t get pregnant that time around, necessitating another try and more money.

In my July 20 post, “Giving Thanks for Infertility Coverage,” I list the 15 states in the United States—only 15 out of 50—that have mandatory medical-insurance coverage for infertility, including the restrictions associated with each.  The bottom line is that, even with infertility coverage, you need cash—and lots of it—in order to even try to get pregnant.

And, the above costs reflect using my eggs and my husband’s sperm.  Many women ages 40 and older are unable to use their own eggs, but that is never mentioned in any celebrity stories.

Five years ago, when I was 35 and attending infertility support group meetings organized by Resolve: The National Infertility Association, I met three women, each of whom got married for the first time at age 39.  All three immediately started trying to conceive, with no success.  And, each of the three was told by each of their three different reproductive endocrinologists that she had less than a 1% chance of having a child with her own egg.  One woman adopted a child, and, after I got pregnant and didn’t attend meetings anymore, I didn’t hear updates about the other two.  And, I would have, if either had had a child.  Infertile women love to share success stories.

Needing to use donor eggs, sperm or embryos can result in being excluded from infertility coverage altogether, not to mention the costs of procuring the necessary donor material.  In Arkansas, Hawaii, Maryland, and Texas, “the patient’s eggs must be fertilized with her husband’s sperm.”  This, of course, excludes not only married women with infertile husbands, but also unmarried couples and single women from receiving infertility coverage. 

And, let’s not forget the dramatic increase in chromosomal abnormalities being passed on as both women and men age.  When eggs and sperm are reproductively elderly, they are often abnormal. 

At my first consultation with the Center for Maternal and Fetal Health at the local hospital, the doctor presented me with a maternal-age chart outlining the likelihood of having a baby with Down Syndrome or any chromosomal aneuploidy.  Below isn’t the full chart, but just the odds at age 29 versus 39 to 49, where the chart stopped.

Maternal Age—Down Syndrome—All Chromosomal Aneuploidies

29—1/472—1/417

39—1/50—1/28

40—1/39—1/22

41—1/28—1/17

42—1/22—1/14

43—1/17—1/11

44—1/14—1/9

45—1/11—1/7

46—1/9—1/5

47—1/7—1/4

48—1/5—1/4

49—1/4—1/3

Isn’t it amazing that celebrities, regardless of how old, never give birth to children with chromosomal abnormalities?

Here is More’s list of celebrities who had their first child after age 40:

Holly Hunter, now 51, who had twin boys at age 47.

Mariska Hargitay, now 45, who gave birth to her son at age 42.

Halle Berry, now 43, who had her daughter at 41.

Jennifer Beals, now 45, whose daughter “arrived after she was 40.”

Helen Hunt, now 46, who had her daughter in 2004.

Nicole Kidman, 42, who had her daughter at age 41.

Geena Davis, now 52, who miraculously had three children after age 45 with her fourth husband.

Marcia Cross, now 47, who had twin girls two years ago.

Beverly D’Angelo, now 57, who had twins with Al Pacino when she was 49.

And, most infuriating, Salma Hayek, now 43, who had her daughter at age 41 and is quoted as saying, “There is no reason woman should feel rushed to have a child.”

WHAT?

At the end of this article, More has a tag stating, “Watch Headline News’ Showbiz Tonight on September 23, 26 and 27 for more on these later-in-life moms.”

Oh, I will. 

And, I’ll compare the experiences of these moms with my experiences, those of my friends and neighbors, and those of the women who e-mail me because of my infertility blog.  None of us have unlimited financial resources, making our insurance coverage—or lack thereof—irrelevant.  None of us are easily having “miracle families,” defying not only the infertility odds, but also the odds of chromosomal abnormalities.

It would have been responsible and honorable for More, a magazine devoted to women 40 and older, to do more than list these celebrities, giving hope to its aging readers that they can still wait to try to conceive.  And, it was completely, inexcusably irresponsible to print Salma Hayek’s quote, “There’s no reason women should feel rushed to have a child,” without some sort of disclaimer.

Salma Hayek isn’t living in the world most of us inhabit.  She is a movie star, married to the super-rich son of a billionaire.  And, if she got pregnant naturally two years ago, it is yet another example of her freakish luck, not something any other woman should use as justification to postpone having children.  

Age-related infertility is avoidable.  Over and over, I cringe when media outlets fail to report the big picture to their viewers, listeners or readers, instead choosing to hype yet another sensational story about aging celebrities having healthy babies.

All the money in the world can’t turn back the biological clock.  Some, if not most, of these celebrity moms didn’t use their own eggs…

When I first starting trying to get pregnant in 2003 and 2004, I was a single woman using intrauterine inseminations (IUIs) with donor sperm in my attempts to conceive, and I had little to no support from my Catholic family and varying levels, from skepticism to total devotion, among friends.  This time around, I’m a married woman, legitimate, so I expected my journey through infertility and any resulting pregnancy to be different, better, less stressful.

My family members, concerned the first time around with their embarrassment more than the Catholic Church’s stance on assisted reproductive technology (ART), have now offered their congratulations, for I’m no longer leading a lifestyle they consider “alternative,” as a single mother by choice.  I’m married and pregnant, which is completely acceptable to them, even though I had to once again use ART to get here.

My friends are uniformly supportive, offering to do anything they can to help me, from watching my son, to giving me injections, to listening to me vent, to hugging me as I cry, as I’ve suffered through two in vitro fertilization (IVF) cycles and this high-risk twin pregnancy, which we now know, as of yesterday’s ultrasound, has only one surviving twin.

But, while I was able to cope during my first bout with infertility and throughout my first high-risk pregnancy by separating from all negative people, in order to protect myself and my unborn child, I do not have the luxury of doing so this time around.  I don’t have pregnancy nausea, but have been so upset that I have dry-heaved and vomited.  When I’m anxiety-ridden, I suffer from insomnia, and, because I’m pregnant, I’m unable to take medication to combat it.  I am unable to go off of my antidepressant/anti-anxiety medication, because of my stress levels, so I continue to take Prozac, which is safe during pregnancy, but the anxiety and depression that precipitate its use are not conducive to carrying a child or two.

I have been blogging five to six days a week, which is therapeutic for me, but the flip side is that I have felt so much pressure to secure an agent and sell my memoir because we were adding two sons to our family.  I have been making gemstone bead jewelry day and night, because, although I had considered it a hobby, my friends convinced me it could be a lucrative business, and, once again, I have felt incredible pressure to make a financial contribution because of my unexpected twins.

I had my first jewelry show on Tuesday night and Wednesday day.  Monday I didn’t nap, which my body requires, and I stayed up late making as many jewelry pieces as I could.  Tuesday, I didn’t nap because I was readying everything for the show, determining prices, labeling the necklaces and bracelets and earrings with descriptions of the materials used.  On Tuesday night, the night of the show launch, I was selling until about 9:30 p.m., then up until midnight making more children’s bracelets, because they were selling so well.  Wednesday, I woke up at 4 a.m., fired off e-mails about the meeting for my son’s preschool class that, as a room parent, I was hosting on Friday afternoon, and, even though exhausted, I had to be “on” all day at the show.  Thursday, with my jewelry show over, I took a nap, then started preparing for the Friday preschool meeting, reading through all of the room parent materials in order to draft an agenda, revising documents for distribution, cleaning the house.

My baby died one of these days this week, one of these days in which I was overstressed, overtired, overextended. 

And, even though I had just learned of my baby’s death, on Friday morning I couldn’t conceive of cancelling the 1 p.m. preschool meeting with so little notice.  So, scarlet-eyed and splotchy-faced from crying, I left the doctor’s office and went to the grocery store, where, like Jack Nicholson, I wore sunglasses inside, as I shopped for the refreshments and food for the meeting.  As I loaded up my car with the groceries, I saw one of the preschool parents in the parking lot, and she said, “One o’clock, right?” 

I wanted to tell her I’d just found out that my baby died, but I just said, “Yes, see you then.”

I got home, unloaded the car, and seeing my next-door neighbor Anna Marie out gardening, walked over and asked her why exactly her doctor had mistakenly told her that she was losing her unborn child three years ago. 

This is where the crazy kicked in, where I was looking for hope that, somehow, no heartbeat might not mean definitive death for my Baby B. 

She explained that, when she went in for her first pregnancy appointment, she had to urinate on a stick, and the pregnancy line was very, very light, which caused concern.  And, when her HCG levels were decreasing, instead of rising, as they should, she was told she would lose her son.  Her little guy had some sort of miraculous turnaround, or maybe she originally had twins inside her, with her HCG levels declining with the loss of one.  Either way, she was told that her baby was dead, and he’s now an adorable 2-year-old.

Her story gave me no hope, for no heartbeat is no heartbeat, regardless of how much I wish otherwise, so I told her about my morning.  And, she hugged me and cried with me on the sidewalk.   And, we decided that Baby B is going to be Baby A’s guardian angel, and then we cried again.

I walked back to my house and started getting ready for the preschool meeting, as I cried.  I called another room parent and left her a message that everything was ready at my house, but I was going to need her to completely run the meeting because I was a mess.

Then my friend Jessica called, worried that my son and I hadn’t been at his 10 a.m. swimming lesson, which he takes with her son.  I cried to her, I told her I didn’t know how I was going to host the meeting, that I couldn’t cancel it with so little notice, that I didn’t know what to do.  She told me I had to cancel the meeting, that she would come over to help me make the notification calls, that she would do anything to help me.  I told her I would try to reach the other room parent again to see if we could just move the meeting to her house—or else reschedule—and that I’d call her back.

Ten minutes later, Jessica knocked on my door, saying she couldn’t go home after the swim lesson without hugging me first.  And, she just hugged me, stayed with me, ate a huge cinnamon roll alongside me, and convinced me, rationally, for I wasn’t rational, that I had to cancel the meeting, that a preschool meeting was not a priority on the day I found out my baby had died.

My fellow room parent called and seconded Jessica’s position that anything preschool was irrelevant, that anything preschool wasn’t an emergency and could be rescheduled.  She also offered to do anything to help, and she took over my carpool.

Around 11:15 a.m., I sent out an e-mail to all of the meeting attendees, apologizing for having to cancel the meeting because of a medical issue.  I called the ones I didn’t receive confirmations from.  And, the preschool program director notified those whom I wasn’t sure had received either the e-mail or phone messages, as they dropped off their children for school at 12:45 p.m. 

So, yesterday, after prodding from friends, I made myself the priority.  I have Baby A inside of me, and I can’t lose him too, so I have to avoid any further negativity and stress and pressure throughout this pregnancy. 

With me protecting myself and him, plus Baby B as his guardian angel, hopefully he’ll be fine, hopefully he’ll continue to be a little miracle of mine, a little living miracle.

If I take care of myself, hopefully he won’t suffer the same fate as Baby B, whom my body couldn’t sustain, my Baby B who fought so hard to reattach himself to my uterus, to grow, to survive.  

Baby B was always a bit smaller, but he was tough, my tiny guy. 

But not tough enough to share space in my misshapen uterus, housed in my 41-year-old, stressed-beyond-belief body. 

I’m so sorry.