Three Years and Four Miscarriages Later, We Got Pregnant When We Stopped Trying

After three years of trying, Tiffany Richardson thought she and her husband were destined to only have one child. But after they stopped trying, the unthinkable finally happened.

My husband and I were married for almost a year when we found out we were pregnant with our first child. It happened quickly and my pregnancy was a dream—no sickness, a quick and easy labour, and a child who was an angel since day one. 

When we decided to try again, nothing was happening. So, we sought out proper advice at a clinic and did a few sessions of cycle monitoring. We didn't want to try anything too aggressive since we still hoped that if it happened once, it could happen again.

When that didn't work we decided to try some drugs that would increase our chances of getting pregnant.

Over the course of three years, I fell pregnant four times—but each time it ended in miscarriage.

I suffered in silence feeling like a bit of a failure. My husband never gave up hope and always assured me that if something wasn't right, it was better to have it end this way than further down the road. He is always an optimist, but throughout this process, I became a real pessimist. I was down, I was hurting and I felt alone.

After years of this misery, living life with a toddler and putting on the best face I could, I decided to give up. My doctor sent me for recurrent pregnancy loss testing. I wept when the results all came back negative.

“Why are you crying,” my husband asked. “Aren’t you happy that nothing is wrong with you and that you don't have a genetic disorder?”

He’s right, I should have been happy. But rather than relief, I felt guilt. If nothing was physically wrong with me then what was the problem?

So after a lot of talking, we decided to move on. 

And that is where I left all of you the last time. I had come to terms with it. I felt freed. No more pokes from daily needles, no more ups and downs, no more waiting and praying. Just closing a door to enjoy all that was right in front of me. I sold all of my baby stuff and I moved on.

My doctor at the fertility clinic wanted to put me back on contraceptives. After so many failed attempts, she said my chances of carrying were minimal and risky, and the older I got the less likely that I would ever carry to term. But I declined.

This summer I had fun. I drank, I partied, we vacationed, we freed ourselves of three years of pain. We lived in the moment and not the future. 

Then when my monthly visitor was late, I peed on the last stick left in my junk drawer, and immediately it showed up ‘positive’. I let out a bitter laugh and threw it in the garbage.

Two weeks later and there was still no period. I called the clinic and they asked me to come in for a blood test, which confirmed the result. 

I was pregnant.

Tiffany Richardson and her daughter

Tiffany Richardson poses with daughter, Shelby. (Photo credit Jane Webster Photography)

I didn't cry tears of joy, I didn't dance and call my mom like the first time we got this exciting news. Instead, I told my husband and we vowed to keep it a secret.

I cried myself to sleep at night wondering when God would decide to take this one too. I so wanted to be happy. As the weeks went on, I grew more anxious than excited. At 12 weeks when most people loudly proclaim the news, I instead prayed and wept silently.

But I did tell my mom. My number one support system, my best friend and the only one I knew who could keep a secret. I told her three days before Thanksgiving and she cried too. Again, there were no tears of joy and the words exchanged were simple; “Try not to stress.” Easier said than done when loss was the only feeling I could associate with a positive pregnancy test. So we all waited. 

Again weeks passed. We had the 20-week ultrasound where we confirmed that it was indeed a baby and looking good. Our dreams came true. When we let it go, gave up, looked forward and moved on…it finally happened. The fertility doctor repeatedly assured me that there was no research to prove that stress played a role in becoming pregnant. My own research and case proved differently. My obsession with getting pregnant was an obstacle blocking the process. We did too much planning, thinking, assessing and worrying.

No doctors. No drugs. No timing the process. Just the simple living of life and letting what is meant to be…be. For us, it was a true miracle. And a miracle is always worth the wait.

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