Jessica Urlichs, author of, "From One Mom to a Mother" said, “People will paint you pictures of motherhood in rainbows, you will forget the rain comes first. The brightness of that rainbow will always outshine the grey, but it’s okay to talk about the grey, you should.”

I’m here to talk about the grey.

Four years. I’ve been pregnant for over four years straight. To some, that may sound like a blessing, but at one point, I truly believed I was cursed. I have four babies in Heaven, and one of them is this little man’s twin.

Matthew is a miracle. Over the last few years, I’ve learned that though my body was able to conceive, it was not able to protect my babies in utero; which as we all know, is a mother’s sole purpose in life. I made it my sole purpose to determine why I was continuously miscarrying.

Initially diagnosed with Recurrent Pregnancy Loss (RPL), my husband and I were told to just keep trying. In 2020, we had our daughter but I knew in my heart that there was more going on internally. I began to research what could be wrong. A hematologist determined that I had a blood clotting disorder. A hormone specialist determined that I had a MTHFR gene mutation. I felt like the bad news just kept coming and I desperately wanted to continue growing our family, but was questioning if we could make it through another heartbreaking loss. The odds were certainly against us.

My daughter Kenna’s pregnancy in 2020 was extremely complicated. I was on bedrest for weeks, being treated for multiple subchorionic hematomas, anxiety, gestational hypertension and eventually a scary battle with pre-eclampsia. Little did I know, my body was working overtime trying to terminate her. My Reproductive Immunologist (RI) believes that I was likely sick in the first trimester and my body fought that infection, which ultimately gave Kenna enough time to become strong enough to hang on. She was my NICU baby, and my first miracle baby. She is now a thriving three year old.

My RI determined that I fall within a small group of women whose immune system attacks the embryo, mistaking it for a foreign body or cell, like a cancer. These attacking cells, called Natural Killer cells are designed to protect us, and mine were in overdrive. To my understanding, they caused my cytokines to inflame, and together were able to terminate the “cells”, my own embryos, that they believed were invading me.

How angry I grew at my body. I am a woman. I should be able to create, and protect these precious unborn babies. I found solace in a book, that I felt was written about me. Dr. Alan Beer, the pioneer of Reproductive Immunology, wrote, “Is Your Body Baby Friendly?” and I lived and breathed it.

I began to realize that I was an experiment. Shady Grove didn’t want me. I wasn’t classified as infertile. Though I was pressured to do IVF, it wouldn’t help someone like me. I could make the baby.

There are five doctors in the United States that were willing to put in the work. To go against the medical grain and help women like me carry a child to term. Thankfully, one of them was located in Washington, DC. After almost a year on the waitlist, I got my call for my initial consult. As if the stars aligned, I also learned that another mother right here in Embrey Mill used this doctor to treat similar issues, and she was able to bring home twin boys, who have now become very close friends of ours. For the first time, I had hope, and having her support helped me make it through the most stressful time of my life.

When my RI finally gave my husband and I her permission to begin trying to get pregnant, we were afraid. To suppress this autoimmune response, especially in a COVID-ridden environment, was dangerous and untraditional, but my husband and I felt that our journey was not yet finished.

On the second month of tracking ovulation, we found out we were pregnant with twins. Unfortunately, Matthew’s twin didn’t make it past the first trimester. The natural killer cells won that battle, and my treatment needed to become more intense if we wanted to save our remaining twin.

Weekly lab work and monitoring, daily injections, and a pill pack filled with medication became routine for me. I will admit there is no joy in pregnancy after loss. I’m beginning to accept that every tear I’ve shed, every hospital stay, every dollar spent, and every doctor seen was worth it.

After years of my own advocating, therapy, prayer, blood draws and medication, I still have to pinch myself as a reminder that this is reality. Matthew is here, and my family is finally complete. Matthew is my reminder that motherhood is not just a distant dream, but a final destination, and that the journey may be treacherous, but it is achievable. Through all of the doubt, our faith persevered and we brought Matthew home, at last.