2020 was undoubtedly a challenging year, filled with a pandemic, wildfires, and the loss of beloved figures like Kobe Bryant. Many of my friends and I have been distant since last March, which has been tough. However, I wouldn’t label 2020 as my worst year. That title belongs to 2015.
In 2015, we were deep into our quest to expand our family, a journey that had become increasingly frustrating. Anyone familiar with infertility understands the cycle of hope and despair that accompanies the struggle to conceive. I was diagnosed with Idiosyncratic Secondary Infertility, which is just a fancy way of saying that while I had successfully had one child, my body was now failing to do it again. It felt like my body was betraying me; its two main jobs were to keep me alive and to reproduce. It was doing fine in the first regard but failing miserably at the second. Year after year, I faced disappointment.
The day before my 30th birthday, I took a pregnancy test, a ritual I had grown accustomed to. To save money, I had been buying tests from Dollar Tree instead of spending a fortune at the drugstore. This time, however, it was different: the test was positive! We were overjoyed, ecstatic even. We made calls to our family, telling them to clear their calendars for February. We even gave our daughter a baby keychain, explaining it was for her future sibling. We were already planning for our new arrival, nicknamed Blueberry in honor of its size at that stage.
Around this time, I was also planning to visit my grandmother, the one who truly understood me. I had been speaking to her regularly, and with her recent cancer diagnosis, I felt a pressing need to see her. Our trip was scheduled for August, but fate had other plans. On July 10, 2015, my dear Mema Frances passed away. The last thing I told her was that I was pregnant, and I couldn’t wait for her to meet the baby.
My grief was overwhelming, but I feared that if I sank too deep into sadness, I might lose the pregnancy. I felt something was off, even though I had no physical symptoms. I brushed it off as anxiety and tried to stay positive for the sake of the baby. A couple of weeks later, I experienced spotting and rushed to the ER, where a friend of mine was a nurse. Everything seemed okay at that moment.
However, during my first ultrasound, my doctor delivered crushing news: there was no heartbeat, and Blueberry had likely passed away weeks prior. His insensitivity during such a vulnerable moment cut deeply. I left the office devastated and called my husband, struggling to convey the heartbreaking news. In a state of denial, I sought a second opinion, convinced that maybe it wasn’t true.
Later that night, the bleeding began in earnest, and I found myself in the ER again. This time, I was placed in what we came to call the “sad room.” Miscarriages, I learned, are painful regardless of the baby’s size. As my husband comforted me, I experienced contractions and the loss of the life I had hoped for. Despite the pain, I was neglected for hours, with minimal guidance.
When we finally returned home the next morning, I felt something pass. It was Blueberry, and in my panic and grief, I called for my husband. His flush of the toilet felt like another loss, compounding my heartbreak. I was angry at him, the medical staff, and especially my body for failing me again. But in those days following, surrounded by supportive friends, I gradually realized I had to confront my grief without allowing it to consume me.
Looking back on 2020, while we experienced systemic losses—our workplace, normalcy, and personal time—it paled in comparison to what I endured in 2015. That year taught me resilience, and every challenge since has become easier to face. I learned that while grief can be unbearable, I didn’t succumb to it then, so I can face any storm today.
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Summary
This narrative reflects on the author’s experiences with loss and infertility during 2015, which ultimately prepared her for the challenges of 2020. Through the pain of losing her grandmother and dealing with a miscarriage, she learned resilience and the importance of confronting grief. The lessons learned during her hardest year have equipped her to navigate the trials of 2020 with strength and perspective.
Keyphrase: How my worst year prepared me for 2020
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