NOBLE MOTHERS: KELSEY LUDEMANN
Here at The Noble Paperie, we want to become a brand that is more than just selling products. We want to support and inspire this community. And we want to do this by lifting up other women that are willing to share their journey through loss. These women are Noble Mothers: they are making an impact in the miscarriage, pregnancy and infant-loss, and infertility communities. We are excited to share our next Noble Mother with you — Kelsey Ludemann. Below, you will find her story.
My name is Kelsey Ludemann—and this is my story:
My husband and I married in 2011. We were young; I was in college and we were renovating a 100-year-old house as money came in. Slow and steady. We knew that we weren't really “ready” for a baby at the time, but we also wouldn’t have been that upset if we had gotten pregnant before we had planned.
In 2014, I started noticing sharp pains on my right side, mostly when I ovulated. Intimacy became painful and the more timely I was, the less timely the outside world was, which caused me to worry. I finally went to the OBGYN in late 2015. After some discussions and ultrasounds, we were told that having kids may not be in the cards for us. We decided to take that with a grain of salt and prayed for a miracle in the meantime. My husband started to have doubts that he even wanted a baby, which totally destroyed me because purposefully NOT having kids, wasn’t something we had ever discussed.
After several months of putting our best effort forward, we sent up a huge faith prayer and tried one last time. When the two lines came up, I said, “I really didn’t think that would work!” It was a blissful 9 months and I enjoyed every single minute of it—even in the last week, I never wanted to rush through it. Our sweet pea was born and we lived in the whirlwind of the first 6 weeks with her as happily as can be, on little to no sleep ;)
At my 6 week postpartum checkup, I had an ultrasound to check on an ovarian cyst that had been identified near week 30 of my pregnancy. It had grown to an emergently large size, and required surgery within a few days. Not thinking twice about the “routine” cystectomy, I was completely caught off-guard when I heard the words “you have ovarian cancer” slide through the phone.
Dreams of giving my baby a teammate fell away before I even had the chance to get baby fever again. The year and a half that followed was a constant emotional roller coaster. The doctors took a conservative method in order to preserve my fertility, and so I had ultrasounds and bloodwork every 6 months to monitor any changes or growth and was advised to try again when our daughter was 6 months old.
My husband had started college in this time, and I was a working to support him until he graduated. We decided to chance it, and wait a little under a year, until he would be near the end of his senior year. We even talked about me being able to resign to stay home with the babies.
We began trying again in August 2018 and that Fall was a rough one. Within 3 months, my husband was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, 2 blood clotting disorders, and he had a stroke. All at 31. We had planned a trip to Switzerland to visit my brother, and assumed it would be a perfect way to tie a bow on a crummy year…until it proved otherwise.
The last 4 days of our trip were spent in the ER due to some pelvic pain I was having and off-cycle bleeding during ovulation. I returned to the states with an ectopic pregnancy and 5 cm cysts on my ovaries. Heartbroken, the day after my surgery, I told my brother, “my heart feels like it is going to explode.” He asked, “figuratively or literally?” and I said “figuratively, but literally probably wouldn't hurt so much.”
Certain it was tied to my cancer, the doctors removed my left ovary and tube, as well as my little baby. They advised us, again, to try for another baby almost immediately. The next cycle after post-op clearance. My husband and I grappled with this. Do we try? Can we manage another heartbreak? What if we just pretend that was it? He convinced me that if we didn't try, we'd regret missing the opportunity and always wonder, “What if?” So we did…and this time, it happened in my right tube, due to scar tissue from my cancer-diagnosing surgery.
Within a matter of three months, I lost two babies and the ability to conceive. If that isn't enough to lose love of life, three days after my surgery, my husband experienced yet another stroke. Although his stroke is unrelated to our fertility, it most definitely impacted my grief. I am officially 1 year out of my first surgery. It’s safe to say I went through some PTSD without realizing it. The surgery was surprisingly traumatic, or at least the getting there was. The grief has been a bitch. Sneaky, manipulative, consuming. I've always wondered what would have happened if we had just tried when she was 6 months old… I think it probably would have been easier than this.
1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage and 1 in 8 couples are walking through infertility. With so many women being affected by these issues, there is power in telling your story. What was the turning point for you to feel safe enough to share your own journey?
A. The pattern of my grief has been binge-processing. I talk and talk and talk, as a natural healing method and then I go silent for days, even months, on Instagram or in person. I am an open book, as in, I have no problem being vulnerable and sharing what life has done. But all of this has also required me to realize that ectopic pregnancies are pretty rare… and ones that steal your fertility, even more so. Add in two of them, back to back, and feeling utterly and completely alone and misunderstood, has made me brave enough to *keep* sharing even when I want to go silent.
Everyone grieves differently. What has helped you to heal and process your grief?
A. Feeling it. Sitting with it. I tried in the beginning, especially after my second surgery and husband's stroke, to numb it, ignore it, and run from it. But the grief always, inevitably, popped back up. I now give myself time and space and grace to feel it, and to remember it. That allows me to take a deep breath and move on.
Was there ever a time someone said something insensitive to you about your pregnancy, pregnancy-loss, or infertility? Knowing what you know now, how would you respond?
A. Without a doubt! After telling my boss the remedy for ectopic pregnancies, he said, “well, good, get it out of you so you can move on.” The day I told my staff about my second ectopic someone said, “you should adopt!” My OBGYN even told me that after my second surgery, that he “thinks it all got sucked up into the canister but I need to get my blood drawn to be sure I'm still not pregnant”. Even my sister-in-law, at one point said, “at least you can get pregnant!” And those are just some of many. Even my closest, dearest family members and friends said things that absolutely stunned me.
Knowing what I know now, and praying I could ultimately say this, I hope I would respond with an encouragement for them to rethink what they said. I really, really think people ought to become aware of what is acceptable to say, and what isn't.
Every woman who opens her heart to have children is a mother. What is your favorite thing about motherhood? What has loss or infertility taught you about motherhood?
A. My favorite thing about motherhood is the raising, the teaching and guiding of little souls into selfless, empathetic, serving individuals. And the snuggles. :) My journey with infertility-ish and loss has really taught me that mothers are resilient as hell, and that we all really try to do our best for the little ones in our care. Every mother deserves to hear, “you are a good mother. Your babies are blessed to have you.” At times, my grief has turned me into a person I never wanted to become and some days, that's all I'm desperate to hear.
How are you using your gifts to lift others up who are walking through pregnancy loss, infertility, or other pregnancy-related issues?
A. Over the past year, I have started a motherhood photography business. I plan to do an infertility project, as well as pregnancy and infant loss project, but it is still in the works. I am also a yoga instructor planning on getting certified in pre- and postnatal yoga, with an emphasis on infertility and loss. I have also been introduced to many women in one stage or other of infertility and loss, and somehow, in my mess and tears, I have been able to encourage them to tap into their inherent resilience. I am also thankful to say that 3 out of the 6 of them are expecting joy in 2020.
Grief and loss, especially with miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy-loss, can feel very isolating. What is something you would say to yourself in the first days after your loss?
A. Take. It. Slow.
Seriously. And truly let go of any expectations you hold for yourself. You don’t have to do what seems right or good if it isn't within you. It took me nine months to take my first nap after my first surgery. It took almost ten months to lay on the couch and watch TV. I was trying to resume normal life (I ran a half marathon and got 3rd place in my age division on my first baby's due date and had only run 6 miles in training) while carrying this huge internal weight. The frustration and disappointment built up inside of me, and that can only be healed through grace.
Thank you, Noble Mother
Many thanks to Kelsey for having the strength and bravery to share her story with this community. If you would like to submit your own story for our Noble Mothers series, please fill out our submission by clicking the button below.
There is power in the story.
Here at The Noble Paperie, we want to continue to support our community while lifting others up. Are you a mama or do you know one who would be a good fit for our Noble Mothers series? Feel free to comment here, or drop us a line at hello@thenoblepaperie.com. We would love to hear what you think!
xoxo,
