Pregnancy After Loss

Pregnancy After Loss

It’s no coincidence that I felt the need to start this blog when I crossed over the 24 week mark of my pregnancy.  24 weeks.  Viability outside of the womb.  I’m finally beginning to trust my body again, and I think that I’ll look back at this moment as the one that I finally felt “healed.”  As healed as you can ever be after a loss… because I’ll certainly never forget it.

I had known I was pregnant for 10 days before I lost the baby.  10 days might not sound like a long time, but it’s enough time to start planning and dreaming for your future family.  It’s enough time to get attached.  I knew the moment I got pregnant – I could just feel it.  And I knew when I was losing it – unfortunately, I could feel every excruciating moment of that.  I had never heard how physically painful a miscarriage would be.

As I laid there curled up on my bed, doubled-over in pain & crying for our loss, I scoured the internet for answers.  For why this happened, how common it was, and for more than anything else – personal stories from friends.  I remembered 1 friend posting months ago about a loss, so I immediately looked for her post to read.  And then I remembered another friend who had posted about it years ago on her blog, so I sought that out.  It was the stories of friends, not strangers, that comforted me that night.  It made me feel a little less alone.  Like I could survive.  Even though all I felt was alone.  And empty.  So very empty.

The ultrasound the next day confirmed what I already knew, that I had lost the baby.  Of course my doctor reassured me that this was more common than we all think, and that I shouldn’t have any trouble getting pregnant again.  As I was driving back to work after my doctor’s appointment, all I could think was “I hope people are kind to me today.” I realized in that moment, that you truly never know what others are going through.  It was absurd that I continued about my day, my meetings, as if nothing had happened.  But I didn’t know what else to do.  It’s not like it was public knowledge that I was pregnant.

Although it wasn’t totally public, I’m so grateful that I had told 2 friends at work about it – because I needed them more than ever that day.  And after the miscarriage happened, I told even more friends about it, friends who hadn’t known I was pregnant yet.  Why?  Because it was a huge part of my life at that moment.  I was breaking inside, and I needed people to hold me up.  And I found that through telling my story, I found friends who had gone through / were going through the same thing and also needed to be held up.   It’s true what they say – miscarriage is a huge secret club.

I get why it’s a secret.  At least for me, I didn’t want too many people knowing we were trying to get pregnant.  I didn’t want to be on somebody else’s weird time clock, avoiding the burning question that would always be on their mind.  So, are you pregnant again yet?

The months that followed wreaked havoc on my body, literally.  Ovulation during my next cycle was extremely painful – just as painful as the actual miscarriage.  That was a kick in the gut.  Hey remember that awful thing that happened to you last month?  You’re going to feel like it’s happening all over again.  My next two cycles were 6 weeks long.  Another kick in the gut.  Hey you know how you’re trying to get pregnant?  Well I’m just going to make you think you’re pregnant by delaying things a bit, and making you pee on a million sticks that are going to keep coming up negative.  And then, during the 4th cycle, I felt it.  That pinch.  And then that same day I was overcome with the type of exhaustion that stops you in your tracks and forces you hit the pillow for a nap.  And the next day, there it was.  The most beautiful red line I had ever seen.  Of course, I took 5 more tests for 5 more days to make sure that the line got darker.

That kind of paranoia only got worse over the coming weeks.  Every twinge, every cramp – I lived with the fear of being in that small percent of women who have a repeat miscarriage.  When you don’t know what caused the first one, you don’t know if it was something with that particular sperm & egg, or if it’s something with you.  I longed for the blissfully ignorant days of my first pregnancy, when everything was new and happy-go-lucky.  Instead, I had days where I would sob in my car on my way to work, overcome with hormones I couldn’t control, and a growing fear I had even less control over.

It got easier at 8 weeks, when I finally got to hear my sweet baby’s heartbeat.  The instant he showed up on the ultrasound screen, his little arm was moving, like he was waving at me.  I’m here Mom! Don’t worry! I turned my head so that the ultrasound technician wouldn’t see the tears of joy rolling down my face.  When the last ultrasound I had was of an empty womb, the fullness I felt in that moment was indescribable.

The nausea was my reassuring companion over the next several weeks that everything was progressing as it should.  I willed myself to feel confident and calm, for the good of my baby.  And then at 14 weeks, we found out we were having a boy.  Being able to call “it” a “he” was extremely healing for me.  Calling him by his name made my attachment to him grow even further.

And then at 16 weeks, the nausea stopped.  Most women would welcome this change.  But despite hearing his heartbeat on the Doppler earlier that week, I felt like I was waiting for a train.  The nausea had left the station, and now I had nothing to reassure me while I was I was waiting for those precious first kicks.

2 weeks passed, and the first week of June rolled around.  One evening, I was sitting in the exact same spot I am right now.  And the tears started rolling when I realized that it should have been my due date.  I was supposed to have a baby that week.  And almost immediately, there it was.  The first little kick.  And then another.  Hey Mom!  Don’t cry!  It’s okay, I’m here!   The kicks kept coming with a fury, and my tears turned to tears of joy and amazement.  Amazed that my little baby boy had reached out at the exact moment I needed him to.

I realize that in the grand scheme of things, I’m extremely lucky.  I lost the baby very early, and got pregnant again quickly. I already have a beautiful, healthy daughter who kept me from feeling the pain too acutely. But if I’m one of the lucky ones, and I felt as much pain as I did, then I can’t even imagine the pain of losing a baby when much further along in pregnancy, or the pain of infertility I know so many people are facing.

You’re probably wondering how any of this story qualifies as part of “the best season of my life.”  But I told you it was messy.  And sometimes it takes a little bit of messy to get to the good stuff.

And now I’m 24 weeks, 25 tomorrow.  Viability outside the womb. And I finally feel healed enough to share my story with you.  Because if it helps even 1 other mother searching for answers tonight, then sharing it was worth it.  If you’ve suffered a miscarriage, take comfort in this: It’s normal. It wasn’t your fault. It’s common. Way more common than you think.  I can’t tell you how your story will end.  But you will survive. You are strong.  You are a mother.

And my advice to everyone else: Be kind.  You never know what kind of battle someone is facing that day. 

R: You’ll forever be in my heart.

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9 thoughts on “Pregnancy After Loss

  1. I had a miscarriage between my first and second babies, as well. It was very early – but it still surprised me how attached I had grown to the idea of that child. So, thank you for putting your story out there.

    And even as someone who never had the complication of a preterm infant, I celebrated viability with each of my pregnancies. Nice to know I’m not the only one.

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  2. I feel like I could have written parts of this. We struggled with infertility and miscarriage at the beginning (the reason we were so shocked by our surprise pregnancy with number 3…what? How can this be?? We don’t get pregnant without going through months and months of hell first!) It seems like a lifetime ago now, but I’ll never forget the pain of feeling like my body betrayed me…and the pain of feeling so alone in it all. Thank you for your courage in sharing your story 🙂

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  3. I like your line about “it takes a little bit of the messy stuff to get to the good stuff.” I look at it a little differently though. I think your appreciation for “the good stuff” is heightened after you’ve experienced “the messy stuff.” And so when I look back on the hard times, I can be thankful for them–even if I wasn’t so able to be grateful in the moment. Thank you for having the courage to write about this! Sharing stories like this helps so many other women who are going through losses like this.

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  4. Pingback: No is a complete sentence: An un-medicated hospital birth story, and why I switched providers | The best season of my life

  5. Pingback: The end of maternity leave: The most important work | The best season of my life

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