I am 1 in 4: My Miscarriage Story
Trigger Warning: Miscarriage
October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. As I’m sure you’ve heard before, 1 in 4 women will experience miscarriage or infant loss at least once in their lifetime. Inspired by those strong women around me who’ve shared their stories of loss, I am choosing to publicly share mine as well, in hopes that my experience might help another mama feel less alone.
In February of 2018, my husband and I were headed out to happy hour with some of my coworkers. We had been trying to conceive for a few months and I was supposed to get my period that day, so I figured I may as well take a quick pregnancy test beforehand, juuuust in case. I was absolutely SHOCKED to find that it was positive. I’m pretty sure my first words upon exiting the bathroom were, “HOLY S***, LOOK AT THIS AND TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE.” No cutesy pregnancy announcement for hubs; all I could muster was pure deer-in-headlights, what-do-we-do-now astonishment. Well, what do we do now? We go to happy hour and drink fake drinks and deal with these emotions later!
Over the next few weeks, I started to feel mild symptoms that are typical in early pregnancy: nausea, bloating, and heightened emotions, just to name a few. Most of all, I felt over-the-moon excited and nervous and anxious all at once, and keeping this big of a secret was impossibly difficult for a blabbermouth like myself. Somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut. I secretly started pinning dreamy nurseries on Pinterest and ordering “World’s Best Grandma/Aunt/Uncle/Etc.” mugs to gift to our families when we would travel home for Easter. I scheduled my first OB appointment for 8 weeks gestation, the earliest the practice would see me.
At around 6 weeks, I started to feel better, but not in a good way. I swear I woke up one day, and all of my pregnancy symptoms had disappeared. I had read that symptoms would shift and change often through pregnancy, but this wasn’t like that. I went from feeling very pregnant and “off” one day, to feeling completely normal the next. I had a pit in my stomach; my intuition told me that something was wrong, that this pregnancy was over. I called my OB and expressed my concerns, asking if there was any way I could get in to be seen earlier, and she reassured me that as long as I hadn’t felt any cramping or experienced bleeding, this was completely normal and she’d see me in 2 weeks.
My 8-week appointment finally arrived, and I felt more nervous than excited. I just knew something wasn’t right. When the OB performed our very first ultrasound, she suddenly became much less chatty and started questioning our dates. I had been diligently tracking my cycle, so we were pretty positive that I should be 8 weeks along at this point. According to the ultrasound, however, our little babe (whom we’d named Baby Baguette) was measuring 6 weeks along. The OB calmly and sweetly explained that we had likely miscarried around 6 weeks gestation, but she would take exact measurements and have me come back in a week to confirm that there had been no growth.
The next week was the LONGEST. WEEK. OF MY LIFE. I still had to ‘act’ pregnant: eat and drink all the right things, skip hot yoga, and fake-drink during a friend’s going-away party. I still had to keep this huge secret, except now there was sadness and uncertainty all wrapped up with it. All while feeling miserable and alone and knowing in my heart of hearts that we had lost our Baby Baguette.
At our follow-up appointment, my OB confirmed that we had in fact miscarried at around 6 weeks gestation, right when my pregnancy symptoms had subsided. I was experiencing what is called a missed miscarriage. While our baby had stopped developing and was no longer viable, my body wasn’t quite clued in. I would need to either schedule a D&C, a surgical procedure to remove the embryo and uterine lining, or take a prescribed medication to force my uterus to contract and pass its contents. I opted for the meds, preferring to endure this heartbreaking milestone with my husband, in the comfort of our home, without surgery.
To make matters worse, we were leaving in two weeks for a spring break trip to Iceland and Paris. In an effort to avoid any cramping or side effects during our trip, my OB suggested I wait until after our return to take the medication. She recommended I take a few dedicated days at home to rest, heal, and fully recover during this process, both emotionally and physically, so that’s exactly what we did.
While our European adventures were at times the perfect distraction from our loss, it was still as if we had a dark cloud looming over us the entire trip. We had planned our travel and excursions to be pregnancy-safe: no wine tastings in Paris, no Blue Lagoon or horseback riding in Iceland. Now, perhaps we had a teeny, tiny silver lining; I could now do all the bucket-list things that were no-nos when I was pregnant! Except upon arrival in Europe, we quickly found that we were too late to participate in these activities that are typically booked well in advance. We even drove all the way to the Blue Lagoon before opening and waited in line, hopeful, only to learn that we could simply look at the blue, steamy pools from a distance; tickets were sold out for weeks. Talk about salt in the wound.
After our emotional roller coaster of a vacation came to an end, the anxiety truly hit. During our long flight back to the States, all I could think about was the horrible weekend we were about to have.
We both had long weekends off from work for Easter, so we took this opportunity to stay home, rest, and finally confront our pregnancy loss head-on. I took my medication on Thursday evening, the very same night we had planned on driving home and surprising our families with the good news (needless to say, I had cancelled my Etsy mug order- the most heart-wrenching email I’d ever had to type).
Friday was emotionally intense, but physically bearable. I experienced some bleeding and cramping, but nothing I couldn’t manage with a hot compress and a box of maxi pads. This isn’t so bad, I thought. Little did I know, Saturday was the day that I had been dreading. The pain was excruciating- more so than the true labor contractions I experienced during the birth of my first child. I spent hours at a time in the bathroom, simultaneously sobbing and groaning, folded in half over the toilet. It was to this day the most physical pain I have ever experienced (and I accidentally stabbed a kitchen knife entirely through my hand the year prior, so there’s that for a point of comparison). Perhaps it’s because I wasn’t quite equipped to handle the sensations of uterine contractions like I would be for the birth of my baby in the future. They don’t exactly encourage childbirth education classes, hydrotherapy, and relaxation techniques for miscarriage. Perhaps it’s because this pain didn’t come with a precious baby boy at the end. Whatever the reason, it’s a day I’ll never forget.
While the worst of my miscarriage experience was over by the close of the weekend, I continued to experience heavy bleeding for another week and unexpected tearful moments for much longer. Although miscarriage is never easy, I am incredibly grateful that mine occurred so early in pregnancy. My OB cleared me to start trying to conceive again once we were emotionally ready to do so, and I was fortunate enough to have another positive pregnancy test the very next month.
Getting pregnant with our magical rainbow baby, whom we’d therefore named Baby Unicorn, was the blessing we needed to heal the wounds from our loss. But being the 1 in 4 women who experience miscarriage was not easy. The pregnancy anxiety was real. Any time I sensed a shift in symptoms, didn’t feel Baby Unicorn move for even the smallest period of time, or had a day when I just plain felt great, I automatically assumed the worst. I spent much of my pregnancy prioritizing yoga, meditation, and nighttime bath rituals in order to combat my worries and finally felt at-ease once we’d passed the 20-week mark.
Mamas, if you, like me, are 1 in 4, I see you. I hear you. I stand with you. I remember every excruciating detail of our miscarriage story, and I can only hope that yours is followed up with an equally redeeming story of your rainbow baby’s pregnancy and birth.