It was the spring of 2017…
…and my husband and I were excited to begin our journey of trying for baby number three. To my surprise, after one month of trying, I saw that beautiful second pink line on a home pregnancy test. Despite wanting to make the announcement to my husband extra special, my impatience got the best of me yet again. I remember the day — It was a Saturday. My husband, Bret, was home with me. After showing him my positive test, he went straight to the store to buy our two older boys “Big Brother” gifts to surprise them with the news. When he returned home, something inside of me told me that we needed to wait. I felt that telling our families would be wrong, which was completely different than with my last two pregnancies where I couldn’t wait to share our excitement with them. My test line was so faint, we decided that we would hold off until we felt confident that I was, in fact, pregnant.
Kind of pregnant
The next morning came and I took another home pregnancy test, which was just as faint as the day before. Tomorrow. I told myself that tomorrow morning will be the day that I feel more “pregnant”. The days came and went, with every pregnancy test being as faint as the day preceding it. Feeling confused, I decided to call my doctor and have my hcg levels checked. After getting my levels checked first thing the next morning, I received a call later that afternoon informing me that my hcg levels were a 10. Anything under 5miu is considered “not pregnant”. The words that the triage nurse used to describe it, was that I was “kind of pregnant”. I never knew that kind of pregnant was a thing. I continued to get my blood drawn twice more, in which the levels went down to an 8 at the last draw. I knew this wasn’t good news. I was told to wait until I had my period, which may be a bit heavier than normal. So wait, I did. My “kind of” pregnancy lasted 7 days. I felt sad, but I knew that it was unfortunately common. I figured that since I had my two boys, it was a fluke and that we would try again.
Try again, we did.
That July, shortly after my 30th birthday, I found out that I was pregnant once again. Unlike my previous pregnancies, I didn’t feel excited. I felt worried. Google became both my best friend and my worst enemy. Statistics showed that the chances of having two miscarriages in a row were about one to two percent. Despite my anxiety, I told myself that surely I would not fall into this percentage, which was so minute. I got my blood drawn and my levels were at 33miu. It was low, but the office told me that as long as my levels doubled every two to three days, that my pregnancy was progressing normally. My levels continued to double every two days and I started to feel more excitement. The day of my first ultrasound at 7 weeks, I found out there was a gestational sac the size of a 4 week pregnancy. They could not find the baby. Bret and I were taken into a room, given pamphlets on D and C surgery and miscarriage, and we were on our way.
It happened again
It happened. Again. I was a statistic. I was the 1 in 4 who experienced a miscarriage, and the 1 in 100 who suffered recurrent miscarriage. I was devastated. I begin to trace my steps through each of the pregnancies, wondering where it could have gone wrong. Was it my fault? Was something wrong with me? It was a hard pill to swallow, one that nothing can prepare you for…and something you have to experience to know how it feels. I never knew that I could feel so sad about something so short-lived. I listened to a speaker after my miscarriages who said that the length of your pregnancy is not a measuring stick for your sadness. I had never heard anything so true. Even when my babies were merely a thought, I had names and I had big plans for them. I imagined who they would look like and the people that they would become. That night upon finding out about my fourth pregnancy, my husband and I rocked on our front porch discussing name after name for the baby. The day of my miscarriages, that was stripped from us. No more plans, no more hopes, no more baby.
What you can do
A word of advice when speaking to those who have suffered a loss…never tell them to just be grateful to have their other living children. I have been and always will be grateful. My previous children are not the children that I lost. They are all separate identities, each loved uniquely by their father and me. To us, our miscarriages were our children from the moment we saw the positive tests. Having other children does not mean we are not allowed to be sad about lost pregnancies. The best thing you can do for someone experiencing loss is to simply be there for them. Lend a listening ear.
Mamas, I am here for you
A year has passed since my last miscarriage. I sit here and write this as I am holding my sleepy 7-week-old. I am so blessed to have been able to make it through another pregnancy, and not a day goes by that I forget that. Reader, if you have experienced pregnancy loss, I empathize with you. If you have gone through infant or child loss, my heart breaks that you know that pain. If you have had a long and complicated road on your journey to pregnancy, my desire is that your dreams will soon be a reality. Mamas, I am here for you, and please know that I will be your listening ear if you need it.
For support through pregnancy and infant loss, reach out to HEALing Embrace.
