This is the most challenging thing I have ever had to write. It’s the account of losing a baby I desperately wanted—my journey through miscarriage.
After welcoming our son, we were quickly bombarded with questions about when we’d have another child (note to everyone: don’t ask people that). It wasn’t until he turned two that my partner and I felt ready to expand our family. We had deliberated for months, and when the moment felt right, we decided to try for another little one.
To celebrate our anniversary in October 2018, I surprised my partner by removing my IUD. He was thrilled, just as eager as I was to take this significant step. I believed I’d be pregnant within a month or two, but I was mistaken. Each month that passed (and it continues even now), I would calculate the due date if conception occurred that cycle, imagining every detail from maternity clothes to our baby’s first holidays with us. I dreamt of how wonderful our son, Oliver, would be as a big brother.
Months drifted by, and on the second Thursday of each month, I found myself in tears on the bathroom floor, mourning the arrival of my period or a negative test result. I would wipe my tears, take a deep breath, and put on a brave face for my family.
As I approached the sixth month of trying, negative self-talk crept in. “What’s wrong with you?” “You’re broken.” “You’re not a good mom.” “Why is this happening to me?” I silently began to punish myself.
My partner and I devoured every article we could find about conception, ovulation, and tips to improve our chances; we tried to stay positive. Then, after what felt like an eternity—eight long months—I finally got that longed-for positive pregnancy test.
It was faint, but it was there—only four weeks along, yet my heart swelled with joy. Tears of happiness streamed down my face; my heart raced with excitement. I envisioned announcing the news to everyone—my partner, my best friends, our parents—and even told Oliver about his little sibling (manifesting!). I ordered a pregnancy journal to document this blessing just hours after the news. I scheduled appointments with my doctor, arranged for announcement photos, and even started brainstorming baby shower themes. For 17 days, I was on cloud nine; everything felt perfect as I began to grow our family.
Then came the call after my third weekly hCG blood test. “Your results indicate an early miscarriage. Have you experienced any cramps or bleeding?” No, this couldn’t be right. I felt fine.
I demanded to be seen that day, recalling my previous ectopic pregnancy in 2014 that nearly cost me my life. They scheduled an ultrasound for the next day. The ultrasound revealed a fetal sac, but it was still too early to detect a heartbeat. The doctors expressed concern because my hCG levels hadn’t risen as expected. I reached out to a friend who had faced similar losses and scoured the internet, seeking hope.
On June 27th, I had another blood test; while my levels hadn’t doubled, they had increased. Surely, everything was okay! But on June 29th, while working as a photographer at a wedding, I began to bleed. I won’t share the unpleasant details, but I managed to pull myself together to finish the day, concealing my shattered heart behind a smile.
Once home, in my son’s room, I completely broke down in my partner’s arms. I cried until I had no tears left. Calling the doctor to admit, “you were right,” and texting friends and family about my loss was heart-wrenching. Just a week prior, we had lost our dog and had to re-home our chickens. It felt like all my beloved companions and my baby were gone, leaving me with only pain.
I pushed through each day, determined to be a mom and a wife, even as I struggled to cope with the loss. The past nine months have been a rollercoaster. Initially, I wanted to stop trying altogether, fearing another loss. But after some time, I resumed tracking my cycle, falling into a cycle of obsession.
Now, after 17 months of trying, my thoughts have shifted from dreaming about nursery themes to contemplating what life would be like if Oliver were an only child or if we might adopt. Each glimpse of a pregnant woman, a newborn, or an announcement stings, and while I once felt happy for others, envy has taken over as my hope dwindles.
I anticipate questions, so let’s address them. No, we haven’t started fertility testing yet; we’re leaning towards a holistic approach first, with guidance from a specialist. And no, IVF isn’t a route we plan to take. Yes, we’ve tried countless methods to conceive, and while we maintain a healthy lifestyle, we don’t need unsolicited advice.
This is my story, one I’ve longed to share but struggled to find the courage to express. I can’t wrap it up neatly, as this journey continues. There are still months of trying ahead, but I hope that by sharing, others who are silently experiencing similar pain will know they’re not alone. We are in this together.
For more insights on fertility and related topics, check out this excellent resource on Medical News Today and if you’re interested in home insemination, visit Make a Mom.
Summary:
The author shares a poignant and personal account of their struggle with miscarriage. After initially experiencing joy with a positive pregnancy test, they faced heartbreak upon learning of an early miscarriage. The narrative explores the emotional turmoil of trying to conceive, grappling with feelings of guilt, loss, and hope. Ultimately, the author aims to connect with others facing similar challenges, emphasizing the importance of solidarity in such a painful journey.
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