About one in four recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage. One in four. I always thought I would be the exception—certainly, it wouldn’t happen to me, especially not during a pandemic. But it did. Last May.
Having already delivered two healthy children through full-term pregnancies, I was no stranger to the various symptoms that accompany pregnancy. I had experienced spotting in both previous pregnancies, and even then, my doctor had warned me that I might lose my first child. I was familiar with the anxiety that comes with uncertainty; however, this time felt different.
As soon as I noticed the spotting, I sensed something was wrong. Yet, I pushed those feelings aside, attributing them to first-trimester jitters compounded by the emotional turmoil of a world in crisis. Just days prior, I had seen my baby bouncing happily on the ultrasound screen. I decided to schedule another appointment for reassurance. After all, I had been through this before—how serious could it be?
When I arrived for my appointment, I watched as the ultrasound tech’s expression shifted. Deep down, I already feared the worst. The doctor entered and confirmed what I had dreaded: no heartbeat.
It was like a scene from a movie. The background noise faded out, and I felt the weight of the news crush me. I had to walk out to my car where my family waited, acting as if everything was normal in front of my two little ones. I was utterly devastated.
That entire day, I maintained a facade of normalcy while caring for my two children. But as soon as they were asleep, I allowed myself to break down and cry—something I never expected to do. I never thought I would become part of that one in four statistic.
Experiencing a miscarriage can be incredibly isolating, but enduring one in the midst of a nationwide lockdown felt unbearable. I couldn’t have anyone accompany me for the procedure to remove the fetus, nor could I visit my best friend—my grandmother—because of the pandemic. I felt more alone than ever, despite being surrounded by my family.
To cope, I focused on my five- and two-year-olds, cherishing their health and presence even when everything felt bleak. I turned to old TV shows for comfort; I can now proudly say I’ve watched “Jane the Virgin” in its entirety four times and counting. I wrote on my blog, filtered my social media, and sought out supportive connections while distancing myself from negativity. When the time was right, we decided to try again. There’s a peculiar joy in hoping anew. Now, a year and a half later, I’m here writing this piece while my rainbow baby nurses peacefully.
Losing a baby nearly shattered me, but the joy that followed has become the sweetest reward.
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Summary
The experience of miscarriage can be profoundly isolating, even more so during a pandemic. The author, once part of the one in four statistic, shares her journey through loss and recovery, highlighting the importance of motherhood, personal coping strategies, and the eventual joy of welcoming a new baby.
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