About 1 in 4 recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage. 1 in 4. ONE IN FOUR. Yet, I thought I would be the exception. Surely, it wouldn’t happen to me, especially during the peak of a global pandemic. But it did. Last May.
I had already given birth twice, with two full-term pregnancies and two healthy children. I was familiar with the various symptoms that come with pregnancy. In fact, I experienced spotting in both of my previous pregnancies. My doctor had even warned me that I might lose my first son, though her bedside manner was far from comforting.
This time felt different. I sensed it the moment I noticed the spotting. I tried to brush it off as first-trimester jitters mixed with the overwhelming emotions of living in a chaotic world. Just days earlier, I had seen my excited baby on the ultrasound screen. Still, I scheduled another appointment for reassurance, thinking it couldn’t be anything serious. But when I arrived at my appointment the next day, the ultrasound technician confirmed my worst fears. There was no heartbeat. My doctor echoed those words, and it felt like my world crumbled.
You know how in movies, when someone receives bad news at the doctor, everything around them fades away? It was exactly like that. I needed to breathe, but I had to face my family waiting in the car outside—no guests allowed inside due to pandemic restrictions. I had to pretend everything was fine in front of my two young children. It felt like a crushing weight on my chest.
I spent my entire day acting as if nothing had happened while caring for my kids. Later, when the house was quiet and everyone was asleep, I allowed myself to cry. I never expected to be part of that 1 in 4 statistic.
Experiencing a miscarriage can be incredibly isolating, but going through it during a nationwide lockdown made it even more unbearable. I couldn’t have anyone accompany me for the surgery to remove the fetus, and I couldn’t visit my grandma, my best friend, to share my grief due to the fear of spreading the virus. I felt utterly alone, even surrounded by family.
To cope, I focused on being a mom to my five- and two-year-old. I cherished their health even more because they were here, alive and present, even if everything felt grim. I binge-watched familiar shows for comfort, having now completed “Jane the Virgin” four times (and counting).
I wrote on my blog, scrolled through social media, and removed connections that didn’t resonate with my feelings. I managed to get through it, and when the time was right, we tried again. There’s always joy in the journey of trying again. Now, a year and a half later, I’m here writing this while my rainbow baby nurses beside me.
Losing a baby was a heartbreaking experience, but the joy of my rainbow baby has been the sweetest reward.
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Summary:
The author reflects on her experience of having a miscarriage during the pandemic, emphasizing the isolation she felt during a time when support systems were limited. Despite the heartbreak, she found solace in her children, leaned into motherhood, and ultimately welcomed a rainbow baby into her life.
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