November 8, 2021
Trigger warning: miscarriage
Today, we lost our baby. I’m writing this because putting my feelings into words helps me cope. I am now a mother of six—four children with us and two that we cherish in heaven. I never imagined I would experience a miscarriage after having four healthy children, yet here I am, mourning our fifth child.
This morning, I noticed some bleeding. I was nine weeks along and had my first ultrasound scheduled for tomorrow, but deep down, I sensed it wouldn’t be necessary.
5:45 AM: Perhaps I’m being overly pessimistic. I still hold on to hope that everything could turn out fine. I had even named the baby and was planning to find out the gender, something I had never done before.
Now, my reality is unraveling. I’m not trying to be dramatic; I simply can’t seem to shake this from my mind. I feel a wave of guilt for being caught off guard and somewhat indifferent about this pregnancy. I felt embarrassed to share the news with my family and even hesitant to call my doctor to set up the appointment.
“Is this your first pregnancy?” “No, ma’am, it’s my fifth.” I worried about what others might think. I had a dream the baby was a little girl, and I longed for a sister for my daughter.
The thought of my age weighs heavily on me. At 38 years old, I know that the chances of a healthy pregnancy decrease significantly after two miscarriages, especially considering my age.
6:01 AM: The tears have started flowing, and I can’t seem to stop. I’m not typically a crier; I rarely shed tears. But this moment is different—I’m overwhelmed.
Long pause in the bathroom. Oh no, I hear someone stirring upstairs. It’s now 6:39 AM, and the reality is setting in. I have four kids who are blissfully unaware of what’s happening. They don’t know I’m pregnant or that I’m losing their little brother or sister.
I also don’t want my partner, Jake, to see me like this. He has a big meeting today, and if he stays home, I’ll feel guilty. But if he sees me in this state, I don’t want him to feel bad for leaving. Maybe it’s best if I handle this alone. Grief is different for everyone, and writing helps me process it.
6:55 AM: I’ve just scrolled through social media and seen pregnancy announcements and stories of loss from younger women. They have so much time ahead of them. I feel like I don’t.
I’m filled with sadness. I took this pregnancy for granted, thinking it would just be another addition to our family. I know there were signs early on, but I tried to brush them aside. I haven’t gained any weight; with my experience, my belly should have already shown. I also haven’t felt any morning sickness. Deep down, I feared something was wrong.
7:07 AM: The doctor’s office opens at 8 AM. I wonder if they will fit me in today. I was supposed to have an ultrasound tomorrow at 2 PM. I’m crushed. I’ll check again in the bathroom—still bleeding. Someone is coming down now. Time to compose myself.
It was Jake. After a brief chat with my mom, they’ve arranged for her to come help with the kids, and he’s staying home with me today. His meeting has been canceled.
He’s gone to wake our daughter for school. What if they put me on bed rest? That would be nice, wouldn’t it? (I’m joking.) What if the baby is still okay or there are twins? But that wouldn’t explain the lack of weight gain or morning sickness. Pregnancy loss is such a confusing ordeal.
This baby was due in May, and I was looking forward to avoiding the hot summer months while pregnant. My other children were born in fall and winter. I was excited for a spring baby.
7:20 AM: I’ve given myself ten more minutes to cry. By 7:30 AM, I’ll help my daughter get ready with a smile, pretending everything is normal. Oh no, I just wasted four of my ten minutes crying uncontrollably, and now I’m down to six.
Google is telling me this could be normal. I have 36 minutes until I can call the doctor. I’m praying for a miracle. Lord, I want this child so much. I promise I will never take your blessings for granted again. Five minutes to put on some makeup to hide my swollen eyes.
9:35 AM: The doctor wants to see me at 2:10 PM today. The bleeding has intensified. I’m standing in my bathroom waiting for the water to warm up for a shower. Jake is taking charge of the kids, and my mom is ready to help. I really need a nap but worry I’ll dream of our baby.
8:01 PM: My eyes are burning from crying all day and sheer exhaustion. My doctor confirmed what I already knew—I’ve had a miscarriage, and most of it has already passed. I’m in pain and incredibly sad. Jake has stayed by my side all day, and my mom has taken the kids for the night.
After the doctor, we got sushi—the meal I had planned for after giving birth in May. It makes me cry just thinking about it, but it felt right to enjoy it today. We talked about our kids and upcoming projects, trying to distract ourselves from the grief that weighs heavily on us.
8:34 PM: Jake took the kids to my parents’ house for the night. I feel so tired but want to enjoy this night alone. I keep staring at my phone and daydreaming, unable to shake thoughts of our baby.
My doctor reassured me that even though this is my second miscarriage, it doesn’t mean anything about the chances of a healthy future pregnancy if we choose to try again. Jake has left the decision entirely up to me. I’m uncertain about what comes next. I wonder if I’ll sleep tonight, how long the bleeding will last, and what it would have been like to tell the kids they’d have another sibling. I wonder when this pain will ease and if I’ll have the strength to get out of bed tomorrow. I also wonder if I’ll find the courage to share our story.
For more insights on fertility and pregnancy loss, check out:
- this resource on infertility diagnoses
- home insemination techniques
- Healthline for a deeper understanding of intrauterine insemination
Search Queries:
- What are the signs of miscarriage?
- How to cope with pregnancy loss?
- What to expect after a miscarriage?
- How to support someone who has experienced a miscarriage?
- Understanding pregnancy after loss?
Summary:
This heartfelt narrative explores the emotional turmoil of experiencing a miscarriage. The author reflects on their journey through grief, sharing moments of hope, sadness, and the complexity of dealing with loss while managing everyday responsibilities. Through writing, they find solace and a way to process their experience while contemplating the future.
Leave a Reply