Today, I would have been 40 weeks pregnant. I share with you what only a few know, because I am tired of feeling like there is an elephant in the room that follows me wherever I go. Miscarriage is this big ugly word that people avoid and tiptoe around. Here is the truth. I miscarried my first pregnancy. It sucked. It still sort of sucks. Nothing you will ever say to me will make it better. But I am still me. I still have joy and laughter in my life, and one day at a time, it hurts less.
I wrote these words a few weeks after we found out that we had what is called a blighted ovum, and I still find them pretty relevant – so I share with you some excerpts of my diary on what it feels like to lose a baby.
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I’m a planner. I planned my college experience, my career path, my relationships, marriage and my family. I planned it out so well that it actually all came to fruition exactly as I’d hoped. Call it luck or a type-a disposition, the future was mine for the taking. I am a ‘declare the future and it will come to you’ kind of person.
So when I got pregnant on the first try, I just laughed and chalked it up to my uncanny ability to turn my dreams into my path. Because of my previous life luck, I didn’t really consider the possibility that something could go wrong. I wanted to be pregnant, so I got pregnant. Now that I was pregnant, I was researching the best birthing methods and working on convincing myself that I wouldn’t have to have a c-section since that wasn’t my desired path. I could totally do a natural birth, right?
And when we showed up for our 10 week appointment, I was thinking about what it would feel like to meet my child for the first time. I had such anticipation to actually see this tiny dream. I had all my questions written down for my doctor. We actually spoke through all of them before we did the ultrasound. I could see the look on my doctor’s face as she realized how long the list was. “Wow, this chick is thorough. She’s a nervous first time mother, and probably just wants to make sure she’s doing everything right.” She was a little right. I also wanted her to see what I great mom I was going to be. If I cared this much at 10 weeks, I was seriously going to kick parenthood in the ass. She patiently answered all of our questions and we finally got to the ultrasound.
That’s the moment when everything I knew about my life changed. Leading up to that moment, I knew that I could have anything I could dream of if I wanted it enough and worked hard enough for it. If I put good things out into the world, it would pay me back by giving me opportunity and love. I knew a rich life full of great fortune brought on by vision and determination. But when that ultrasound screen was black, the firework that was my heart fizzled instead of exploded. Actually I think I shat my heart, but who’s keeping literal track.
Everything slowed down; I couldn’t hear what she was saying as I stared intently at the screen, begging her to move a little to the left, no, to the right – to catch my baby on the screen. It didn’t matter where she moved. That screen wasn’t going to show me what I knew, I knew, was supposed to be there. And to top the blank screen off, there was no heartbeat, no sound except my own pounding heart in my ears as I watched my doctor’s mouth move. She was trying to tell me this wasn’t a normal pregnancy. The concerned look on her face, the pity she clearly felt for me was displaced. This couldn’t be my path. I knew this happened to many people, but not me. I am so driven, I did exactly what I was supposed to do, I read every book and followed every rule. I would wake up tomorrow and realize that I was just worried about our appointment and it was a bad dream.
“I’ll give you two a minute,” is really the first thing I heard her say as she exited the room. I looked at my husband begged him to tell me this wasn’t what I thought it was. Defeat stretched across his face, unable to give me the reassurance I needed. Helpless to the heartbreak that was repeatedly crashing into me, I got up, put my clothes back on, and walked out into the hallway demanding to know what in the hell I was supposed to do now.
There it was again, that pitiful look on everyone’s faces as they regarded me with concern. I wanted to slap it off and scream “You aren’t helping me fix this.” I probably looked like Edward Scissor Hands, hair in my face, ghost white complexion and mascara all over it to boot, it’s really no wonder they looked at me the way they did. But their looks of concern only made my heart hurt worse. I was that girl, the one no one wanted to be or knew what to say to.
And just like that, everything I knew to be true wasn’t so true anymore. You see there was nothing I could have done to make this pregnancy stick. Nothing I could have anticipated to make my heart ache less, and nothing I could do to avoid it. This was a train stuck on its tracks, and it wasn’t going to move simply because I didn’t want to go where it was heading. Even in the past when I’ve experienced heartbreak, there was a way to make it better, to change the outcome.
But when you lose your baby, there is nothing that can make it easier. There is nothing that makes your heart hurt less. There is nothing anyone can say that makes you realize it’s for the best. There is no consolation prize; there is no ‘better opportunity’ around the corner. There are plenty of ‘You’ll have a family one day’s. ‘It wasn’t meant to be’s, and ‘It wasn’t the right time’s. But there is no real reason that you’ve miscarried your baby. And even if there were, it wouldn’t make you feel any better. Losing a baby eats away all the hope in your world. You can imagine that the baby might have had a hard life and so it’s better they didn’t live. You can imagine that there is a lot going on in your life at the time, so putting off a family isn’t the worst idea in the world. Hell, you can even say you weren’t emotionally ready to be a parent, but that’s not true. When you looked at the pregnancy test and mixed with fear there was a tug inside of you that felt like someone was pulling on your organs from the outside – that was moment you became ready to be a parent. And when you looked at an empty ultrasound, in that moment you felt the true feelings of a parent. Unbelievable heartache. Wanting to take away their first flu so they would feel better, their first scraped knee and their first broken heart – you would trade anything to take their place.
In that moment, I wanted my child to have a life instead of me. Take me instead. Give them the chance to fall in love, to run and breathe and laugh. I’ve done those things already, what I really want is for them to have a rich life. Make mistakes, learn lessons, live. I was finally ready to be a parent, but my baby was taken from me before I ever got the chance. Where hope once lived, apathy took over. While I could rationalize that ‘these things happen’ I couldn’t really apply those clichés to the way I was feeling. Sure, these things do happen, but they aren’t fair, that’s for certain. Instead of being able to make a contingency plan, I stopped planning everything.
I don’t know if I want to take any big trips next year or not, who knows what will have happened by then? I don’t know if I want to buy in that neighborhood anymore, we aren’t pregnant so we can live somewhere else now. I don’t know if I want to try this again, will I break if it happens all over? I don’t know if I want to live a life where I don’t have children, but I’m too scared to try all over.
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These words feel more like a tremor in my heart today than the earthquake they felt when I wrote them. What I can tell you is that this experience has brought me so much closer to my husband, and given me sympathy for those who try without success to have children.
We aren’t trying for a family today. I have to be honest in telling you, I don’t know when I’ll be ready. I simply wake up every day grateful for my husband and family, and my amazing friends who have supported “my crazy” throughout my emotional roller coaster of a year.
But today was my due date. Today I was supposed to be a mom, and I can’t let one more day go by without acknowledging that it was real. My feelings were real and my love for this unborn child was real and I know that I am not alone. There are so many of you who have experienced this and walk through it alone. I am here for you. I understand how your heart hurts. I know there is nothing I can say to make it better.
Thank you for sharing in my story. While we only knew of our baby for 6 weeks, it felt like lifetime to us.
Love,
Whitney and Brian