Our Second Miscarriage Story
In May of this year we experienced our second miscarriage. Although I was not writing here of our experience, I was keeping close journals in hopes I would have the bravery to share more later on. Sharing our infertility journey & previous loss is something important to me. Something that has always helped me. Here is my documentation of our second babe’s life that we longed for & miss dearly.
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In this blog post you will happily find…
+ The timeline of our miscarriage.
+ A perspective into pregnancy loss many may not know about.
+ The thoughts I had just after the news.
Pregnancy after Infertility & Loss
March 29, 2020 we experienced our first miscarriage. Just a few days prior we learned there was life inside me, & just like that it was gone. An early loss that I learned I would not only allow myself to believe in, but one I had to also defend. Fast forward to March 29, 2021 — only 7 days post ovulation, I felt an urge to test. I felt like if God wanted me to know if we were pregnant again, He would allow me to know this early. Giving me time to prepare, be seen by a doctor & believe in this life when everything was telling me not to.
When you are pregnant after trying for so long, there is very little inside you that truly believes it. When you also experience an early loss, you know that seeing 2 lines give no promises. You are filled with guilt for not only being overjoyed, you are filled with grief for the old you that you lost along the way, you are filled with absolute anxiety just waiting for the shoe to drop.
Because of my history & my PCOS, my doctor saw me right away from follow up blood work confirming that we were indeed pregnant & our levels were rising appropriately. A stage we weren’t able to reach before. Our last pregnancy was the day the world shut down & no doctor would see me. Just knowing that I had a medical professional supporting me gave me the hope I needed, not enough, though, to keep the worry & doubtful questions out of my head.
“No long a heartbeat” during Covid restrictions.
We chose to keep this pregnancy private until close to the “society standard” timeline of 12 weeks — something I have now learned to loath & want to advocate completely against. Anyways, during week 7, Luke & I traveled to Florida for the week of my sisters wedding. We snuck away to a private ultrasound facility where we got to see the little bean & the heart beating at 145 bpm. This was everything. Out of all the ultrasounds I have experienced, this little heart flickering made it all worth it. My guard fell down & I actually started to believe this would happen for us. We would be taking a baby home.
After that week before heading back to the midwest, we shared with my Florida family the good news. Our first time getting to experience sharing with them good news. We only had 1 more week before sharing to Luke’s family on Mother’s Day. Once we returned, I had my 8 week dating scan with my doctor. Filled with hope after just seeing our baby’s heart beating, I was completely knocked down after the tech said there was no heart beat. All alone since Covid restrictions didn’t allow my husband to be present, I was asked to wait in the waiting room to see my doctor. Refusing to sit in a public space while processing this news, I was then sent into a patient room. I sat there for a while, waiting for my doctor to walk in. I sat there as she said words. I’m just not sure what those words were. All I remember was being told that the baby is so small that I will handle this miscarriage naturally & was given no other options & education on other processes that could take place for this to be over & done with.
This was a Tuesday.
I waited & waited for my body to realize that our baby wasn’t alive anymore. Nothing. Other than the scan showing a heart no longer beating, I had no idea the loss my body was going through.
Sunday was Mother’s Day. Friday we stood up in a family wedding.
Finally, a full 2 weeks later my body caught up. Not knowing what to expect as the doctor explained the process would be “a heavy period” I was in utter concern not knowing if a trip to the emergency room was needed. With Luke’s support, I delivered our baby at home & was able to have closure by preparing a burial & memorial for him or her. Unlike my first where we didn’t have that option, I knew this time had to be different.
**Without being too gruesome, I would like to reach out & say that anyone who experiences a missed miscarriage that they are forced/choose to deliver at home, there are options & ways for you to find closure with passing your baby. Please reach out & I can share details of resources I have found & tips to help you during the delivery process. This is an instagram post just like one I found last year that helped me prepare for something I prayed I would never have to put into place. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for me & so I am thankful I was prepared for this loss in this way. https://www.instagram.com/p/CRJ0ag0Lnjb/
It took my body about 4 weeks to heal after this experience & then right back into the trying to conceive world we went. We honored our baby’s life by planting blueberry bushes in our front landscaping. We had the chance of seeing our baby at 7 weeks, where they say you are the size of a blueberry. Now for years to come we will have a harvest of life that we can pass along to loved ones, bake sweet goodies & teach our future family of this baby’s existence.
The thoughts I had just days after that ultrasound.
I’m sorry…
it took me weeks to accept your existence.
That every morning I woke up wondering if that would be the day you would leave me.
I spent more conversations preparing for the worst than planning your future.
I was more concerned with guarding my heart than celebrating your life.
I didn’t take more pictures or make more memories with the short time we had together.
It was just me & you in that doctors office hearing the news alone.
You were conceived during a pandemic that has caused so much fear that a father cannot even join the mother at their appointments.
I had to defend your once beating heart to the tech, nurse & doctor.
The only words I heard that afternoon are “no heartbeat”, “8 something ibuprofen” & “I wasn’t surprised”.
That the words “small” & “barely there” were used in the same sentence that described your existence.
That to some you will never matter or even be considered to once hold life.
You are now a part of a statistic. That we are, again, part of a statistic.
I have a diagnosis that makes this expected & inevitable.
I didn’t advocate louder for the healthcare I thought we needed.
I got angry at you for leaving me.
It took me so long to believe you were there & then to believe you were gone.
You had to wait 2 weeks before being laid to rest.
There was nothing I could do to keep you longer.
You will never experience being held by your father.
You will never learn, play & grow with your cousins.
You will never know what it’s like to be spoiled by your grandparents.
You had to go.
I have experienced an early loss that causes you to question the value of that life. I have now also experienced a missed miscarriage where your body gives you no warning of what you’ve lost. Every pregnancy loss is different & every pregnancy loss is so incredibly valid. Both babies showed me how to love, the immense fear that is brought from previous trauma, the strength to just keep going & the compassion that 1 in 4 woman desperately need.
The mental shift that took place during this pregnancy was eye opening & one I want to use to give me perspective to love others harder. After sharing of both our losses, herds of women created community for me to feel heard & understood & a lot less alone. Share your story where you are comfortable & pray about pushing that zone further if you can. Find your ways to honor your babies & I will be there to celebrate that life right along side you.
& to our blueberry, I think about you everyday. December 11, 2021 may no longer be your due date, but it is a day we will always celebrate your life.
