I have gone back and forth on whether or not I wanted to share this. I’ve written it out a million times in my head, but now I’m finally putting it to paper (or keyboard). I’ve been afraid to share it because the last thing I want is for you to feel sorry for me. I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m writing this out now for two reasons. 1. Writing is my form of therapy. 2. Hearing other people’s stories, especially my friends, helped me realize I’m not alone. My hope is this helps other families going through the same.
This summer my husband and I decided we were ready to grow our family. We’d settled in our new house. Jace was 14 months old, and we wanted him to be a big brother. Mario and I each have siblings that are far apart in age, so it was important for us to have another baby closer to Jace’s age. Part of me was hesitant to start trying. We had finally found some normalcy within our crazy travel schedules. For the first year of Jace’s life, I constantly felt like I was trying to keep my head above water- managing work, first time mom, etc. But now life was steady. How would throwing another baby in the mix change things? How was I going to manage football season, taking care of Jace, and feeling like crap during the first few months? Then we got pregnant. All those fears went out the window.
Not going to lie, it was rough those first months. Jace is a wild man, and trying to chase after him while wanting to sleep all day/throw up all day wasn’t easy. Trying to cover a football game in 100 degrees, not fun. As Mario can attest, I’m not the most pleasant pregnant woman. But we were almost to the second trimester. We had names picked out. We’d told our families. We bought this cute little baseball shirt for Jace to wear when we announced our new addition. I was no longer scared about managing a family of four. I was thrilled!
One Monday morning, at ten weeks pregnant, I started bleeding. It wasn’t very much, but it was still alarming. We went into the doctor for an ultrasound. They couldn’t find the baby. There was a pregnancy, but no baby. We did some blood work, and the doctor told me to come back in a week, and we would have a more definitive answer then.
Deep down inside I knew we’d lost the baby. But I tried to hold on to any hope. You do enough google searches and you’ll find miraculous stories about women who couldn’t see the baby, and go on to have healthy pregnancies. Maybe this would be me. Mario tried to be supportive, but I was furious at him. He would never understand what I was going through. Mentally I knew I’d had a miscarriage, physically I hadn’t miscarried yet. It was a waiting game to see if nature would step in or if we would have to schedule a D&C the next week.
That Thursday I left for my football game. That day, while going through TSA security, I had a miscarriage. For anyone who has ever gone through it (I will save you the gross details), having a miscarriage in the DFW airport is not ideal. In fact, it’s pretty much horrible. I fly in and out of that same terminal every week. It’s an awful reminder. Against my family’s urging, I chose to get on my flight and go to work. I know my bosses would have been supportive in letting me stay home, but I needed a distraction. For a week this miscarriage consumed my every thought. I needed to focus on something else. I needed to do something else other than cry.
For the next few weeks I blamed myself. I felt like this was some sort of punishment for being scared to have another baby. Blame turned into relief. I had started to feel like my normal self again, which was a nice change. I wasn’t sick or tired anymore. I was back to being a fun mom for Jace. But then you feel bad for feeling normal. I’ve come to realize that we all grieve in our own way.
Please don’t feel sorry for us. We are doing much better. I’ve found some solace in the idea that this was just not a healthy pregnancy. A good friend of mine who’s had her own miscarriage told me “You’ll see you baby again in heaven one day.” Honestly, at the time it was a little too much. A little too real. But as time has passed, it’s helped me cope.
Mostly though, I’m sad for Jace. They would have been two years apart. They would have been best friends (and probably worst enemies at times). Jace would get to walk his younger brother/sister to school. He would be the best big brother. I’m sad for my husband that I wasn’t able to give him another baby right now. But we had one healthy baby. I know we can have another.
I’m writing this now because the only way I got through this was from the help of my friends. Miscarriage is not talked about enough. You feel like you’re the only one. But you’re not. So many of my friends have been through one, and I never knew. Talking with them about it helped me cope. It helped me realize that it’s not rare, and that I could go on to have a healthy pregnancy. If you’re struggling, please know you’re not alone.
Next time around there won’t be any hesitation. This whole ordeal helped me realize how much we want another child. The nausea, lack of sleep, the sheer craziness is all temporary. My only hope is that in my next pregnancy I won’t become a crazy person, constantly worried about another miscarriage. I know myself, and I have a hard time shutting my brain off. I hope I can find some strength not to be constantly worried. Maybe I’ll take up yoga.
Thank you all for reading and letting me share my story. It’s helped finally putting it into words.