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Today was my due date: a miscarriage story.
(A thread.)
(A thread.)
Right after the pandemic hit the U.S., I found out I was pregnant with our second child. We had been trying, so despite the stress of shutdowns and global devastation it was wonderful news.
I had my first ultrasound in early May, which I had to go to alone because of COVID-19 protocols. My doctor set my due date at December 12 -- an early Christmas gift!
We decided to tell our parents on Mother’s Day. I was only around 9 weeks pregnant at the time, but we’d already done this successfully once and I had seen the heartbeat. So we didn’t think too much of it.
I started bleeding at 5:15 p.m. on the Friday of Memorial Day weekend. My OB-GYN was on call, and she told me by phone not to worry too much and to make an appointment for Tuesday morning. If it became severe or I couldn’t stand to wait, she said to go to the ER.
The morning of May 26, I had a second ultrasound. This time there was no heartbeat.
We sat there, stunned and in tears. I thought I was at 11.5 weeks, just days away from the second trimester. My doctor explained that the pregnancy had actually ended at about 8.5 weeks, before we’d even told anyone the news. My body just didn’t realize it.
It’s called a missed (or silent) miscarriage, and until it happened to me I had no idea it was possible. My doctor gave me three options: A) Wait it out and see if my body reacts on its own; B) Take a medication that will make the loss complete within a few hours; or C) Surgery.
My mental health could not have handled waiting, especially since if it didn’t happen on its own within two weeks I’d have to choose one of the other options anyway. So, I picked the drugs.
It was painful and gory and heartbreaking. Even though I knew better, having to actively do something to finish the process made it seem like I was choosing to end the pregnancy. I felt like a failure. Not only did my body fail me in pregnancy, it was failing me in loss too.
A friend had gone through exactly the same thing not too long ago. So, I had someone to walk me through it. The whole thing took about four hours, but it felt like an eternity.
The worst part was how long it took it to sink in. For weeks I kept forgetting I wasn’t still pregnant. I’d stop myself from having a second cup of coffee in the morning, and then I’d realize I could have as much as I wanted. Except I didn’t want more. I wanted to be pregnant.
Miscarriage is a very abstract thing until you experience it. You hear it’s common, of course, but you have no idea how common. My doctor told me about 60 percent of women who try to have kids will have at least one miscarriage. It should be comforting, I guess, but it isn’t.
We're lucky to at least know why this happened to us, some people never get that answer. I’d had the NIPT genetic screening done (after it was over but before we knew it).
In early June, the results came back and showed that there was an increased risk for Turner syndrome. It's random, not inherited, and results in a miscarriage about 98 percent of the time.
After a while, I felt okay. I set up a couple of free phone therapy appointments through EAP to make sure I was processing it in a healthy way. Mostly, I was afraid of another bout of postpartum depression. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.
In the fall, a famous woman shared her pregnancy loss. I don’t know her, but I was heartbroken for her. I did a very stupid thing: I read the comments. Yes, there was an amazing outpouring of love and support, but there was also shocking, inexcusable hatefulness.
It sent me to a really dark place. I felt the pain of loss all over again, this time compounded by feeling that there are probably people who think I deserved this too. I didn’t. No one does.
A couple of weeks later, I got pregnant again and I decided to share my story. Not then, I wasn't ready yet, but soon.
On October 25, I lost that one too. This time it was much earlier, at barely five weeks.
In real life, I’m pretty much an open book. On here, I tend to avoid getting too personal, but I decided to share this for a few reasons beyond the catharsis:
If we don’t talk about miscarriage, it perpetuates the feelings of shame and guilt that people who go through this feel. The sadness, the feeling of loss, those are natural. The rest isn’t necessary.
Also, please think twice before asking someone when they’re going to have children. If it’s something they want to discuss, they’ll bring it up. It’s not easy for everyone to get pregnant, not everyone who wants to can, and many of those who do will go through some kind of loss.
Finally, if you’ve experienced this kind of loss, I hope you find some solace in being reminded that you aren’t alone. Please know it isn’t your fault, you didn’t do anything to deserve it, and there are always people willing to listen if you need to talk.
