1 in 4: My Miscarriage Story

Preface: Hello, lovelies. I wrote this post originally in April of 2019. It’s been sitting in my drafts since then, but I feel like I should press publish and release it into the world. I hope that it helps someone feel less alone. After this happened, I ended up having an ectopic pregnancy, which will be a story for another time. I now have a one year old daughter, so for anyone going through this, don’t lose hope. Hugs to you all.

Up until 7:12 this morning, I was pregnant. At 7:12, my doctor called. I picked up, hopeful. Maybe he was calling to tell me great news. Maybe the HCG levels that I had worried myself sick about had suddenly gone up over night, and my baby was safe.

In my experience, doctors don’t call for great news. This morning was no different. My HCG level had dropped from 86 on Monday to 32 on Wednesday. I tried to keep it together on the phone, but I know my doctor could tell I had already begun to cry. My heart had sunk and I felt sick. I pulled to the side of the road and fell apart.

Today, I would have been 5 weeks pregnant. I had done my research. If I could have made it through this week to 6 weeks and 2 days, my baby would have had a heartbeat. We would have been good, and our family would be growing.

When I took that first pregnancy test and saw the faintest of lines, my heart skipped a beat. As all neurotic people do, I proceeded to pee on more sticks. The lines kept getting darker. I peed on more sticks, you know, just to be extra sure. From all the articles I’d read, this was a good sign. This little bean was going to stick. I was going to be a mom.

I found out I was pregnant 8 days ago. In those 8 days, I had built a life up for this baby in my head. I imagined carrying him for the next 9 months. I imagined how it would feel to hold him in my arms for the first time. I imagined making funny little purees for him out of kale and strawberries. I imagined walking him to kindergarten and then waving him off on his first date. I imagined driving him to college – how excited he would be about decorating his dorm room!

I imagined all of this, although I knew I shouldn’t have. I knew that up until the second trimester everything was up in the air. I know now, despite the blame that I put on myself, that there was a 20% chance that this would have happened. I know I will try again, and that one day, I will have a baby. Maybe two.

I’m hurting. I didn’t think it would hurt this much but it does. As of 7:12am, I am no longer expecting a baby. I am now expecting blood, to remind me of what could have been. I hope this part comes soon, and leaves quickly. As much as I hurt, I know that I need to hurt in order to heal, and to try again.

For something that happens so often, it’s a shame that it’s so taboo. If I am hurting, I imagine every woman and couple who has gone through this has hurt as well. I am now one in four women who will suffer from a miscarriage. That’s a lot of hurt to keep bottled up. So I’m not going to. I’m writing it out, for the whole damn world to see. This hurts, and that’s okay. I’ll be okay too.

My pregnancy tests after the news of the miscarriage


This is Postpartum

So… you’ve pushed your bundle of joy out so the hard part must be over right? Wrong. Welcome to postpartum, my friend!

Postpartum doesn’t look at all like in the movies. It’s not glamorous by any means. There’s a lot of joy, but there’s also a lot of other feelings – sadness, jealousy, longing for the past. It’s hard as hell.

Motherhood is hard as hell on your body. You’ll feel like a ghost of who you were. A bloated, heavy ghost. You leak… everywhere. Your chest goes crazy. You have the longest, strongest period of your life. Your eyes are red from constant tears. You’re sore in places you never thought you’d be sore. You might have pushed so hard that blood vessels all over your body have broken. Remember the nights of 8 hours of sleep? Those are long gone. You’ll find a 5 hour night “refreshing” now. You can’t think straight anymore – you’ll reread e-mails you sent and hope people overlook your lack of grammar. Also… no one warns you about post-labor contractions. Those hurt like a mofo. You’ve given yourself to your baby for the last nine months, but it’s not over. You are now responsible for sustaining them with mother’s milk.

Motherhood is hard as hell on your emotions. You find yourself going through every emotion in the book within minutes. You’ll question if you’re a good mother. You’ll second guess everything you do. You might get down, for an extended period of time, and wonder if something is seriously wrong with you. You’ll feel alone and lonely. You’ll then feel guilty about those feelings. It’s a cycle that hurts your heart.

Motherhood is hard as hell on your relationships. If you’re like me, and you don’t have many friends who have kids… you might feel isolated. You might feel left out and long for your “old” life. You’ll see your husband in passing and have energy only for a head nod. You’ll miss them… a lot. You’ll wonder if you’ll ever sleep in the same bed, or share a laugh together again. You’ll bicker about small things that don’t matter.

Motherhood is hard as hell, and so is the postpartum period. Pregnancy takes a toll on your body. Childbirth does too. But it’ll all be worth it. You’ll look down at your baby, and your baby will look back up at you and you’ll know it’s worth it. It’s worth the tears and the pain and the loneliness. You’ll realize that these moments are precious and that your baby will never be this little again. One day, they’ll grow up and not need you and you’ll long for the newborn days.

My newborn and I, embracing the postpartum experience.