I Am One in Four

I was recently made aware that October 15th is Pregnancy Loss Awareness Day.    If you’ve followed much of what I’ve written over the last few months, you may find that this post is going to go off the rails a bit.  There will be nothing witty about what’s coming. You won’t get a chuckle.  You won’t list this as one of your favorite posts.  Yet I feel that there are things that need to be said.  I’m not going to put my own experiences with miscarriage out there for sympathy.  I don’t want that.  I can handle what I have been dealt.  I want to put this out there so that women (and their partners and families) that are currently dealing with pregnancy loss or may perhaps suffer miscarriage in the future, know some important points.

First, one in four women suffer the loss of a pregnancy.  That is shockingly high, much higher than I would have ever thought.  Yet, when you’re going through it, when you first have an idea that something may be wrong, when you’re wishing that your morning sickness would come back and that your cramping would go away, it is the single most lonely feeling in the world.  You don’t realize that several of your friends and/or family members probably know exactly what you’re dealing with.  You don’t know because it’s not something that we talk about.  On one hand, I understand why – it’s heartbreaking.  It hurts.  Literally, it hurts physically to lose a pregnancy.  It’s also very emotionally taxing.  It doesn’t matter how much your husband hugs you or reassures you that once you’re feeling up to it, you can “try again.”  You’re losing your baby.  You’re losing a tiny little person that you thought was going to join your family.  Thinking of bringing any other baby into this world seems so inconsiderate.  It seems like you’re trying to replace your dead fetus.  It seems wrong.  It takes a while to get over this.  25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage, when I went to the emergency room for the first time I lost a pregnancy, the doctor asked me if I knew how common this was.  My instinct was maybe 1%?  Probably lower? Nope!  25% of babies never join our world.  That is so many loved and cried for babies.  That is a LOT of women wondering what went wrong, which leads me to my next point . . .

Most lost pregnancies are lost spontaneously, without external influence.  You did not lose your baby because you had a glass of wine before you realized you were expecting.  You did not lose your baby because you are overweight.  You did not lose your baby because you ate sushi.  Or went for a run.  Or had sex after your baby started growing.  You lost your baby because something was not quite right.  You lost her because, despite loving her from the second you peed on a stick and saw a plus sign, something just wasn’t right.  It’s not your fault.  You couldn’t have saved her.  Do not feel guilty.  Cry.  Yes, cry – you are in mourning.  But cry because you will not meet your child, don’t cry because you failed as a mother.

With all that being said, pregnancies can be lost due to physical abuse – if you are in this situation, please reach out for help.  You can contact the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233.  Ironically enough, October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month.

I want to share my own story, I feel like it will be very similar to ones that others have had.  I had one child and wanted to give her a sibling.  I wanted our family to grow and finally found out I was pregnant when my older daughter was nearly three years old.  I told a few of my closest friends and family right away, we were so excited and, since I was generally healthy and had no complications with my first pregnancy, I felt it was okay to do this.  I was feeling exhausted, I was feeling a bit nauseous, I was eating everything that was placed in front of me.  Then, one day at about 8 weeks along, I noticed something that made me uneasy while I was visiting the ladies’ room.  I said “aw crap” and hoped it was just me experiencing this second pregnancy a little differently than the first.  I left my friend’s house, where I had JUST told her my good news and gushed about how great I felt, thinking this time around would be a walk in the park.  The next day, it became clear that something was not right.  I waited as long as I could for my husband to get home from work but finally felt I should get to the hospital.  I sat in the waiting room while other, more urgent cases filed in before me.  I looked a little sad and had some cramping, but I was not an emergency case, by the looks of me.  So I waited.  I waited to tell the triage nurse that I thought I was losing my baby.  I waited in pain.  I waited in sadness.  I waited, hoping that they would tell me that what was happening was normal.  It was not normal.  My baby was gone before I made it in for an ultrasound.  That was a Friday and I stayed in bed the entire weekend.  We told our daughter that mommy just felt sick, she cuddled with me and it was the best thing I could have asked for.  We had told her she was going to be a big sister, so we got lots of questions for the next several months.   I had a little breakdown in mid-January, when my baby should have been born.  I think about that very tiny angel every January.  She had no name, but I love her just the same.

I recently became aware of the concept of “Rainbow babies.”  I hadn’t heard of it until the last couple of months, when I lost a second pregnancy, this time at 6 weeks.  A rainbow baby is a child born after a pregnancy loss.  I have a rainbow baby.  It took a while for her to show her brilliance and join our family, but she is a magnificent little person, she lights up our world, she is a brilliant ray of hope for us all.  The only competition she has for her utter amazingness is her big sister.  Her big sister, who, just a few days ago, told me that when she was in my belly (she’s 6 now), she saw her little sister in there, too (who is now 16 months).  I asked her if there was anyone else in there – she told me that there were two more.  Maybe she saw her angel siblings, or maybe I’m meant to have two more children (ahhhh, is my initial response, but whatever will be, will be).

I learned about rainbow babies in a miscarriage support group that I joined on Facebook.  If you are looking for a place for support with other women who have experienced this painful loss, this may be a source for you.  Personally, I have gotten some good advice on post-miscarriage health issues.  There are many very supportive women on there.  However, there are many women who are, understandably, very hurt and not ready to move on.  They are jealous of those who become pregnant again.  I have to admit that, after my first loss, I was extremely jealous of every single pregnant woman I saw.  A couple of my friends “lapped” me and had two children in the time it took me to have one.  This was upsetting to me, it was unfair and I finally had to take a step back and realize how lucky I was to have one beautiful, healthy, funny, kind daughter.  Life goes on, love between a parent and child grows and if I was meant to have more children, then I will.  If not, que sera, sera.

My fourth pregnancy, and second loss, was very recent.  It came and went very quickly and though I am still navigating my way through my loss, I’m stronger and more at peace with this the second time around.  I now have TWO amazing daughters that I am insanely lucky to spend every day of my life with.  I realize that many families are not so lucky.   They spend years trying to start a family only to have the miscarriage tally continue to rise.  I hurt for them.  Telling them to “just adopt” is insensitive.  If you miscarry, you CAN get pregnant, and that is what’s heartbreaking.  You are so close, your child is within grasp, but something happens that just doesn’t allow them to stay.  Part of me feels awful for writing this, because I am so lucky to have my kids.  But another part of me needs to unify with those other moms who have babies who didn’t get to sleep on their mother’s (or father’s) chest.

I am okay with my losses.  I’m not happy with them, but I am okay.  I wanted to write this, to let it be known that I’ve gone through this, so that other women, men, families know that this is much more common than at least I ever imagined.  If you know me personally and want to reach out, please do.  I’m happy to talk.  If you need resources, I’m happy to help you find them.  Just yesterday, there were two big baby announcements from friends on Facebook.  They are both people that I care for and I can honestly say that I am genuinely happy that one of them will be starting a family and the other is adding to her’s.  This is how the world works.  It doesn’t always seem fair, but things could be worse.

Next April, when I should be lying in bed, complaining of how uncomfortable I am, unable to sleep, wanting to eat everything in sight, I will instead be celebrating the wedding of one of my cousins, and perhaps she will soon bring babies into this world.  I think that a fitting way to celebrate the “birthday” of my second little angel.