Alex and I had been actively trying to get pregnant for months. When I say months, really it was only five months, but it had felt like we were trying forever and every month our efforts were wasted. We found out we were expecting right after Thanksgiving and we were thrilled. Alex more so than I was. I have always been reluctant to have/want children and I was in shock for a few days, that it was happening. I was going to be a mother.
We had planned to announce to our family over Christmas but we had an appointment right before and we weren’t measuring as far along as we had thought and we weren’t able to see or hear a heartbeat. My doctor reassured us that this happens all the time and that we should come back in two weeks and will probably see a growing and healthy baby. I had my blood tested for my pregnancy hormone level that day, and again three days later to make sure they were increasing. And both tests showed high levels with a significant increase over the three days. Alex felt sure that everything was okay, and that we just had to wait a little longer before we could hear our baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Me, being always the realist considered all the possible outcomes. I didn’t have very many pregnancy symptoms. I needed daily naps after work, was eating more than normal and my breasts had grown and were sore, but that was all. I cried a little, cried some more, and I prayed. I prayed that despite my fears, everything was fine.
Three weeks had gone by since our first appointment when we again were at the doctor’s with no sign of a viable heartbeat – only what appeared to be a flicker, the baby having only grown three days in the last three weeks, oh and, surprise, a second sac! My doctor referred us to see a specialist with better ultrasound equipment. He said he didn’t want to throw in the towel just yet. But after reading the visit summary and see “possible miscarriage of twin gestation” my heart sank and I had lost all hope. I just couldn’t fathom my baby not growing, but still being okay. It just didn’t make sense. But my sweet husband, ever the optimist and so excited to be a daddy, kept trying to reassure me that everything is fine and that if it wasn’t the doctor would’ve just said so.
I started miscarrying a little over a week later, before I was even able to get an appointment to see the specialist. I knew it was coming. I stopped napping, I was barely even eating and my breasts were no longer sore. What was supposed to be the week we move into our brand new house and announce our pregnancy turned into a week I spent curled up in bed crying. The pain for the most part was manageable, but more than anything I was heartbroken. I felt that I had accepted this outcome and I made my peace with it. But Alex on the other hand, didn’t want to accept what was happening and hurt me so much to think about how upset and confused he was feeling.
The few weeks following we just physically draining. I had to get weekly blood tests and take medication to make sure all the “products of conception” were expelled by my body, otherwise, I’d have to have surgery. Which I wanted to avoid if at all possible.
While Alex and I are still working through the loss and trying not to get our hopes up, I wanted to share our story. Miscarriages seem to be some kind of taboo. Everyone knows they’re common, but no one really talks about them. I’m not one of those people that bottle things in or struggle to open up about my life, and I didn’t want to do that now either. I probably won’t even right about blog post that hits you in the feels and makes you cry, that’s just not who I am. But I do want other to know, that if you’ve suffered a loss, you are not alone and neither am I.