This Is [My] Miscarriage.

I am sharing this story in the hope that we can decrease existing stigma and to bring awareness to miscarriage (and fertility problems). To help others who have experienced miscarriage and who lack support. To let you know that you are not alone. To encourage women to share their heartache with loved ones as their is no shame in getting help. To let you know that if you need a listening ear, I am always here.

Mama’s (and Spouses), we are stronger together. Let’s open up the conversation...<3

This is [My] Miscarriage.

The day after we took my daughter, Olivia, home I told my husband that we DEFINITELY needed to have more babies. Like 2. Or 3! My enthusiasm was likely terrifying for him in that moment as we were adjusting to having ONE baby join our family. My enthusiasm remained. We wished for our family of three (plus one furry kid) to become four.  About 18 months later we were lucky enough to see the two blue lines. I was PREGNANT. We were ecstatic.

The process of becoming a Mama (again) started as soon as I knew I was pregnant. I was thinking, caring, and falling in love with the little being that inhabited me. I chose nutritious food, spent time relaxing and breathing and made sleep a priority. These choices were for me, but also for our baby.

We were ready to share our news - one week to go! We were dreaming of the future. Preparing our daughter to be a kind older sister. I was 12 weeks pregnant and so full of love and joy for the changes to come to our lives.

And then I was not.

In a blink of an eye our dreams vanished.

It seemed so fast and yet so painfully long.

When I went to the ER that day I knew then what would be confirmed hours later. My gut was preparing me but I held onto what tiny hope remained. For my sanity. For the sanity of my husband and my kind friend who sat beside me that day.

I spent those silent moments preparing myself for the words I knew were to come: “There is no heartbeat”.

When the words were actually spoken the shock and raw pain was overwhelming. The words hit me like a punch to my gut. I was being strangled and couldn’t catch my breath. In a word: Devastating.

“What would you like to do?” The doctor asked.

I didn’t know. I was in shock. All I knew was I didn’t want to be there. “I want to go home”.

The comfort of my home felt foreign. Going through the motions with little connect at all. My daughter’s shrieks of joy when Mama came home sounded mumbled as though I was underwater. I wished to ask if my husband was okay but there were no words.

Just tears.

I rocked my daughter to sleep that night, soaking her shirt with my sadness but too sad to let go, as though holding her so tightly would give us back our baby. Regardless of reality, I never felt like such a failure as I did in those moments.

No one can see your invisible pain. But as your body works to terminate your pregnancy you feel every effort. With each gush and stab of crippling cramps you are harshly reminded of what once was.

I wanted to forget. To be done.

But that is not miscarriage.

It takes days. Weeks even.

Long days in the hospital dealing with complications muddied the already shitty water.

It was physically, mentally and emotionally draining.

After I stabilized, the reality hit home. I tried to just allow my thoughts to come as they needed. Rather than push them away as per my usual line of defense in tough times. I tried to rely on my “practical” self: I knew the science. The odds. I worked with expectant and new Mom’s daily. I had all too often shared their hardship when they too lost their baby.

It was a dark time, that I can best describe as foggy. Despite having supportive pillars rise up around me, I felt very alone.

I continue on my grief journey. Surrounding myself with love and support. Doing activities that bring me joy. Forgiving my body for not being able to remain my baby’s home. Most importantly I have taken time to just feel.

Shock. Anger. Frustration. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.

Gone but not forgotten.

For all Mama’s who have experienced miscarriage:

I am truly sorry for the loss of your baby. My love and thoughts are with you.

With love,

Michelle