I was pregnant. Now, I am not.
It’s so harrowing typing those words, but writing has always been a form of therapy for me, so here I am. It’s July 29, 2020, and I’m currently in the process of miscarrying a baby.
We found out we were pregnant with our second child on Father’s Day. To be completely honest, we were shocked. Brooklyn was so planned and this was not. Full transparency, we were thinking about starting to try in the near future and figured God wanted to speed up the process for us. That said, we were pumped.
I was about three White Claws and two glasses of wine deep when I realized I hadn’t started my period. I instantly knew I was pregnant. Patrick rushed to CVS and his Father’s Day ended with us finding out we were having another baby. Our first reaction: “holy shit, how are we going to make tax season work?” Estimated due date was late February.
It didn’t take long for nausea to kick in. I was always nauseous with Brooklyn, but this was on another level. All day long. Nearly every day of the week. I was prescribed to both Bonjesta and Zofran – neither worked. I started to think it was a girl because I love old wives’ tales.
We bought a “big sister” onesie for Brooklyn and told our families. They were both overjoyed. We started to plan our future as a family of four. We decided we would turn Patrick’s office into another nursery and we’d convert the guest bedroom into a dual workspace. It was little things like that we were already planning.
My belly popped around 6 weeks. It’s absolutely crazy just how quickly you start showing the second time around. Things were starting to sink in and we were really starting to get excited. At first, it was tough for Patrick and me – two Type-A planners – to accept that we would be having a baby during the middle of tax season, but I always trust God’s plan. (Patrick is a CPA at a public accounting firm if you’re wondering what the hype is about tax season.)
Things started to get really interesting around week eight. I went in for what we thought was my heartbeat appointment, but the baby was only measuring at 6 weeks. New due date: March 15, 2021.
“That’s impossible,” I told my doctor. “I took a positive test on Father’s Day. That means I would have only been one week pregnant.”
Then, about a minute later, my doctor spotted a second sac. However, she only saw one baby. So, she sent me to a perinatal consultant to confirm whether or not I was pregnant with twins. Apparently/allegedly twins can measure small? That’s what I tried to tell myself, even though my mama gut instinct knew something was off. The term “vanishing twin” was also thrown out there.
The perinatal consultant only saw one baby, but the baby had what appeared to be a strong heartbeat. They decided to have me come back one week later to confirm whether I was pregnant with twins and to make sure things were progressing.
That brings us to Tuesday, July 28, 2020. I went to my appointment and I knew the second the nurse shook her head “no” to the doctor that something wasn’t right.
“Is there a heartbeat?” I asked them.
“No,” the perinatal specialist confirmed. “I’m sorry.”
Let me just start off by saying how shitty it is that medical offices won’t allow your spouse to go to appointments with you because of COVID. Realizing you’ve lost a baby without having your husband or significant other by your side is next level shitty. To make matters worse, they continued to take pictures via the ultrasound for what felt like another 15 minutes. It’s weird trying to hold in tears and emotions with a damn mask over your face while you’re spread eagle with strangers in the room.
I drove home in silence, trying to digest everything. The second I walked through the door and saw Patrick, I lost it. He knew right away. Our tax season surprise little miracle baby was gone.
How am I doing? I’m okay. As you can imagine, I’m really sad. It’s really emotional going from being pregnant with a bump to not being pregnant, but still having a bump. It helps to have close friends to turn to who have been through this. One of my good friends, Laura, went through a miscarriage a few weeks ago. We were both over the moon to be having babies due within weeks of each other, and now we’re both part of a shitty club that’s way too common and not talked about enough.
According to March of Dimes, for women who know they’re pregnant, about 10 to 15 in 100 pregnancies (10 to 15 percent) end in miscarriage. No clue what causes them, but usually issues with chromosomes.
What’s next? Well, as I type this I’m currently miscarrying. I wanted a D&C, but my doctor felt more comfortable starting me on the vaginal pills. If they don’t work then we’ll schedule a D&C next week. I’ll spare y’all all the graphic details, because if you know you know – heavy bleeding and lots of bed rest. That’s where I’m at right now.
The whole thing makes me really sad, but I’m thankful for a beautiful and healthy baby girl to look at throughout this process. As I type, she’s giggling downstairs and filling our home with joy and laughter during a dark time. Brooklyn really is our sunshine on a cloudy day and just knowing that I can have a healthy baby is comforting. I almost feel guilty over my grief because I know many women go through this without already having a child.
I’m really not looking for sympathy, but more so sharing because writing helps me and I hope to help others “suffering in silence,” as my friend Laura said. If you’re out there reading this and you’ve dealt with something similar, I am so sorry. There really isn’t much you can say to make things better. I’m truly sorry. It sucks so bad and I feel for any family who goes through this. My heart is especially heavy for women who have dealt with multiple miscarriages and women who are trying to conceive. You are not alone. Your baby will not be forgotten.
Lastly, I’d just like to say how grateful I am for my husband. Dads are often forgotten during miscarriages and he’s grieving, too. He was so excited about this baby. Patrick, I love you. Thank you for being my rock.