I became a mother extremely young. You know the old saying ‘babies taking care of babies?’ Well that was me. At 18 years old, I set out on my journey of motherhood. It was an easy pregnancy, no complications, an easy delivery of a perfect baby boy! I had no idea of the struggles other people spoke of.
Fast forward 6 years through a wedding, real jobs, and some growing up, I happily became pregnant again! This time a baby girl! And 18 months later, bam! I gave birth to another baby girl. I just thought, ‘Wow, this is great! I’ve always wanted big family. I’ll just keep this up.’ Miscarriage or trouble getting pregnant literally never occurred to me. I never thought it would happen to me. Miscarriages happen to other people and it’s sad, but it’s not going to happen to me.
Right on par from my last experience, I became pregnant again around 11 months postpartum. We were overjoyed! I didn’t think anything about it. Since this was no longer new to me, I waited until I should have been 14 weeks to even go to the doctor. I mean, nothing had ever been wrong before, why go early?
Right after Christmas we made our way to the doctor with our three other kids in tow, so excited to see our new baby. If you have miscarried, you know that dead silence during your ultrasound, where the tech is trying to act like nothing is wrong. That slow realization that something isn’t right sinks in. The tech leaves making some excuse to get the doctor. The minutes slow down to seconds, panic starts to set in. The doctor arrives, you hold your breath praying in your head, ‘let everything be ok,’ staring at them willing them in your mind to just spit out the truth. Then the moment comes, ‘I’m so sorry, there is no heartbeat.’ I remember just bursting out crying, I couldn’t believe it. I thought something wasn’t normal, but no heartbeat?! That’s not me, that doesn’t happen to me. But it was me, it was my reality. In fact, the baby had been gone for weeks. The doctor was trying to talk to me about a D&C but I couldn’t even hear her.
We had already made our pregnancy announcement.
A few weeks later after a second opinion at another OBGYN office with a new doctor, everything was confirmed. My husband broke the news to our friends and family. I had a D&C and tried to move on. My doctor and all my research concluded that this was my 1 in 4 miscarriage. She said, ‘most women have one, it’s just nature.’ From this first miscarriage, I learned, ‘Don’t think it won’t happen to you, treasure each pregnancy.’ We moved on as a family, and a few months later… you probably guessed it, two pink lines! This time I went to my doctor, (the new one I had seen last time) promptly at 8 weeks. A heartbeat! We were thrilled, and moved right along confident this one was ok. On our way to vacation, in a Waffle House bathroom I wiped, and on the tissue was what every pregnant women fears – bright red blood. Stunned, shocked, I thought, ‘Oh my God, this can’t be happening again.’ Why do some of the worst things happen in the most undignified places? I called the doctor’s office. ‘It should be ok, sometimes people spot. Just come in when you’re back.’ Though the bright red spotting didn’t stop our entire beach trip, but I prayed and prayed. I think, ‘There is a chance it will all be ok.’ We get home, get to the doctors, get in the same ultrasound room as our last baby. I stare at the same ugly ceiling, I look at the same vagina poster, I pick up the same 3D uterus model and try to figure out how they fit the IUD in and take it out. I yearn for baby to be ok like the babies pictured in the hideous Sears-looking newborn photos on the wall. It was not ok. The words came once again. ‘I’m sorry, but there is no heartbeat.’ Silence again.
We’d announced this second miscarriage baby announcement, too.
This time we opted to go with the medicine that makes you miscarry instead of the D&C. That was one of the worst nights of my life as I laid alone in the middle of the night, in a cold empty bathtub because I was too week and dizzy to continue sitting on the toilet. I bled down the drain most of the night. I bled so much that I couldn’t even stand, my husband had to hold me up to give me shower and carry me into the hospital. I received two bags of blood, and the deed was done. I was no longer pregnant.
