The past 2 weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, going from the highest of highs to some incredibly low lows. On a Monday afternoon, I stood in my bathroom staring with disbelief at the faintest line on a pregnancy test. I’m not one to wait, so on a whim I decided to grab a test and see if anything would show up. And to my shock, it did. My heart raced with joy and gratitude. Was I seriously pregnant again? I couldn’t believe it. I took a pregnancy test every day for the following 6 days. The line, faint as it was, was getting a little bit darker each day. Then the word appeared on a digital test. I was pregnant. It was confirmed. I made the call to schedule my first ultrasound and planned how I would tell Matt. The first time I found out, it was midnight and I didn’t have much time or patience to plan anything so I just grabbed the test, my phone and recorded Matt’s face as I told him the good news. Not this time. I would be patient. And I was. On Saturday, I set up my camera and recorded Matt’s reaction as I gave him a book called “I’m a Big Brother.” He looked at it in disbelief. The same face I had when I had found out earlier that week. We rejoiced and hugged and celebrated the fact that we were now 4. There would be 2 of them, 2 of us. Our lives were about to become hectic and my heart couldn’t have been more excited. I planned how I would tell my parents, his parents, our siblings. It all seemed so exciting. I ordered my stretch mark lotion and some morning sickness tea. I was ready for this. Come what may, I would handle the sickness because I knew it would be worth it. I told 3 of my close friends who I happened to see that week and we rejoiced. This was happening.
And then, on Monday night, just a week after my first positive test, I began to spot. I googled it, as I always do, only to read that this was normal. I would try to not let it worry me (as if that were possible). The next morning, as I woke up, I knew it was over. The joy and celebration would soon come crashing down. A blood test confirmed it. My HCG levels had dropped really low and I was no longer pregnant. I no longer carried within me the child I would one day hold. My hope of a new baby was taken from me in an instant. I was instead thrown into a cloud of grief and sorrow. How could I possibly feel this much sorrow? It had only been a week. Every time I had heard of an early miscarriage I would think to myself, well, at least it was early. I couldn’t understand the depth of grief then. I had no idea what it would feel like to experience the loss of a dream and hope for a future baby. I wish I still didn’t know.
I’m riding the waves of grief as they come. One minute I feel like I’ll be ok. It will all be ok. And the next I feel like someone is sitting on my chest and my heart hurts at the thought of what could have been. Sometimes I feel nausea (because I’m just prone to it), but my mind tricks me into believing that it is the result of a baby growing within me, until I remember that that is no longer the case. So I will continue to ride the waves, trusting that God is sovereign and His plans are better than mine, and allowing myself room for mourning the tiny life I could have grown in my belly and one day could have held in my arms.
I’m re-reading Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist. In a way, it brings me comfort knowing many women have walked through this and have made it on the other side. Bruised but still standing. I love this quote from her book – “but like anything, when it happens to you it’s like waking up to a conversation you’ve heard before and only now grasp, and you realize entirely anew what they were talking about, what they were trying to find the words to describe.” I so wish so many of us didn’t have to walk through this. It’s an unexplainable loss. Through it all, I am so grateful for Matt, my friends and my home church who have embraced me and allowed me to grieve and cry when needed. If you’re going through a similar situation, I pray that God would carry you through this season and send just the right people to comfort and uplift you and offer their shoulder for when you need a good cry.
I know this type of post can be uncomfortable, both to share and to read. So why share about it? First, I wrote it for myself. I wanted to get it off my chest and onto paper. To process this season. But I also wrote it for others. As I’ve found myself in the midst of this, I have sought out books and blogposts and women who have been through it. I want to hear their experience, their heartbreak. It makes me feel a little more normal, a little more hopeful. And lastly, miscarriage and infertility are usually a quiet sorrow. When you’re in the middle of it, you slowly start hearing of more and more women who have been through it. I was pretty quiet with my struggle to get pregnant the first time around and as a result I ended up feeling lonely and isolated. I don’t want to go through that again and it is my hope that if you’re going through something like this, you also know you don’t have to go through it alone.
.jpg)