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.