I have been pregnant five times, yet I only have one child. Those numbers don’t make sense and yet they are my reality. Navigating pregnancy after multiple miscarriages hasn’t been easy. Experiencing a miscarriage (especially during your first pregnancy) is like having all your hopes and dreams shattered. All the magic and beauty of pregnancy has now been taken from you in a cruel twist of fate that is unfortunately all too common. My first miscarriage remains the most traumatizing. I was just about 15 weeks and ended up having to deliver the baby naturally. I can still hear the nurses and doctors barking out commands as I lay there crying hysterically and pushing out a tiny, lifeless little body.
It’s a weird place to be. One day you’re pregnant, full of life, looking forward to meeting your child and the next you’re…not. You’re empty. Searching for meaning where often no meaning can be found. I’ve suffered losses three times and each time I felt a complex tangle of emotions. There’s no guidebook for how to feel/what to feel/when to feel.
It’s a loss. But it’s not like other losses. It’s a loss of hope, of what could’ve been. It’s a loss of innocence.
I had two miscarriages prior to the birth of my daughter and one after her. I’m now pregnant again, but the anxiety and the fear of “what if” remains. To this day, I hesitate to say “when” the baby will be born but rather “if.” For me, a positive pregnancy test doesn’t automatically equal a baby. I don’t envision little fingers and toes, instead I hope and pray for another day. Another day of a life growing inside me. Another day of hearing that strong, rhythmic heartbeat that sounds like the most beautiful, sweet music you’ve ever heard and hoping to God that I won’t have to face the dreaded eerily silent and still ultrasound ever again.
All my visions and expectations of pregnancy and childbirth has forever been altered. I know just how precious it is because I’ve lost it. Three times.
Every doctor’s visit, every day really is a constant struggle. Struggling to remain cautiously optimistic but trying to hold yourself back from feeling too much because you know how much it hurts to lose. Struggling to connect and bond with a life you’re terrified you’ll never get to meet. Struggling to feel happy for the women who so blissfully seem to go through pregnancy without a care in the world. Rationally, I know this makes no sense. Of course they should feel happy but sometimes the darker part of me can’t help but feel angry that my carefree existence will never be the same.
What helps me on my darkest days is knowing I’m not alone. Millions of women have gone through or are going through the exact same experiences as I. It’s a sisterhood of sorts, a club you never want to join but might end up in anyway. Knowing the pain and anguish that miscarriage brings has given me an even more understanding and empathetic perspective than I had before. To all my sisters out there who have gone through this, my heart is with you.
My previous pregnancies may not have worked out but this one can and hopefully it will. I know it can.
I’ve experienced both the highs and lows of this journey. The agonizing pain of my greatest loss and the pure, unfiltered joy of receiving the most precious gift: a healthy baby girl. I know it’s possible to have that happy ending and I cling to that. I have to.
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