Approximately 1 in 4 recognized pregnancies ends in miscarriage. 1 in 4. ONE IN FOUR. Yet, I believed I was the exception. Surely, it wouldn’t happen to me. And certainly not during the peak of a global pandemic. But it did. Last May.
Having already welcomed two children into the world through full-term pregnancies, I was no stranger to the myriad of symptoms that accompany pregnancy. I had experienced spotting in both of my previous pregnancies, even receiving unsettling news about my first son from a doctor whose bedside manner left much to be desired.
This time, however, I sensed something was different. Almost instinctively, I recognized the signs. Yet, I dismissed my fears as mere first-trimester anxiety compounded by the emotional turmoil of what felt like the world falling apart. Just days before, I had seen my baby joyfully bouncing around on an ultrasound. Still, I called the doctor to schedule another appointment for reassurance. After all, I had been through this before; it couldn’t be that serious.
The next day, I attended my appointment and watched as the ultrasound technician confirmed what I had feared. No heartbeat. When the doctor reiterated the news, it felt as though the world around me faded, just like in the movies when someone receives devastating news. I needed fresh air, but I had to walk out to my car where my family waited—no guests allowed inside due to pandemic restrictions—and pretend that everything was okay in front of my two small children. I was crushed.
I spent the entire day acting as if nothing had happened while caring for my other children. Later that night, after ensuring they were sound asleep, I lay in bed and cried for what felt like an eternity. I never thought I would become part of the 1 in 4.
Experiencing a miscarriage can be profoundly isolating, but going through it while the entire country was on lockdown felt unbearable. I couldn’t have anyone accompany me for the surgery to remove the fetus, nor could I visit my best friend and grandmother to share my grief, fearing I might expose her to the virus. I had never felt more alone, even surrounded by family.
So, I found ways to cope. I focused on being a mother to my five- and two-year-old kids and cherished their health. They were here, in the moment, even if that moment was filled with sadness.
To distract myself, I binge-watched familiar shows that brought me comfort amidst the chaos. I can now proudly say that I’ve watched Jane the Virgin from start to finish four times (and counting).
I wrote on my blog, scrolled through social media, and removed connections that didn’t resonate with the emotions I wanted to feel. I managed to get through it, and when the time was right, we decided to try again. There’s always joy in trying again. Now, a year and a half later, I’m writing this while my rainbow baby nurses peacefully.
Losing a baby nearly broke me, but the joy that comes after the storm has been the sweetest reward.
If you’re interested in more insights on this topic, check out this other blog post. For authoritative information, visit Intracervical Insemination. For excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination, look into March of Dimes.
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Summary:
This article recounts a deeply personal experience of miscarriage during the pandemic, highlighting the feelings of isolation and grief that accompany such a loss. The author reflects on coping mechanisms, the importance of family, and ultimately finding joy again with the arrival of a subsequent child. Resources for support and information on home insemination and miscarriage are provided.