Writing this has been one of the most challenging experiences of my life. It’s a deeply personal account of losing a baby I desperately wanted—my miscarriage story.
After the birth of our son, I was bombarded with questions about when we would have another child. A little tip: please don’t ask people that. It wasn’t until he turned two that my partner, Alex, and I felt ready to expand our family. We deliberated for months. Ultimately, it just felt like the right moment.
On our anniversary in October 2018, I surprised Alex by removing my IUD. His excitement mirrored mine; we were both thrilled to take this significant step. I genuinely believed I would be pregnant within a month or two. I was mistaken. Each month dragged on, and I found myself calculating due dates, envisioning maternity clothes, birthdays, and the joy of our son becoming a big brother.
Month after month, I found myself crying on the bathroom floor, facing the disappointment of a negative pregnancy test or the arrival of my period. I’d wipe my tears and put on a brave face for my family.
By month six, negative self-talk crept in: “What’s wrong with you?” “You’re broken.” “I’m a bad mother.” I began to silently punish myself. Alex and I consumed every article about conception, trying to stay optimistic.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I received that long-awaited positive pregnancy test. It was faint but exhilarating. I could hardly contain my joy as I planned how to share the news with everyone—friends, family, and yes, even our son, whom I told about his baby sister in my tummy. I ordered a pregnancy journal and scheduled appointments with my doctor for confirmation and an ultrasound. I was on cloud nine, envisioning nursery themes and baby names.
For 17 days, I lived in bliss. Then came the call with the results of my blood test: “Your results indicate an early miscarriage. Have you experienced any cramps or bleeding?” I was in disbelief. No symptoms. I felt fine. They scheduled me for another test, but I couldn’t wait. I insisted on being seen that day due to my history of ectopic pregnancy.
The next day, during an ultrasound, they found a fetal sac but no heartbeat. My hCG levels were not rising as expected. I reached out to a friend who had experienced miscarriage, seeking hope. I learned that not all women’s levels double, and mine still showed some increase, so I clung to that.
But on June 29th, while photographing a wedding, I started to bleed. I managed to put on a brave face for the couple, but inside, I was shattered. This was not supposed to happen. How could I lose something I had wanted so desperately?
After the event, I returned home, and in the safety of my husband’s arms, I broke down completely. The pain of informing friends and family that I lost the baby was excruciating. This came right after we had lost our dog and had to re-home our chickens. My world felt empty.
The past nine months have been incredibly challenging. Initially, I considered stopping my efforts to conceive, terrified of facing another loss. But eventually, I resumed tracking my cycle. It’s been another nine months of heartache, each new cycle serving as a reminder of my struggles.
I’ve felt reluctant to share my story, not wanting pity or unsolicited advice. Well-meaning comments about “God’s timing” or “At least you have one child” haven’t eased my pain; rather, they have intensified my feelings of guilt and confusion about my journey. A simple “I’m sorry” or a listening ear would have sufficed.
Yes, I have a son, but that adds layers of guilt. I often ponder why I was able to have him, yet now face challenges in conceiving again. My thoughts plague me constantly. After 17 months of trying, my dreams have shifted from planning a nursery to contemplating what life would be like with just one child or even the possibility of adoption.
The sight of pregnant women or baby announcements is painful. I used to feel happy for them, but as hope dwindles, envy takes its place.
To answer some common questions:
- No, we haven’t started fertility testing yet. We plan to explore holistic options first.
- No, IVF is not a path we wish to pursue.
- Yes, we’ve tried every method, followed advice, and taken all precautions to conceive.
This is my story, one I’ve wanted to share but struggled to find the words for. I can’t offer a neat conclusion, as my journey continues. I hope that by sharing my experience, others who are silently suffering know they are not alone—we are in this together.
For additional insights and resources, you might find it helpful to read our other blog post here, or check out this excellent resource for further guidance. Additionally, Intracervical Insemination provides valuable information on this topic.
Summary
This heartfelt narrative reflects the author’s profound struggle with miscarriage and the emotional rollercoaster of trying to conceive after loss. It emphasizes the importance of understanding and support for those experiencing similar challenges and encourages open conversations about the often-silent pain of infertility.