I couldn’t have known.
We had been married almost 3 years when we felt it was time to try to have a baby. We were living in a community where waiting that long must have meant something was wrong with us. Despite the questioning and wondering we could sense from so many around us, we knew that none of that mattered. We had an extremely long path of schooling ahead of us, but knew waiting for that to be done first would mean putting off having children for the better part of a decade. In ignorance, we joked that I would probably be barren by then.
I’d been dealing with some awful stomach issues for about 9 months and was finally on the mend. I stopped taking the prescription that wasn’t considered undoubtedly “safe” for pregnancy, and we looked forward to the excitement to come.
I found out I was pregnant in April. And we were over the moon. We told our parents on the phone, and the news seemed to spread quickly in our families, which made us nervous, but it felt good to have our joy multiplied. My in-laws were overjoyed. This baby would make them grandparents for the first time! This would be the 2nd grandchild for my parents, and they were beyond ecstatic too. In the meantime, my husband and I spent our time envisioning what it would be like to finally have a baby. We talked about whether or not we would need to move, if we could fit a crib in our small apartment, and even talked about names we might consider. We envisioned a whole new life and chapter for our little family, and the bliss overshadowed any nervousness we’d had.
In a short amount of time, we’d gone shopping and found some little pink ballet-style shoes, and a tiny pair of penny loafers for our baby, and we were so so excited…with no real idea how pregnancy would go or how it would feel to become a family of 3. I had a few days of not feeling totally myself, and remember stopping for a cold 7-UP on my way into work in the very beginning. I think my assistant noticed it, because she was so accustomed to my ice-water-with-lemon habit, but she didn’t press the issue. I was hoping to keep things a secret for as long as possible, and having this kind of secret was totally bananas. A few days after we found out, we told our very best friend-couple, and they were so thrilled for us. They had a little boy of their own, and we looked forward to our chance to play house like they were.
About half way through week 6, I had a pretty startling experience. I was starting to bleed a little. Like the first day of my period. I called my mom, and she tried to reassure me that a bit of spotting wasn’t necessarily a reason to be panicked. I tried to believe her. A few days into it, my husband and I went to the grocery store and bought a pregnancy test. It was the only thing I knew to do to see if things were ok. I took it at home, and I was still pregnant according to the test. But that didn’t put my mind at ease. Over the next few days, it just got worse and worse. By the start of the next week, the bleeding was worse, and I experienced the worst cramps of my life. The reading I had done said it wasn’t good to use a heating pad, so I avoided it. I took a warm bath, but got no relief. I remember laying in my bed, writhing from the pain, and knew something was really wrong. My husband called my regular MD’s office first thing the next morning, and we met with him within hours. He met with us in an exam room. I knew he could sense our fear, but also told us how common it was to miscarry, and how there really wasn’t anything they could do to intervene. He referred us to an office closeby where we could get an ultrasound, to see if the baby’s heartbeat could be detected. I remember being in a state of total shock. Even after the spotting, the bleeding, the cramps, the pain I later realized was like a mini labor…I still couldn’t believe it. We didn’t know anything about miscarriages – neither of our moms had ever had one – and we wouldn’t have wanted to ask anyone anyway. We were private people and it was too much to consider reaching out.
We arrived at the office for the ultrasound and were to be seen not long after. We walked in, and I couldn’t believe it. My cousin was the receptionist. My eyes were red and tear-stained, and I was suddenly trying to be the light-hearted older cousin. It was terrible, and only added to the hurt. After a few minutes in the waiting room and watching pregnant women file in and out, we were met by the ultrasound tech, and she led us into the exam room. She didn’t talk much, and said she would do a vaginal ultrasound (because babies at this stage didn’t always show a strong heartbeat on a regular ultrasound). She got started, and her silence was one of the most difficult things I’d ever heard. She searched and searched, and somehow, I was still so hopeful that maybe she’d prove the first doctor wrong. We would have a “whew, that was close” moment and then we would leave. But that was not the news we received. She searched for a couple of minutes, and told us that she could not find a heartbeat. She did not show a detectable amount of warmth toward us, and that made things more difficult in the moment. I was crying as we left the office, and when we got in the car, we just sobbed. We’d had no idea that something like this could happen. We didn’t know how to do it. We weren’t going to be “that couple” and we were truly stunned.
We went home, and in no time, my mom caught a flight to come and be with us. She came to do anything and everything she could to help. She’d never had a miscarriage herself, but she suffered so much vicariously. She cooked and baked, used my terrible basic sewing machine to mend items and make me a new dress…and we tried to do a few things out of the house. I’d called into work, and told my boss (who was sometimes playfully gruff), and he was so sorry for us. The day after I got a phone call and voicemail. When I checked it, it was someone making sure we would be home for a flower delivery. He had sent flowers. My heart nearly burst from his compassion. I sent an email or text to our best friends, and that evening, my girlfriend came by. I was a mess in old pajamas, and sobbing, but she didn’t care. She brought a few flowers, and hugged me with one of the most memorable hugs of my life. Her wisdom (already a huge blessing in my life) was something I’ll never forget even in the end of my days. She said “it was always going to happen this way”. It made me cry harder, but it stuck with me. Was it meant to happen this way? Not necessarily. But Heavenly Father knew it would, and sent people I loved to help me survive it. Another close friend heard the news from my mom or husband, and stopped by too. “Hugs and tears” seemed to be the title of this portion of the story.
I texted my closest coworker about my absence from work, and she poured her heart out to me. She told me she’d experienced 3 miscarriages, and that her heart was breaking for me. I cried crocodile tears at hearing this, and knew she was such a blessing to me. She had lived this hell, survived it, and had 4 beautiful kids (3 teenagers and a tween). So she gave me a tiny flicker of hope.
One of the days my mom was there, I really wanted to go to IKEA to look at a new bedspread. I went to the restroom when we got there, and found myself in another “first”. I had passed something, and didn’t even necessarily know what it was. As I described it to my mom, she reassured me that this was part of the miscarriage process – shedding the parts that my body no longer needed to maintain pregnancy. I couldn’t have known how sobering that part would be, and could hardly understand what was happening at the time. I was still in a significant amount of physical pain, and was surprised how painful the whole process was in general.
But the worst was a few days later. It was my sister’s birthday (and I’d already stolen my mom away from her – darn). I went to the bathroom and heard a small “plink” into the toilet. When I turned around to see what it was, my broken heart found a way to shatter into even smaller pieces. It was the embryo. The tiny baby that did not survive. I stood there in disbelief. I couldn’t see myself, but knew I was white as a ghost. I left the bathroom and told my mom. She went to check for herself, and agreed with my suspicion. And, it was the strangest thing. I couldn’t get myself to flush it away. I cried so much that week. I was sure I’d run out of tears, but they always found their way to my eyes. It was just too awful. I couldn’t just let that baby go. My mom and I talked about it, and I decided to wait until my husband was home later.
That next week, I went back to work. A girlfriend of mine had announced her pregnancy very early, and we would be due at the same time. I had known telling everyone so early was usually taboo, especially having been raised in a more old-fashioned, conservative household. So I had silently been excited to do this journey with her. But suddenly, mine had been cut short. Ended before I’d even been able to tell anyone. When I was back at work and eating lunch with her and another dear friend, my hurt was exploding…so I told them. Without warning, and with little inhibition – something so unfamiliar to me – I just told them. They told me how sorry they were, and I found a small bouquet of tulips on our basement apartment step later that evening. The one friend’s outreach made my heart swell, and warm tears found me again and again as we told just a few more really close friends. Most had never been parents or even tried for children yet, but they expressed their sympathies as well as they knew how.
The doctor had told us we could try again within about 6 weeks, and that time was so agonizingly long. We wanted another shot. We wanted the hope to return in full-force.
But that was not meant to be the story for us. It would take endless months of trying before we visited with another doctor. He told us the best thing to do was to wait a year before considering visiting a fertility doctor, and said the best thing to do was to “just relax” and let things happen naturally. But they didn’t.
To add further difficulty to the situation, my much-younger sister-in-law (who’d been very vocal about how upset she was that we had “beaten her” to the first grandchild when she first heard of our first pregnancy) announced that she was expecting her first child – the one who would become the first actual grandchild. She was giddy beyond reason, and made no effort to consider our feelings. We chalked most of it up to her young age and immaturity, but the sting we felt was still very real…and very painful. And that pain was multiplied when we had to hear every little update, every complaint about her sickness, and even had to attend her baby shower in my husband’s hometown. It was just a series of continuing heartbreaks, and a reminder that I was just barely surviving the waiting and wanting.
Her son was born after a very long, arduous labor (which we continue to hear about to this day), and I tried to keep my sadness at bay. But it wasn’t easy. We attended his baby blessing, and sat around hearing about her overwhelming happiness. It would be a very long time before I could forgive her for her lack of thoughtfulness – something that had been so important to me in my own life, especially as someone with big feelings and high sensitivity. It eventually came, but not for many years…
In the meantime, almost every single couple we knew and loved had their first babies. And it still wasn’t in the cards for us. We tried to have joy with them, but the deep pain was an unextinguished, smoldering fire.
It wasn’t until a year and a half later that we would get our second chance at pregnancy. We were so happy, but I was so cautious and afraid. All for a good reason, I believe. It was a preparation for what was to come. Because we would also lose that baby to miscarriage.
I couldn’t have known the heartache we could suffer. I always thought it would be such a relief to see a few chapters ahead in our story, and know that things were going to be ok. But not having that chance, perhaps, was a blessing too. Because knowing what it would take to add some sweet babies to our family would’ve been too much to bear.
I couldn’t have known what life would bring our way. And I’m actually glad I didn’t. It would take years of heartbreak, discouragement, and a loss of hope to make parenthood into such a gift when it finally did come our way. The sadness we had felt all along seemed to melt away when our first daughter was born and I heard her cry for the first time. While I don’t necessarily believe it’s completely true, I have thought that parents who have to battle to get babies here have a slightly-greater joy when their turn finally does come around. Because pain gives contrast to joy and makes it sweeter.
In the time since those early days, I have tried as hard as I can to become that coworker of mine. I share my story with others suffering through the same heartbreak. I try to instill hope and perspective in a time when it seems impossible to muster. I’ve also come up with my perhaps-favorite life mantra – “Empathy is the hardest thing to earn, but the easiest thing to give away”.
That understanding has been a gift in my life ever since. I’d never want to live through those dark days again. And my heart aches for those who have to.
I couldn’t have known how those times would change me, but I’m finally ready to say that I’m actually glad they did.