I was once told that my heartache is big, but my bravery is much bigger. I didn’t believe it until now. It’s been two months since I was told there was no heartbeat, but I’ve been told that three different times. I’ve had to walk away from a “baby checkup” three different times knowing that I wouldn’t hear their heart beat again. I’ve had to be brave to share the news to my husband again, and again. Each time, similar heart ache but different story. I’ve had to remind myself that my bravery is bigger even when my heartache feels heavy.
Where does my story begin? My scarcity for pregnancy began when I was a young girl. My mom experienced two stillbirths, both during 2nd trimester losses. I watched her mourn year after year with due dates and death anniversaries. We visited their grave sites and talked about them often. Jeremy and Jacob; names I still hold close to my heart.
I look back at those years wishing I could prepare my teenage heart that I would someday experience heartache of my own. It doesn’t feel like heartache of hurt feelings, or how I feel after I watch a sad movie. It’s real. It’s raw. It’s heartache that can only relate to another who has a missing piece to their heart. The ache doesn’t sting as bad anymore, but it’s permanently there.
I remember sitting in many nursing classes, thinking “that will never be me”, as we learned about complications during pregnancy. Ectopic, miscarriage, stillbirth; the three words that were never on my vision board that I often created every year. I’ve learned a lot since then.
I was 29 years old when I experienced my first loss. I was 7 weeks pregnant. I started spotting and cramping. I knew something was wrong. From my experience as a Registered Nurse, I knew the textbook reasons and how scary these symptoms can be during the first trimester. Within 30 minutes of my doctors visit to “check on baby”, I heard a heartbeat and was told that my baby was not viable. One hour later, I was prepped going into emergency surgery for an ectopic pregnancy. I felt cheated. I felt robbed. Not only was I losing this little one inside me, I also lost my left Fallopian tube. It stung. I felt my body failed me, that I did something wrong and wasn’t capable to carry a healthy pregnancy. I never thought that I would be “that” patient that I read about in nursing school. Recovery was very difficult for me. I remember friends bringing meals, flowers, and get-well cards. These gestures didn’t replace my heart, or my baby. I felt angry and confused.
Time is a tricky thing. Time healed my heart in ways I can’t describe. I became busy with life, my family, and life carried on. Time feels slow during heartache and sorrow but goes by fast counting days of happiness.
My second loss is an experience that I still struggle talking about. I feel that if I don’t talk about it, maybe I will one day wake up from this awful nightmare. I found out I was expecting on Mothers’ Day. We felt so excited that my body was responding to pregnancy, fetal implantation in the right place hearing a perfect heartbeat. I went to several appointments to confirm that baby and I were healthy.
We announced that we were due with our little baby on July 4th. “Red, white, and DUE” is what I had printed on a shirt I had made. We were so excited to share with family and friends and knew that this little one I was carrying was another miracle. It was exactly 3 weeks later that I was told “there is no heartbeat”. I asked the doctor to check several times and told the same answer. My heart shattered. The hole that I already had grew bigger, and fast growing. I felt confused and angry. Again, I had to share the news with family, friends, and my husband. Again, I felt my body failed me. I remember questioning if I ate something that may have harmed the baby, lifted wrong at the gym, or twisted funny.
I was 17 weeks, almost halfway. I was scheduled for induction the next day. These are the most bittersweet hours that I will forever hold close to my heart. We were able to spend precious time with our little boy, who we named after family. He had perfect toes, a small nose, and looked just like his daddy.
Again, time moved slowly. I felt my world had come to a stop, and everything around me kept moving forward. It wasn’t fair. However, time doesn’t stop. It moves forward even when you beg it to stop. My heart began to heal it’s new normal, grieving for what my life “would have been”, and I learned that’s okay to do. No one can dictate your grief, or mourning. No one can tell you “it’ll be okay”. No one can predict the time of recovery or normalcy. This timeline is YOURS, and no one can take that away from you.
Well, my story doesn’t end here. In fact, not even my close family and friends know that I experienced loss yet again. I was told the words I never wanted to hear again. I became very ill with the flu around 13 weeks pregnant when I ended up in emergent care. I still remember the tone of his voice as he told me “there is no heartbeat”. My pain feels numb, and something I can’t describe often. I’ve often wondered “why me?”. Why do we have to suffer sorrow? What lessons do I need to learn from all of this?
I’ve learned over the last several years of the sorrow I’ve experienced, and now I ask, “why not me?”. These experiences have created me to show up for those that experience similar loss. These experiences have taught me to be grateful for what I have. These experiences have created love from my heartache. I never wish anyone to go through these experiences. If they do, I want to be that person to help them through it. There are never rainbows without the rain. I have felt many times the heavy rain, thick clouds, and dark days repeatedly. Sometimes, these days turn into weeks and even months. However, without the heavy clouds and endless rain, you can’t feel the sunshine on your face. I have felt the sunshine on my face even through loss. Yes, your heartache is big, but your bravery is bigger.