 | It's been weighing on me to put these feelings to paper. I've written about my first miscarriage, but never about the myriad of emotions I experienced over the course of many. It's time. This is a brief look into what happened in my head as I experienced it. Please, no judgement for any of the ways I felt, towards others or myself. This is just an honest depiction of in-the-moment feelings and have since been processed. |
I feel that while I have a space inside of me that will always experience grief when thinking about these things, I have reached a healthy place in body and mind. Healthy enough to share with everyone.
This is purely stream of consciousness. Grammar was not considered important to me.
I hope this somehow helps anyone out there who went through this, is going through this, or has struggled to understand the pain of a loved one experiencing this. I am not shy about these feelings and do not mind if anyone would like to share them.
This is purely stream of consciousness. Grammar was not considered important to me.
I hope this somehow helps anyone out there who went through this, is going through this, or has struggled to understand the pain of a loved one experiencing this. I am not shy about these feelings and do not mind if anyone would like to share them.
**Trigger Warning: While nothing graphic is shared, these feelings are very honest and raw and may be painful and triggering for those who have experienced losing a child at any age. Please read carefully, or if you know you may experience too much by reading, you are courageous to stop here. Also, there are miscarriage and postpartum resources listed at the end of the post for anyone who feels they need to explore options or get help after reading.**
MY STORY
After five years of happy marriage, we’ve decided. It’s time for a baby.
Wow. It’s happened. Positive test. We are pregnant.
Over. The. Moon.
Caution officially thrown to the wind. Telling family and friends. Total joy.
Dancing with belly. Planning. Can’t wait to see it.
Ultrasound day. So excited. Drank way too much water.
Dark ultrasound room. Quiet technician. Confusing picture on the monitor. Technician looks worried but won't look at me. Something is very wrong. Can't tell, technician isn't talking. Worry. Panic. Confirmed. No baby.
Fast, inconsolable grief hits like a freight train. Heavy bricks stacking on my lungs. Hard to breathe. The sobbing is uncontrollable. Hurts.
Anger. Angry at everyone. Looking out the window as we drive to meet our doctor to talk about what happened. Angry at the sky. Angry at the sun. Anger through every cell in my body.
My body is pregnant but a baby never formed? Everything else, just not the baby? What?
Shame and regret as I realize I have to take away my family’s joy, too. Understanding that it’s not my fault. Feeling that way anyways.
Patience. Patience as my body still doesn’t know what the ultrasound knew. It has not yet decided to miscarry the baby that doesn’t exist. Still nauseous. Still tired. My body is mocking me. Symptoms of pregnancy but not in my case. Not this time.
Weeks pass.
Miscarriage starts. Pain. So much pain. Didn’t realize it would feel like this. It’s not easy. My body doesn’t do it right. Hospital. Procedure. Clouds of warmth and nothingness when I wake up. Kind nurses. This is what I needed. I have been waiting to move on and not feel "pregnant" anymore. Sleep.
A year passes.
My body is finally ready again.
Positive test. Wasn’t expecting it. Happiness with a bit of anxiety. But mostly happiness. We can't miscarry again. I've gotten it out of the way.
Problems. So many problems. But this baby just keeps on growing.
I name him Griffin. I need to name him Griffin. A symbol known for its strength, cunning, and intelligence. Griffin will make it.
Griffin made it. He is here. He is everything.
Years pass.
Positive test. Happiness.
Bad symptoms immediately. Maybe it will be fine? Griffin was fine, this baby will be fine.
Wait. This doesn’t feel right. Please, not again.
Miscarriage. Pain. My body does it right this time. No hospital. Days of pain, but I am home. I have my Griffin. I am so grateful for him.
Anger fades quickly. Acceptance.
Positive test again. Slightly happy, more nervous. I can do this. I can do this.
Bad symptoms immediately. I don’t think it will be fine. Pretty sure I know how this goes now.
Yep. Doesn’t feel right. Knew I shouldn’t have felt even slightly happy. Who was I kidding. That’s right, myself.
Miscarriage. Why does this one hurt so much more than the last? So much incredible pain. Reminds me of being in labor with Griffin. Still so much pain. No hospital, I am able to stay home. I hold tightly to my Griffin. I cannot believe the pain.
Absently think about how no one knows anything about miscarriage. Does anyone realize how much it actually hurts physically? I don’t think so. Realizing that no one ever talks about it so much that no one even knows about it in a physical way, much less an emotional way.
I hate telling everyone each time. It’s hard enough to go through it. I hate delivering the bad news to people who love me. Everyone just tell everyone else so I don't have to sit through the well-intended remarks...no energy for that. I want to hide with Caleb and binge-watch TV until I’m thinking about nothing but superfluous things.
Never angry at anyone anymore, even all of the moms posting pregnancy announcements to Facebook. I have come so full circle, I am excited for anyone having a positive experience with pregnancy. I am not used to positive pregnancy experiences. I want everyone to have them.
Positive test. Barely happy, almost entirely ambivalent. Any kind of emotional response has been trained out of me at this point. Except I am starting to hate that positive line. Is it laughing at me a little? Ready for another miscarriage, Britt?
Hmmm…this is going fine. Sliver of hope. No, stop hoping. No, it’s okay, since I feel the grief 100%, I'll should allow myself to feel the joy. That seems fair and healthy and right. Okay. I’ll hope. Just a tiny, tiny, small hope.
Ultrasound room. I HATE the ultrasound room. Same dark room and it immediately triggers past memories. It’s okay, I can do this. This one might not be bad. A heartbeat. Oh my gosh, that’s a heartbeat. String of hope. Everyone says seeing a heartbeat reduces the chances of miscarriage a lot. I leap for that string of hope and grab it, bringing Caleb along with me. We are going to have a baby. Technician mentions a fetal age that seems younger than what I was sure about, but no one thinks anything of it. I silently worry about that little fact in the back of my brain, but it’s currently being overshadowed by all of the hope.
Weeks pass. Hope grows.
No. No. No. I know my body almost too well now. I know what it feels like. I know what is happening. This wasn’t going to happen this time. It’s not happening, it can’t be. It is. It is. I can’t believe it. No. No. We saw a heartbeat. No. No. Please don’t make me do this again.
Miscarriage. This time was far enough along for me to see the little baby after. Sweet pea. Have to bring the baby to the lab for testing. Too shocked to feel much.
Pain. Nothing. Pain. The sadness feels different. I hadn’t meant to hope so much this time. Wasn’t intending to. Too many positives pushed me over the edge to hoping, and then the rug was pulled out from under me. My sadness feels like I should have known better. Wavering between not feeling anything and feeling a lot. My Griffin is a miracle to me. How in the world did he make it to this world. How did he survive when so many others didn’t. I never want to let go of him. Will figure how to ever let go of him later.
Lots of time passes because I just can’t. I need time. I don’t show everyone that, but I’m just so damn tired. By this point, pregnancy has been 85% anxiety/sadness/fear, 15% incomparable joy. Trying seems terrifying. So terrifying, I don't want to think about it for awhile. Give me another year.
A year passes.
I am ready. At least I think I am. As ready as one can be at this point.
Positive test.
After five years of happy marriage, we’ve decided. It’s time for a baby.
Wow. It’s happened. Positive test. We are pregnant.
Over. The. Moon.
Caution officially thrown to the wind. Telling family and friends. Total joy.
Dancing with belly. Planning. Can’t wait to see it.
Ultrasound day. So excited. Drank way too much water.
Dark ultrasound room. Quiet technician. Confusing picture on the monitor. Technician looks worried but won't look at me. Something is very wrong. Can't tell, technician isn't talking. Worry. Panic. Confirmed. No baby.
Fast, inconsolable grief hits like a freight train. Heavy bricks stacking on my lungs. Hard to breathe. The sobbing is uncontrollable. Hurts.
Anger. Angry at everyone. Looking out the window as we drive to meet our doctor to talk about what happened. Angry at the sky. Angry at the sun. Anger through every cell in my body.
My body is pregnant but a baby never formed? Everything else, just not the baby? What?
Shame and regret as I realize I have to take away my family’s joy, too. Understanding that it’s not my fault. Feeling that way anyways.
Patience. Patience as my body still doesn’t know what the ultrasound knew. It has not yet decided to miscarry the baby that doesn’t exist. Still nauseous. Still tired. My body is mocking me. Symptoms of pregnancy but not in my case. Not this time.
Weeks pass.
Miscarriage starts. Pain. So much pain. Didn’t realize it would feel like this. It’s not easy. My body doesn’t do it right. Hospital. Procedure. Clouds of warmth and nothingness when I wake up. Kind nurses. This is what I needed. I have been waiting to move on and not feel "pregnant" anymore. Sleep.
A year passes.
My body is finally ready again.
Positive test. Wasn’t expecting it. Happiness with a bit of anxiety. But mostly happiness. We can't miscarry again. I've gotten it out of the way.
Problems. So many problems. But this baby just keeps on growing.
I name him Griffin. I need to name him Griffin. A symbol known for its strength, cunning, and intelligence. Griffin will make it.
Griffin made it. He is here. He is everything.
Years pass.
Positive test. Happiness.
Bad symptoms immediately. Maybe it will be fine? Griffin was fine, this baby will be fine.
Wait. This doesn’t feel right. Please, not again.
Miscarriage. Pain. My body does it right this time. No hospital. Days of pain, but I am home. I have my Griffin. I am so grateful for him.
Anger fades quickly. Acceptance.
Positive test again. Slightly happy, more nervous. I can do this. I can do this.
Bad symptoms immediately. I don’t think it will be fine. Pretty sure I know how this goes now.
Yep. Doesn’t feel right. Knew I shouldn’t have felt even slightly happy. Who was I kidding. That’s right, myself.
Miscarriage. Why does this one hurt so much more than the last? So much incredible pain. Reminds me of being in labor with Griffin. Still so much pain. No hospital, I am able to stay home. I hold tightly to my Griffin. I cannot believe the pain.
Absently think about how no one knows anything about miscarriage. Does anyone realize how much it actually hurts physically? I don’t think so. Realizing that no one ever talks about it so much that no one even knows about it in a physical way, much less an emotional way.
I hate telling everyone each time. It’s hard enough to go through it. I hate delivering the bad news to people who love me. Everyone just tell everyone else so I don't have to sit through the well-intended remarks...no energy for that. I want to hide with Caleb and binge-watch TV until I’m thinking about nothing but superfluous things.
Never angry at anyone anymore, even all of the moms posting pregnancy announcements to Facebook. I have come so full circle, I am excited for anyone having a positive experience with pregnancy. I am not used to positive pregnancy experiences. I want everyone to have them.
Positive test. Barely happy, almost entirely ambivalent. Any kind of emotional response has been trained out of me at this point. Except I am starting to hate that positive line. Is it laughing at me a little? Ready for another miscarriage, Britt?
Hmmm…this is going fine. Sliver of hope. No, stop hoping. No, it’s okay, since I feel the grief 100%, I'll should allow myself to feel the joy. That seems fair and healthy and right. Okay. I’ll hope. Just a tiny, tiny, small hope.
Ultrasound room. I HATE the ultrasound room. Same dark room and it immediately triggers past memories. It’s okay, I can do this. This one might not be bad. A heartbeat. Oh my gosh, that’s a heartbeat. String of hope. Everyone says seeing a heartbeat reduces the chances of miscarriage a lot. I leap for that string of hope and grab it, bringing Caleb along with me. We are going to have a baby. Technician mentions a fetal age that seems younger than what I was sure about, but no one thinks anything of it. I silently worry about that little fact in the back of my brain, but it’s currently being overshadowed by all of the hope.
Weeks pass. Hope grows.
No. No. No. I know my body almost too well now. I know what it feels like. I know what is happening. This wasn’t going to happen this time. It’s not happening, it can’t be. It is. It is. I can’t believe it. No. No. We saw a heartbeat. No. No. Please don’t make me do this again.
Miscarriage. This time was far enough along for me to see the little baby after. Sweet pea. Have to bring the baby to the lab for testing. Too shocked to feel much.
Pain. Nothing. Pain. The sadness feels different. I hadn’t meant to hope so much this time. Wasn’t intending to. Too many positives pushed me over the edge to hoping, and then the rug was pulled out from under me. My sadness feels like I should have known better. Wavering between not feeling anything and feeling a lot. My Griffin is a miracle to me. How in the world did he make it to this world. How did he survive when so many others didn’t. I never want to let go of him. Will figure how to ever let go of him later.
Lots of time passes because I just can’t. I need time. I don’t show everyone that, but I’m just so damn tired. By this point, pregnancy has been 85% anxiety/sadness/fear, 15% incomparable joy. Trying seems terrifying. So terrifying, I don't want to think about it for awhile. Give me another year.
A year passes.
I am ready. At least I think I am. As ready as one can be at this point.
Positive test.
Update: This last positive test became my second son, Maddock James. And almost immediately after him, we became pregnant with and welcomed Wolfe Isaac.
If you have experienced or are experiencing any form of pregnancy grief/loss/depression, please see the end of the post for resources to help. I'm so incredibly sorry for what you are going through.
If you have experienced or are experiencing any form of pregnancy grief/loss/depression, please see the end of the post for resources to help. I'm so incredibly sorry for what you are going through.
Miscarriage & Postpartum Support Resources:
Postpartum Support International
http://www.postpartum.net/
The American Pregnancy Association
http://americanpregnancy.org/pregnancy-loss/miscarriage-surviving-emotionally/
The American Psychological Association
http://www.apa.org/monitor/2012/06/miscarriage.aspx
Hospice Foundation of America
https://hospicefoundation.org/End-of-Life-Support-and-Resources/Grief-Support/Journeys-with-Grief-Articles/Mourning-a-Miscarriage
Pregnancy Birth & Baby - Australia
https://www.pregnancybirthbaby.org.au/emotional-support-after-miscarriage
Miscarriage Association Helpline - UK
https://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/how-we-help/helpline/
Postpartum Support International
http://www.postpartum.net/
The American Pregnancy Association
http://americanpregnancy.org/pregnancy-loss/miscarriage-surviving-emotionally/
The American Psychological Association
http://www.apa.org/monitor/2012/06/miscarriage.aspx
Hospice Foundation of America
https://hospicefoundation.org/End-of-Life-Support-and-Resources/Grief-Support/Journeys-with-Grief-Articles/Mourning-a-Miscarriage
Pregnancy Birth & Baby - Australia
https://www.pregnancybirthbaby.org.au/emotional-support-after-miscarriage
Miscarriage Association Helpline - UK
https://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/how-we-help/helpline/
RSS Feed