My first post, finally.
Red tulips in April at Knutson Farms, Sumner, WA.
Welcome to my blog, This Miscarriage Life, a space for those who have been touched by miscarriage loss to share their stories and find comfort. If not comfort, then belonging.
In my experience, when you lose a pregnancy, it takes you by surprise in the worst way. Your reality shifts, how you see the world changes, and the life you’d planned from the moment you got that positive test suddenly died, too. You’re filled with emotions—intense sadness, disbelief, confusion, loneliness, grief. You’re dealing with all of the symptoms of pregnancy and recovery from your miscarriage—bleeding, cramping, engorged breasts, crushing hormones. You’re likely keeping the worst kind of secret, one where you had joy on the way, but that joy is now gone and you’re left with… nothing. Fear, maybe.
After my first loss, I fell quickly into anger and helplessness, and even more anger due to feeling so helpless. My baby was fine, healthy and fine. We had a heartbeat, he was kicking and strong! We were getting ready for Christmas and the bleeding stopped, again. It was all great news until I was sat in the emergency room being told I was having a miscarriage, that my baby was dead, that I had to deliver the placenta. The very same ER that assured me, 24 hours prior, that baby's heartbeat was strong and my cervix was high and tight. "You are definitely not having a miscarriage! You're good mama!" I was hiding my eyes from the red baby on the table; I couldn’t believe what they were telling me, or that I could bleed so much for so long and still be alive.
I was sent home with a grief packet and a bill for $13,000.
When you lose a baby, you have nothing. Faith, maybe.
It feels like a dirty rumor that 1 in 4 pregnancies end just like yours, but nobody is talking about it. When you’re finally able to share your story, though, people start speaking up and sharing their losses with you. You might learn that your aunt had a miscarriage, or your sister-in-law lost 2 pregnancies early on. The nurse helping you postpartum might tell you their story, how they had a stillbirth and several miscarriages before their “rainbow” baby came. You might even get more confident to share what you just went through, to get to hear more stories and feel less alone. To get answers, maybe.
This Miscarriage Life will hold our stories. Our babies names, the families who miss them, the futures planned for them. Our new realities that we live with every day, and the honest truth about what happens after you're told “I can’t find a heartbeat.” We’re going to shine a light on the unknown that so many women and families know well but keep to ourselves. Let’s talk about this life!
