"I may not hold you in my arms, but I will always hold you in my heart" (Unknown)
This is a photograph Jacob took of me and my babies - all SIX of them - on Mother's Day this year. In a few other frames, I tried to hide my small-yet-visible baby bump, but for the last couple of shots, I let it show. We hadn't told our children yet, but I was 8 weeks pregnant with the best Christmas Gift ever - a new sibling who was due on Christmas Eve!
I was SO excited about this baby. I had already met with my midwives, and was planning a home birth in our new home - I imagined the smell of pine, candles and twinkling lights around as we welcomed our sweet new baby, surrounded by siblings and all the magic of Christmas-time, but even better with an extra dose of newborn magic. I would finally get to use the one last stocking that has been waiting for years and years. Never sure if we would get to put that last stocking to use, but ever hopeful...and finally - magic! The timing is never perfect, but it sure seemed pretty close.
About a week following Mother's Day, I went in for a routine first trimester ultrasound. I felt a bit nauseous, but was just so excited to go see the tiny heart flickering away, and get a closer look at this beautiful little life I was dreaming about, planning for, and already so in love with. We had also planned to wrap up the sweet little ultrasound pictures in some Christmas wrapping paper, to tell them about our exciting news.
Right away, as the ultrasound technician began screening, she asked me "could your dates be off?" My heart sank - I already knew I wasn't seeing what I expected to on the screen. "Maybe," I said, a lump forming in my throat. Sure enough, it was not a 9 week baby on the screen. It was a 6 week old baby - with no detectable heartbeat. But she didn't just come out and say it - maybe she wanted someone else to have to break my heart - but the baby was no longer growing. The baby had already died, almost 3 weeks prior. She sent me back to my midwives for bloodwork - to check my hcg levels. Why did she have to do that? Why did she have to leave me a glimmer of hope? I hung on to every piece of hope I had in me, but a few absolutely torturous days later, with more blood draws and monitoring - it was confirmed: A silent, or missed miscarriage.
My body was not recognizing the loss. In fact, it kept producing hormones and being pregnant - hence my small-yet-visible baby bump. I still felt pregnant, and all the symptoms. Absolutely no sign whatsoever that anything was wrong. I felt betrayed by my own body. I mean, if I'm going to lose my baby, why can't my body at least be honest with me? My sweet Midwife told me that sometimes, our body knows what our heart wants so badly, and so it has a hard time letting go.
I decided to wait it out a bit and see what my body would do. As it turned out, a few more weeks went by and it did nothing at all. I can't even tell you the torture and hell it was wearing maternity jeans because nothing else fit, yet trying to hide it from the kids and everyone else I hadn't told. Once I neared week 12, the midwives told me it would be best to refer me back to my OB, as the longer my body held on, it also started to pose some risks. At that point, I was almost grateful to go back to my OB - I've known her for 20 years and she met me perfectly, right where I needed her - with compassion and with the most natural option she knew I would much prefer over the D&C surgery. I took the pills a few days later to induce the miscarriage. And I still can't write about it. I will say, that physically, it was rather quick and painless compared to the horror stories I had heard from Dr. Google. My uterus is very efficient. But emotionally - it was harder, and has been harder - than I imagined. At least the physical part was over, and I could begin to heal - that was a relief. But my heart was broken, and between my hormones going crazy and the incredible grief that overtook me - it has been so hard.
We could've quite easily just not told our children what was going on - but we decided they should know. They actually took it better than expected, thankfully (they just made it clear they'd really still love it if we tried again, and this time they don't care if it's a boy or a girl). I wanted them to know, as hard as it was, that these things happen. Life isn't always fair. Hard things happen to good people - and sometime, heaven forbid a miscarriage happen to one of my daughters or sons - I would want them to know that they are not alone. That, while incredibly painful, they would be able to come out the other side and still find joy in life. I must admit, that's a big part of why I'm evening posting this publicly. Miscarriage happens. They say about 1 in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. Well, at my (old!) age - it's double that. There are SO many sweet souls walking around, wounded. Deeply hurting and grieving. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
I had told just a couple of close friends about the pregnancy, and I will be honest, I am so glad I did. Those friends stepped right in with support and so much love. It was amazing how they knew what to do - and not to do. I went into my cave, yet they left flowers, chocolate, and notes of love and support. They brought dinner. And one friend, in particular, who herself has experienced incredible loss - she just seemed to know exactly what I needed. After a little time passed, she drew me very gently out of the cave I had been hiding away in. She invited me to sew one afternoon, and we talked, and we made dresses for our little girls - we mended a few things in my pile, and ever so slowly, my heart began to heal.
I guess I never realized a miscarriage could be so long and drawn out. Maybe I decided to write this today, because I went for another blood draw this morning - weeks later. My hormone levels are still falling, but getting closer and closer to zero, which is where they need to be. What a roller coaster ride the past few months have been, not to mention the last year. I may eventually be able to stitch the raw, ripped apart pieces of my heart back together - but it will never be the same again. I will always carry a scar - a beautiful reminder of the little life I carried inside me, and loved so very much. Yet, the scar will also be a reminder of those that loved and carried me. I am so grateful for the love, prayers, and tears that others have shown me, and for that tiny baby who I will always hold and carry in my heart.
