My First Pregnancy & Miscarriage Experience
My doctor told me that 1 in 3 women (1 in 3 pregnancies?) experience miscarriage. She told me in order to reassure me that it was not my fault, and there’s nothing I could have done to prevent one of my biggest fears coming true.
I knew from friends and family that miscarriages are brutal and the pain is often underestimated and misunderstood. I knew that every mom says “You don’t understand how much moms love their children until you are a mom yourself,” and while I never got to really meet my baby I felt like I understood for the first time.
I wanted to share a little bit about my experience to hopefully help others feel less alone if they are experiencing something similar or are surprised by how painful it is, and also to share what things have been helping me recover.
For reference, I miscarried at somewhere around 5 weeks. I had not yet had my first ultrasound (8 weeks), and had only known I was pregnant for a few days, so it was a very early miscarriage.
MY PREGNANCY EXPERIENCE
I always thought I would be freaked out when I found out I was pregnant. We had been trying and basically immediately became pregnant. So I wanted to be pregnant but I still thought I would feel anxious when I found out, because the idea of growing a literal human inside my literal body always seemed so bizarre to me.
Instead, when I saw that first positive test, I was pleasantly surprised to feel one of the most pure forms of happiness I have ever felt. I cannot describe the bond I felt with the baby, who become “my little buddy that comes with me everywhere I go.” My body felt like such a safe haven for the baby — a beautiful miracle that I could not feel more privileged to have experienced. All the cheesy things are true. The fact that the baby was inside my body, growing, being fed and nurtured by my body, which somehow knew what to do, was incredible. I think the high of this feeling is one reason loss is so painful. I truly have never felt anything like it, and even knowing it did not result in a child that I will raise, I know I am changed by that experience — I felt an identity shift that I can’t unshift or go back to before. It was amazing.
My husband, Nathan, was out of town when I found out I was pregnant, but thankfully was coming back that night, so I waited 8 long hours for him to arrive back home and share the news. I gave him a box containing the cutest tiny gray sweater and a book called “I Love Dad.” He immediately teared up and said, “Really?!!” We were overjoyed!
I had a few pregnancy symptoms. The only way I can describe the main one is that my boobs felt like balloons filled with sand. They felt so weird, a little sore, and almost… gritty?? I also had a few waves of nausea usually late morning/early afternoon, and I hated the smell of cologne or strong spices. And I was so tired!
We decided to tell some friends and family right away because I knew that even if something happened to the baby, I would want people around me to know and be available to support us. The fact that there is a “rule” you should wait 12 weeks to share anything just shows how common miscarriage really is. I haven’t decided if we will do the same next time. I felt extremely supported by some people we told, and I would have really really struggled without their support, and I also semi-regretted telling those that did not seem to understand. If I could give any advice on this, it would be to be prepared to ask directly for what you need and how others can support you so that no one has to guess or disappoint you by not reading your mind.
The Miscarriage Symptoms
The first sign that something was wrong was when I started spotting one day. It was very very light at first. I only noticed it when I went to the bathroom once, and then one more time later in the day, and then it seemed over. I was concerned but I had many friends who experienced spotting during healthy pregnancies, so I tried not to stress about it. I had slight cramping but it was so light I wasn’t sure if it was just gas or even just in my head.
The next day, the spotting was heavier, but still what I would consider spotting and not yet bleeding. The cramping was also heavier, but not really painful at first. I started to get nervous, but again, I knew of many people who had experienced even pretty heavy bleeding and painful cramping while pregnant, and their babies had been fine. I laid very low and debated whether I should call the doctor.
The cramping eventually got to be pretty painful, and around the middle of that day I went to the bathroom and noticed I had passed actual tissue, and shortly afterward the bleeding became very heavy. My heart dropped, knowing that tissue was very likely my literal baby, their sac and the beginning of the surrounding tissue shedding. I started to feel really anxious and overwhelmed. I told Nathan I thought we lost the baby, but after a few more conversations with others decided it was best to call the doctor for confirmation and a check up regardless. It was evening by then so I had to wait until the next day.
The next morning, the doctor said that there was still hope, and it was possible that everything was ok, so I should come in for an internal ultrasound, external ultrasound, and blood work to check HCG levels. They had an opening for me that same day, thankfully, so I waited a few hours and went in. I was dreading this appointment so much. It felt like I was about to go through all this anxiety-inducing medical stuff, just for them to tell me what I already knew. But if there was 1% hope the baby was ok, I would do anything to find out it was true.
I was sobbing on the exam bed while they did the ultrasound. It was probably one of the hardest parts for me because I just felt like I was so close to hearing the truth that our baby did not make it, and I didn’t know if I could handle that.
Then we waited for the doctor to discuss the ultrasound results with us. She said it was “most likely a miscarriage” but that my cervix was still closed, which meant there was still a chance it was just unusual bleeding in a healthy pregnancy. We would need to do the blood work today (Friday), and on Monday to see if the HCG was rising or falling, and I would find out on Tuesday. Can you say longest. weekend. ever?
I decided the easiest way to survive the weekend would be to hope that the baby was ok, because I hated the thought of ignoring the baby or assuming it was gone, if it really was still in there thriving, and it just felt like it would be easier to function with hope, rather than waiting for the worst. I didn’t feel any of the pregnancy symptoms anymore by this day, which I knew was not the sign I wanted, but I just didn’t know how else to get through the waiting, so I started talking to the baby again and trying to picture it in there.
We went to a birthday party that evening, which ended up being kind of a nice distraction. That night I got the results of the first blood test. It gives you a range of what your HCG levels should be depending on how far along you are. Then the idea is you compare to the levels a few days later, and if the numbers continue to rise, then it’s likely the baby is still ok. If they are dropping, you have confirmation that a miscarriage is in progress. My numbers for the gestational age should have been at least a couple thousand, or around 10,000. My level was at singular 9. Not 9,000… just 9.
At that point, I knew the baby was gone. Technically I needed to wait over the weekend for confirmation, but the level was so low already that I decided it was pretty much time to grieve.
The Grieving
I knew from therapy and past psychology classes that honest grieving is the best way to prevent PTSD. Trauma is created when you experience something that you can’t process in the moment. Your brain doesn’t know where to put it, so it’s not organized well as a memory in the past, and instead continues to come up as a constant threat. I knew that I had just experienced something I could not process well. I didn’t have words to describe what had happened or what I was feeling or how I would move on, which was a sign to me that I needed to do some intentional things to make sure I would be ok.
The only feeling I could somewhat describe was that my uterus felt empty. Like I had had this tiny perfect little friend that was constantly safe inside me, and suddenly, in a moment, it left me, it was outside me, and I flushed it down the toilet. It was a horrible feeling. I don’t know if I felt guilty or abandoned, but I know I felt very alone. Pregnancy felt like the opposite of loneliness, and miscarriage felt like a stark contrast. Pregnancy was this beautiful experience of miraculous life, and miscarriage felt like there was death inside me. It felt very shocking and wrong.
At first, I hid all the pictures and videos of our pregnancy announcements and everything that reminded me of the baby off my phone. I felt like they would be too painful to stumble across by accident in the future. But I quickly realized that was hurting me more than helping, because, to my surprise, one of my biggest sources of anxiety was that the baby would think I was replacing it or forgetting it or abandoning it when we tried again.
I had heard of people feeling that way with the loss of a loved one, but this was my first experience feeling almost this illogical(?) loyalty to someone who didn’t even have the capacity yet to feel any of that, in all honesty. I was so surprised by how important it felt it to me to make sure the baby knew I loved it and would always remember it.
I decided I needed to do all the cheesy grieving rituals I had heard about to reassure my body, and what felt like reassuring my actual baby, that I would never forget how much I loved it and missed it, and that no future sibling would ever replace it. I wanted to feel close to the baby again, and I knew I would need to let myself try to put to words what I felt so that I could process it well and avoid turning it into full on trauma.
Thus began my grieving rituals:
We had been calling the baby “Poppyseed” because that was the size my app said that it was at first. So, I baked Lemon Poppyseed muffins and shared them with friends while talking about our little poppyseed.
I bought this necklace with a tiny diamond, the size of a Poppyseed, that will always remind me of her. (I felt like it was a girl).
I listened to the song Emotion Sickness by Said The Sky over and over again — the lyrics at the first verse and the message of the song overall seemed so perfect for waiting to find out if I was pregnant, when I found out, and after we knew she was gone, so it had become sort of my pregnancy song. It’s about a romantic relationship and not everything applies, but the overall theme is basically “I don’t care if I lose you and you break my heart, loving you will be worth it for as long as I can,” and the lyrics start off talking about nausea, butterflies, paranoia, symptoms that you love and hate, and life changing forever. This song will always remind me of Poppyseed.
I did a puzzle, which is something I love to do to relax, but it also felt kind of therapeutic and symbolic to put something broken back together.
We happened to go to a wedding that weekend, which had an amazing photobooth. I’m actually really glad we did this because the photos felt sort of perfect to memorialize this time and I know they will be so special to us forever.
I unhid the pictures of the positive tests, announcements and happy moments and looked through them many times and let myself feel how painful it was (which also reminded me how amazing it was).
I took several days off from work, which I am lucky to be able to do since I work for myself, and I tried to explain what I felt (usually to Nathan) whenever an emotion came up, so that my brain could fully process it into words.
Nathan was the absolute best support during this time — he listened to me, made food for me, did puzzles with me, called friends, led difficult conversations when we told people the bad news so I could zone out, etc.
In the weeks following, I somewhat quickly reached a point that I could function again and think about other things besides only the baby, but I did feel some new anxiety that I knew had to be related, even though it was coming up in other areas. I tried to really address that emotion whenever it came up. Usually it had to do with feeling a loss of control, loss of a vision/understanding of my plan in life and my identity, separation anxiety or fearing for the safety of my other loved ones, and sometimes just frustration at the whole thing.
Since then it has been a couple of months and grief still comes up here and there in waves, especially when I’m feeling jealous of other couples who are pregnant. I know this is a common emotion and I’m grateful we have the chance to try again at all.
I have, however, recovered to the point that I am excited to think about future children again, know I could make it through this experience again if it does come up a second time, and am able to feel joyful and find meaning again. And many others before me have done the same.
A Few Final Thoughts / things that helped
One thing that was difficult was how graphic and physical the experience was. I know if I had been further along it would have been even more this way. I only mention this to validate anyone else who is surprised by how difficult it is. The shock of the blood and so much fleshy tissue is really horrifying to watch when you know your baby is somewhere within it all. The cramping was painful. I think it helped me to acknowledge how hard that was. And it may be helpful to remember if you know someone who is going through this, and you want to support them. Your body truly needs time to recover, and you also can’t just “try again” immediately afterward. I bled for one week, but many women bleed for longer, even months, afterward. We also needed to wait for one more full cycle to pass before trying again “to make sure all the tissue is flushed out.” This physical side of things was very difficult to process, and my experience was probably about as mild as miscarriages get. Again, I don’t say this to freak anyone out, but to explain to those who want to support but might not understand.
Something that I kept saying to myself that helped me was “This is extremely painful but I know I can survive it.” and “Many, many women before me have survived this pain.” I think those two phrases helped keep me from going into overwhelm with the anxiety. It’s also what gave me peace in pregnancy before the loss when I worried about possible miscarriage, just because I knew it was common.
Many people try to comfort by thinking that if you imagine your future babies, it will feel better. For me, that almost made it worse. I didn’t understand before the pregnancy how bonded I would feel to that specific baby. It felt like, even though I knew we could get through the disappointment of the timing not being what we hoped, and the up and down of lifestyle expectations etc, no future baby could replace this baby. What actually felt easier and better to me was to process it as “My first baby has died. When I’m ready, we will try to become pregnant with the baby’s siblings.”
I tried to let myself continue to dream about the picture of us as parents. Even though it felt like that dream had been taken away, I tried to remind myself that it was still very possible to happen. At first it was so hard to see other pregnant women, baby announcements etc because it felt like something I didn’t have. But I tried to remember that many of the women making these announcements had also experienced loss first. I tried to see those things as signs of hope, even though it was hard.
I know reading stories of loss is not always super encouraging, and I hope it doesn’t make anyone more afraid. I hope if you’re reading this and you’re afraid to be pregnant, afraid of loss, or you’re currently grieving your own loss, maybe it can at least be an encouragement to you that you’re not alone, and we will get through it. As my therapist said, as long as you have a child, whether they are 3 weeks in the womb, 12 weeks, newborn, 5 years old, 18 years old, 30 years old, or parents themselves, you will always be concerned for their safety and happiness. When you love something deeply, the thought of loss is painful. The illusion of control and peace at an older age than whatever they are now is tempting, but the reality is that all we can do is be present in this moment, to feel whatever we feel in this moment, to love whoever is with us, to grieve whoever we have lost, and to try as much as we can to be grateful.
Sending you love if you need it today <3