Well, here we are again. We find ourselves on the loss column for expanding our family. Now we are 1 for 4, batting .250, and the only place you want to do that is Major League Baseball. Not in pregnancy. I am one in four. I am one in 160. I am 99%. I am 1%. I am 75% and 25%. I have four pregnancies, two deliveries, one living child, one stillbirth and two miscarriages.
Damn. Those numbers look really rough on paper. And trust me… It’s even worse to say them out loud. But this time, I didn’t get my hopes up. I was guarded from the start. I kind of knew it wasn’t going to work out. This pregnancy started the same way as my last miscarriage- spotting/bleeding, baby measuring three weeks behind… it just happened to last 10 weeks instead of 6 weeks. And this time it resulted in a ticket to the OR for a D&C. I was minimally hopeful- but mostly realistic. I was right. It was another miscarriage. And as horrible as this may sound to some, FOR ME PERSONALLY, this pales in comparison to what we went through with our stillborn child. (Side note: those are just my feelings- someone else who has gone through what I went through may feel differently. I’m only comparing my own losses to each other. This is a subjective blog.)
Or, maybe I’m somewhat “grateful” in that if I’m going to lose a baby, it was early enough to keep me from holding another dead child of mine for the first, last and only time. Maybe I’ve become numb to feelings after the last two losses because I am subconsciously protecting myself from the hurt. I don’t know, but not a tear was shed this time around. Only re-opening to the wounds that are there from Ryan.
I never want to feel the hurt I felt when I lost Ryan last year. The pain is indescribable. There are no words that can do it justice. I felt it deep, deep down in the depths of my stomach. I was sick, I was empty. It was sharp and stabbing, as well as dull and aching, all at the same time. It was a feeling of helplessness and sheer panic knowing there was absolutely nothing you, or anyone, could do to make it better. Nothing that will ever make it better. Time softens the pain, but there are days where it is very sharp again. This pain will last forever because the loving and the missing will last forever.
I have now lost three babies/pregnancies in a matter of one year. Am I mad? Yes. Am I sad? Absolutely. Am I bitter AF? Yep. Do I think it’s fair to watch all these women on social media post about their pregnancies, gender reveals and newborns?! No, I don’t. Unfortunately, life isn’t fair. We can’t control these things. We don’t get to decide why one baby lives and the others don’t make it. Or why some women can’t even get pregnant at all. However, we are allowed to feel these “negative” feelings. It’s nothing personal. Of course we are happy for others, AND we are sad for us. There’s room for both emotions. If we don’t let ourselves feel and make space for everything, there is no healing or moving forward.
Pregnancy loss changed me. Giving birth to my stillborn son Ryan changed me. I’ll never be who I was before. I’ll never be blissfully ignorant again. I will never again expect a baby from a pregnancy. That’s just foolish now, as I have learned the harsh reality that a pregnancy does not equal a baby. But, on the flip side, I will also never take life or pregnancy for granted again. I know how to love deeper and appreciate the blessings a little more. My time and attention is devoted to my living child. I thoroughly enjoy every single moment with her- even the tough ones. And, if there’s anything positive that came from all of this, it’s that.
With all that being said, I’m holding on to hope. I’m still looking to the future. Hoping to bring that pregnancy batting average up to .400. Maybe even make it all the way to home plate next time with a living, breathing baby in my arms. I’m seeing a doctor who is finally running tests on me to check for hormonal imbalances, possible thyroid issues, infections, etc. I am resting my hope and future on this. Maybe the testing will even give me answers for Ryan. Who knows.
I don’t write these blogs for sympathy. Trust me, I’ve heard “I’m so sorry for your loss” more times than I can count over the past year. And it’s very much appreciated, but it feels like a broken record. I feel like a broken record, myself. And I don’t share these blogs for attention. I do it because pregnancy loss is so common, yet it’s still so taboo. This world seems to only make space for healthy pregnancy and living babies. And I want any friends, families or strangers struggling to know they are not alone. And for all those who don’t have to know this life- be grateful. Because… this really does suck a whole lot worse than you can imagine.