I was shocked when the pregnancy test stopped blinking and confirmed in tiny black letters what I was certain of otherwise: I was pregnant. Despite my shock and disbelief, I didn’t need to take multiple tests like pregnancies past. I finally submitted to the fact that the EPT is 99% accurate and no amount of shaking that purple stick would change our fate.
“That ain’t no etch-a-sketch.”
My husband and I weren’t trying to conceive but we certainly weren’t taking any measures to prevent it either. We’d been having casual conversations about whether or not we wanted more children. The answer changed depending on the moment so we never really reached a conclusion.
Sharing the news that day felt different. We probably should have waited until the shock wore off because it wasn’t expressed with the same amount of exuberance as pregnancies past.
But shock quickly turned to excitement and we were planning parties and picking out names. I had three separate dreams that we were having a boy and no one could convince me otherwise.
I imagined snuggling a newborn again and how the girls would hold the baby’s itty bitty fingers. And our dance parties would grow by one.
But then, one Saturday, the bleeding began. And it was more than just spotting. My experience has always been: bleeding = miscarriage. Yet that isn’t always the case. A few of my friends have experienced bleeding with successful pregnancies.
A glimmer of hope.
I had to wait two days to see my OB. They ran bloodwork and did a simple ultrasound but the pregnancy was too early to see anything on their primitive machine. I’d have to wait two more days to see if my numbers would double.
And the waiting was dreadful. Sadness and anger gave way to hope. And hope teetered on the brink of dispair. But those numbers never increased. Instead, they confirmed what I was dreading all along: miscarriage. Although we want to convince ourselves otherwise, I think a mama just knows.
It’s amazing how attached one can get in just two weeks time. And grieving doesn’t just stop when everything is all said and done. It’s a process.
I certainly learned a great lesson through all of this: first off, how grateful I am for my friends and family and their endless love and support.
You guys, I try to lighten the mood when someone shares a painful experience. I look for the silver lining. So many of us do. It’s hard to sit through the discomfort. We want to make our loved ones feel better, to do something – anything – to get them to smile and laugh for awhile. But going through this experience I realized even a simple “I’m sorry” is magic.
Fixing your loved one’s problem is not often what is needed, nor is it necessarily your job or even within your ability to do so. Sharing a listening, caring ear is something most people can do. When we feel heard, cared about, and understood, we also feel loved, accepted, and as if we belong. ~ Psychology Today
And our feelings, our truth, is validated. And that is so comforting. So many of my friends and family sat with me in my pain and said, I’m so sorry. That’s heartbreaking.
Merriam-Webster defines empathy as the feeling that you understand and share another person’s experiences and emotions; the ability to share someone else’s feelings. But the following animated short explains it even better:
My recent miscarriage has taught me how I can better support those who are going through a difficult time; to respond with empathy.
Thanks for all the love and support. Hugs!