Blogging through Pain {Surviving a Miscarriage}

Something Joanne said last week struck a chord with me. “I always thought I could blog through anything…”

And that is so hard. As a blogger, we have to decide what to share, how, and when. And sometimes if. As a reader, no matter how much we share (and sometimes overshare), what you’re reading is still a very small piece of our life as a whole. Some bloggers only blog the very best parts. Some reveal everything, warts and all. I think I fall somewhere in the middle. I try my best to keep it real.

But that being said, I still don’t share everything. Sometimes because it’s too painful at the time. Or it involves someone else and it’s not always my story to share. Or this isn’t the right space at the right time.

So while I don’t blog through everything, I do sometimes blog around something.

Sometimes it’s something I never plan to visit (or revisit) here. Sometimes it takes a little lot of time to get there. To the point that you’re able to share.

Now, over five years later, I’m ready to blog through an experience that we went through.

When I announced Madeline’s birth here 4-1/2 years ago, readers who don’t know me in real life were surprised.

That I was pregnant.

And that I managed to keep the secret for so long.

I did so for a few reasons.

The main reason is that I had miscarried right before I got pregnant with Madeline. Right when I was about to share the news of that exciting pregnancy here.

The bottom fell out.

It is truly one of the hardest things I have ever gone through. Perhaps the hardest. I still continued blogging, around it, talking about perhaps everything else.

I was about three-and-a-half months pregnant, at the doctor for a regular check-up. And the tech couldn’t find the heartbeat.

I was numb. I can’t remember if The Ex was at the appointment with me. I think he was at work. Some of it, I have blocked out. It was someone else reading the results, not my doctor. Just a tech. I didn’t want to believe it. Was sure that she was mistaken. Calls to my OB resulted in another appointment that afternoon, to be sure.

She came in, and the result was the same. No heartbeat.

I felt like the floor had fallen out from beneath me.

Nick had been a ridiculously easy pregnancy. No cause for concern.

And this one had been exactly the same. Until then.

I wasn’t expecting it. No one was.

I had walked into the office that morning, expecting to be in and out in half an hour. And back at my office right after.

I felt like my world had been crushed. Turned upside down. And spit out in a million pieces.

I had been far enough along that we had told friends and family and Nick that we were pregnant.

Nick had gone to school just weeks before, proudly wearing a shirt proudly proclaiming “I’m going to be a big brother!” It was one of his favorite shirts. Something that I had made. And that he beamed with pride while wearing.

Oh how that killed me. I couldn’t tell him. He was far too young, and wouldn’t understand. But to hear his excitement about his coming new baby brother or sister in those days that followed, while all along I knew that wasn’t happening, was sometimes almost too much to bear.

I didn’t tell him in the hopes that I could get pregnant again, quickly enough that he wouldn’t know the difference. Luckily he was young enough (under 5), he didn’t know better. My stepdaughter, however, at 8 years older, thought it was the longest pregnancy ever. I didn’t tell everyone. Mostly because I couldn’t without crying. And because people just don’t know what to say when confronted with that news. Certainly not a topic I’m unfamiliar with. In these cases, particularly for me, a simple “I’m so sorry…” means everything.

My sister was pregnant at the same time. I was to be due in September, and she was due in October. To see her go through the phases of pregnancy, knowing that I should have been in those same stages, was heart-wrenching. I’ll never forget picking her up on our way to Brimfield, MA for a few days of antiquing with our Mom. She had just come from the hospital and had a stream of ultrasound pictures to share. I think I cried for the first two hours of the road trip. Excited for her, of course, especially since it was her first, but crushed for me and what we lost. {I switched doctors after the miscarriage, partially because of how they handled sharing the news, partially because I lost trust in how they handled my pregnancy}

After losing the baby, there was such a deep sense of loss, a lot of unanswered questions, such a sense of despair. I was on auto-pilot for awhile, feeling completely numb, just going through the day-to-day motions, propelled only by Nick and the quick decision that we would try again as soon as we were able to. I never wavered on that. Although the “what if it happens again” was on my mind during Madeline’s entire pregnancy, I couldn’t imagine not having more kids. If nothing else, I was meant to be a mom. Again.

A few months later, I was pregnant again (with Madeline). I rented a doppler so I could hear her heartbeat all.the.time. It was worth every penny of the $25/monthly rate for the little bit of peace it gave me. I felt like I didn’t breathe throughout the entire pregnancy. And I only truly exhaled when she arrived.

After I delivered, all I could say to the OB through the tears was “thank you, thank you, thank you.” Over and over and over again. It was relief, pain, joy, and sadness all rolled into one.

After going through the miscarriage, I was so afraid it would happen again. That I couldn’t really breathe until she was here. That I was afraid to believe it was true. That everything was ok. Or that it would be ok.

To this day, over five years later, I won’t forget. Any of it. I can describe the moments when she was born in finite detail. Remember exactly where I was and how I was positioned when I found out I had miscarried. The numbness I felt on the day I had a D&C, having to relive the loss and sadness all over again.

But on this day, and every day since, I am constantly reminded to never take anything for granted. Not sure that I ever did, especially where my kids are concerned. But I got pregnant very easily. All three times. And, relatively speaking, had easy pregnancies. So I never thought of the alternative. All the what ifs. It just hadn’t entered the realm of possibility. Because it didn’t have to. Until the miscarriage.

And when you have something so precious. So powerful. So adored. Taken away from you. Your life is forever changed.

Madeline was absolutely positively meant to be in our family. She brings so much joy and light to our life, I am forever grateful. Although I still mourn for what we lost, I am grateful we had the courage to try again. Because I can’t imagine to think what we would have missed if we didn’t.