NB: Today I’m going to be talking about my past pregnancy loss. I am also going to be talking about my subsequent pregnancy and living child. So if either of those are topics that you’d rather not hear about, please enjoy this picture of my cat and come back next week for more tea and frivolity.
For those who don’t know, October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. It also happens to be the month in which I personally became aware of the reality of pregnancy loss. I shared my original feelings in a post here.
Two years ago today, I went for what I thought would be my first look at our new baby. And then I learned how it feels when things go not at all the way you’d expected or hoped. It wasn’t a dramatic moment, but I will never forget sitting on that table, looking at the ultrasound monitor with my husband and the technician and hearing her say, “It’s a little… small.” She quickly walked it back and said we would see the doctor to discuss it. I’d spent enough time on pregnancy subreddits to know what my eight-week ultrasound should have looked like, so I sat for the half an hour that it took for the doctor to be ready and tried not to cry. I failed.
It felt like hours that we spent in the room with the doctor as she explained why she thought I’d had what is called a missed miscarriage, comforted us, and talked us through what came next. It turned into an almost-month-long process of trying different methods to pass the pregnancy, but that first moment of connection was, oddly enough, what cemented for me that I wanted to stay with this doctor’s office when I eventually got pregnant again.
That was the day I joined a club of really awesome people who have a really crappy thing in common.
I am not a naturally sunny or optimistic person. But I consider my miscarriage to have the silver lining of helping me not only realize how supportive my doctors were, but also to help me connect on a different level with so many people I already knew. Even at the lowest point in those first months, I had people I could turn to, and I was so so thankful. If you reached out to me or if I talked to you about my loss in those months, know that I appreciated it more than I ever expressed, even though I unevenly disappeared a lot back then. It hasn’t taken much to see the bright side of the situation.
Last year, my first pregnancy’s due date passed without remark because I was already pregnant and simply too ill with first trimester nausea to notice what day it was. A year ago, I was in my third trimester and on the edge of my seat, simultaneously excited and scared. The problem about pregnancy loss is that it’s not just about the pregnancy you lost. It is a stark reminder that, despite the reassuring statistics, you can lose your baby at any time. It’s a tough thing to deal with mentally when you just want to be excited, buy some cute baby clothes, and pee for the twentieth time in half a day. In a way, I was holding my breath the entire time I was pregnant with Elliot.
I felt myself release that breath the moment I heard Elliot cry in the operating room and the doctor pulled down the sheet for a moment to introduce me to my baby.
I would love to say that it all got better once my baby was born, but I’ve shared experiences on my pregnancy blog that would make you know that’s a lie. I will say that I have enjoyed every minute of being with this remarkable little being who made it through, even when I absolutely hated it. But it doesn’t erase my loss. And, somehow, seeing Elliot grow up has made me think more about the baby he wasn’t.
When Dan and I were talking about having babies, we would often talk about names. We had a lot of girls’ names we liked, and couldn’t agree on a boy’s name. I not-so-secretly hoped I had a girl. When I got pregnant for the first time, I wouldn’t have admitted it out loud, but I was sure I was going to have that little girl, and I knew what I wanted to name her.
I am not a religious person, but that right there is dramatic irony. And when I got pregnant again and we discussed names, I knew that, even if this baby were a girl, I just didn’t want to use that name again. It wasn’t that it was cursed or bad luck or anything. It just… wasn’t the right name again. I also was much less sure that I was going to have a girl (although, I’m not one of those “I always knew” mothers — we had two names picked out, one for a boy and one for a girl).
So today, I’ll be thinking of Seraphina-who-wasn’t, and I’ll give Elliot-who-is a big hug and know that now it’s my turn to welcome new members into that really crappy club full of awesome people and let them know that it doesn’t go away, but it does go forward.