Everyone says it: “as soon as you start adoption, you’ll get pregnant!”
Little did I know just how much truth was to that statement for me. When I found out I was pregnant, I didn’t want to believe it. I felt so disconnected, so confused, so unsure that I’d get to bring that baby home. I had already poured hours into adoption, between talking to agencies, working on our profile book, and reading about grants.
Then it happened.
Two pink lines.
Then two more pink lines the next day. The test line was light, but the hCG has to start somewhere, right? “A line is a line”, thats what they always say. Two means positive!
This happened during a time that we couldn’t share with anyone because we didn’t want to give out false hope (especially to our daughter), and because a sweet family member was due with her first baby and she greatly deserved all the attention. We were so excited and waiting on edge for her birth announcement so this bomb could not come at a worse time. So we discussed it and decided IF we got through the first trimester, we’d share the good news. The last thing we wanted to do was steal anyone’s thunder.
We didn’t make it very far.
The day of the 3rd positive test was the last day I was pregnant. It was a Friday. I took the test early in the morning, saw that it was positive and darker than it was the day before, and I crawled into bed with my husband and wept. I remember saying, “this feels like deja vu, I was pregnant this same exact time last time and we lost it. The due date is the same. It just feels like the same thing is going to happen all over again.” I was only slightly hopeful because at the time, I had been on thyroid medicine for four months, so I was thinking, “maybe the medicine will help. Hypothyroid can cause miscarriage so maybe I’m in the clear this time.”
Just in case, I went to the pharmacy to buy prenatal vitamins and I bought the digital pregnancy tests so I could see the words “pregnant”. I walked in the door at home and remember telling my husband, “I feel fine, so that’s good, no bleeding, I feel normal…” and then I started to bleed not five minutes later. It was over before it began.
I felt completely numb and pretended like everything was fine for everyone else’s sake. I worked. I spent time with family. I went out to dinner. I went to church. I pretended like everything was “super awesome”. I socialized and drained every last ounce of my energy pretending. Zoey doesn’t even know about this one, nor will she until she’s much older. So in an effort to protect her and to avoid the conversations, we continued to play pretend.
We continued to keep the secret because what could we possibly say to people? “So, we were starting to pursue adoption, and then we miraculously conceived again exactly two years after our last pregnancy without fertility treatment, and we had basically the same due date… and guess what, we miscarried again.” I haven’t been ready to have that conversation with people.
Between the miscarriage and now, we’ve slowly started to share with a few people here and there, but it felt so uncomfortable. The week the miscarriage carried out, we kept it a secret. It felt so shameful and it really shouldn’t have. This must be what it feels like when women who aren’t as public as I am go through a miscarriage. It’s so isolating.
Also, apparently June is the most dangerous time for me to conceive because it’s 0-2 when it comes to pregnancies. Noted.
I’m not even sure what else to say. I just felt the need to get this out there because I know so many women go through miscarriages alone. Some are told “it was so early” by people who mean well but don’t realize how hurtful it is. It doesn’t matter how early it is, a life wanted is a life wanted.
These women have to go to work, to school, to church, to family functions, to gatherings with friends, to run errands while pretending they’re fine because they don’t know what to say. They go through this alone and it’s terrible. You truly never know what someone is going through, ya’ll. You just don’t.
And while this miscarriage didn’t devastate me to my core as much as the last one, it still hurt. It hurt a lot. It was still a life that we so badly wanted to welcome into our home and it was taken away so fast. It was a whirlwind of two days filled with so much hope and fear. It was emotionally draining for me.
Part of me wishes I never knew I was pregnant, I’m not going to lie. It would have been easier to not know.
I still feel numb. I feel like a cruel joke was played on me. I feel really hurt. Betrayed by my body. Angry at how easy it is for people to conceive and toss away their babies. Angry that I pretended to be okay and didn’t take time to myself. Angry that this happened again when I was finally okay with my journey. Adoption is something we still feel called to and we’re moving full steam ahead, but our loss still hurts. No matter what your plans were or are, it hurts.
So the secret is out. We had another miscarriage. While the world moved forward and buzzed about, ours stood still while we mourned yet another loss and pretended to be okay. It wasn’t until the dark hours in the evening when we were in bed that we would mourn. Today, I feel fine. The first week of March, I won’t feel fine. It will undoubtedly be difficult because not one, but two birthdays are missed now.
But for now, I’m fine. It’s over. Another baby is gone. And now that nearly a month has gone by, I’m starting to feel better. Although better is a relative term. I know God has a plan in all of this and my story is written to remind other women that they aren’t alone. So just know that. If you’re one of these women suffering through a miscarriage silently, you are not alone. And if you need someone to talk to confidentially, just message me any time.