At 34, I found myself unexpectedly pregnant. It wasn’t part of the plan, and honestly, it left us feeling a bit overwhelmed. But everyone always said that these things couldn’t be planned; it would all work out in the end. So, we visited the doctor, began to adjust to this new reality, and slowly started to feel excitement. Then came the heartbreak of a miscarriage.
I was only six weeks along, which is a common occurrence for many women who may not even realize they were pregnant. They assume they’re simply late, only to have a heavier-than-normal period. But I knew. When that heavy flow started, I understood all too well what was happening.
Fast forward three months, and I was pregnant again. We returned to the doctor, and early blood tests looked promising. However, soon after, I experienced some intense pains and unexpected bleeding. A visit to the ER confirmed it was an ectopic pregnancy — meaning the embryo had implanted in my fallopian tube, where it could not develop properly. The only option was to remove it before it could cause a rupture and serious complications.
Thankfully, it was early enough that I didn’t need to have the tube removed. They administered a drug called Methotrexate, typically used for cancer treatment, to stop the growth of rapidly dividing cells — like embryos. The shot was painful, but I was sent home with the warning to avoid getting pregnant for a few months, as there could be risks of defects.
A year passed, and at 35, we decided to try for a baby again. Month after month of negative tests wore on me, and I began to worry that Methotrexate had ruined my chances. Then, finally, I saw that positive pregnancy test.
But after experiencing miscarriages, each new pregnancy comes with a hefty dose of anxiety. I was apprehensive during those first few doctor visits. When we finally saw a heartbeat, I felt a little more at ease.
Most women wait until after the 12-week ultrasound to announce their pregnancies, as that milestone signifies a lower risk of miscarriage. I had only shared the news with close family and friends. Then, just one day before my 12-week ultrasound, I started bleeding heavily. Another trip to the ER confirmed my worst fears: I was miscarrying again.
This time it was different. The bleeding was intense, and I was in the ER waiting room, feeling an overwhelming sense of dread. As I was taken into triage, the cramps hit me hard. I was dressed in layers, but when I pulled my hand away from my abdomen, it was covered in blood. Panic set in as I realized the room was beginning to resemble a scene from a horror movie.
A nurse arrived, and I could see the fear in my husband’s eyes. But she assured us, “Don’t worry, this is totally normal.” Normal? Are you kidding me? It turns out, she was serious. Statistically, one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage, amounting to about 500,000 in the U.S. alone each year. Despite being aware of these statistics, I had never truly grasped what a miscarriage could look like. Why hadn’t I heard other women share their experiences?
There are various reasons for this silence. Talking about miscarriage can be depressing and clinical, and not everyone feels comfortable sharing such personal stories. During this time, I felt like a failure. As a woman, I believed I was meant to carry and nurture life, but here I was, unable to do so. The emotional toll was overwhelming, compounded by the physical pain of loss.
Yet, after that sorrowful experience, life continues as if nothing has happened, and many people don’t acknowledge the depth of the loss. But the truth is, when you’ve lost a pregnancy, you are indeed a mother who has faced loss.
If you’re currently navigating this painful journey, I want you to know: you will get through this. You are a woman, and we are incredibly resilient. Many of us who have faced similar losses eventually go on to have children. After two miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy, I was blessed to give birth to two beautiful babies at ages 38 and 40.
Talk to your friends about it. We’re not helping each other by keeping these experiences silent. These narratives deserve to be shared; they are common, yet often overlooked, female experiences. If you’re miscarrying at three months, you may bleed significantly, but you’re not dying. We need to communicate and support each other through these difficult moments, don’t you agree?
For more insights and resources on home insemination, check out this article or visit Make a Mom for expert guidance. For those interested in in vitro fertilization, this Wikipedia article is an excellent resource.
In summary, it’s important to share our experiences with miscarriage, as they are more common than many realize. We can support one another through these challenges, fostering a community of understanding and resilience.