My pregnancy reveal to my partner was far from groundbreaking. I simply told him we’d meet at home after work so I could take a test. He stood outside the bathroom door while I nervously fumbled with the packaging, trying to decipher the instructions for peeing on a stick.
Sitting there, I could feel the weight of anticipation. The test was in my trembling hands, and I looked at the door keyhole, catching a glimpse of my partner waiting for news, his expression a mix of hope and anxiety. When I finally looked down, the test confirmed it: I was pregnant.
I opened the door, our eyes locked, and he instantly knew. I didn’t have to say a word. He was so elated, he jumped and bumped his head on the doorframe. We laughed, cried, and embraced, the creaks of our home echoing our joy.
We decided to keep the pregnancy under wraps. I thought it was the norm to wait a while before sharing such news, but I did tell my mom. Aside from her, we kept it quiet.
Then, one day at work, I noticed some brown discharge. It didn’t seem serious, so I went to a potluck, trying to ignore the nagging worry in the back of my mind. Later that night, while attending a Halloween party, I pretended to sip on a drink, all while feeling more spotting. We left the party early.
The next morning, I awoke to severe cramping and passing clots. My partner rushed me to the emergency room, and as I sat in the car, tears streamed down my face while the world whizzed by outside. Once in the ultrasound room, I was hit with a wave of anxiety, reading signs that warned against asking the ultrasound technician for results. More secrecy. With my eyes closed, I hoped fervently that my body would somehow hold the baby.
At the hospital, the staff couldn’t confirm if I was miscarrying due to being early in the pregnancy. They sent me home for bed rest and lab work. For two long days, I lay in bed, clutching onto hope. I cried to my partner and my mom, then cried alone, wishing I could escape into sleep to avoid facing reality. Time dragged on as I waited in silence.
When the time came for lab results, we hoped for rising HCG levels, which would mean my pregnancy was still viable. But when my doctor gently shared the news that my pregnancy had ended, I felt my heart sink.
Returning home, I lay in bed, bleeding and cramping, experiencing the rest of my miscarriage in solitude. Eventually, I felt compelled to share the news with a few close friends. We hadn’t even told them we were expecting and now had to reveal our loss.
Reflecting on that scared version of myself, I wish I had opened up more about my miscarriage. I wish I hadn’t minimized my grief or told myself that others had faced worse losses. I wish I had allowed myself the space to be sad without hiding it. I rushed back to work too soon and forced myself to attend events when I felt anything but ready. I tried so hard to make everyone else comfortable, forgetting to care for myself in the process.
I still think about my loss and the many what-ifs that linger. Keeping my miscarriage a secret didn’t erase my grief. It’s crucial to remember that miscarriage and the accompanying grief don’t need to be kept under wraps. You don’t have to prioritize anyone else’s comfort over your emotional needs, and you certainly don’t have to grieve in silence.
If you’re navigating similar experiences, there are wonderful resources available, like the UCSF Center for pregnancy support and information. And if you’re looking into home insemination options, check out Make a Mom for expert insights. Remember, it’s okay to share your story and seek support. Your feelings are valid.
Summary
The author reflects on their experience with miscarriage and the regret of keeping it a secret. They emphasize the importance of sharing grief and seeking support rather than hiding emotions. Resources for pregnancy support and home insemination are provided for readers seeking additional information.