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About 25% of recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage. That’s a staggering statistic—1 in 4. Yet, I always thought I would be one of the lucky ones. I never imagined it would happen to me, especially during the peak of a global pandemic. But it did. Last May.
Having already welcomed two healthy children into the world through full-term pregnancies, I was familiar with the myriad of symptoms that accompany pregnancy. During both of my previous experiences, I had encountered spotting, and I was even warned by my doctor about losing my first child. This time, however, I sensed something was off as soon as I noticed the spotting. I attributed it to the anxiety of the first trimester coupled with the emotional turmoil of living through a pandemic. Just days before, I had seen my baby moving happily on the ultrasound screen. Yet, I felt compelled to seek reassurance and scheduled another appointment. After all, I had gone through this before; it couldn’t be that serious.
When I arrived for my appointment, I watched the ultrasound technician’s face change as she confirmed my worst fear. There was no heartbeat. The doctor entered and reiterated the news: no heartbeat.
It felt just like a scene from a movie—everything around me faded, and I gasped for air. I had to step outside where my family was waiting in the car due to pandemic restrictions, attempting to mask my devastation in front of my two small children. I was utterly heartbroken.
I went through the motions of the day, caring for my children, all the while hiding my pain. Once they were asleep, I let the tears flow. I never thought I would become part of that 1 in 4 statistic.
Experiencing a miscarriage is isolating, but enduring it during nationwide lockdowns was unbearable. I couldn’t have anyone accompany me for the surgery to remove the fetus, and I couldn’t simply visit my best friend or my grandma to share my grief without fearing I might spread the virus. I felt completely alone, even in a house full of family.
To cope, I focused on being a mother to my five- and two-year-old, cherishing their health and presence in my life. I turned to familiar TV shows for comfort, having watched “Jane the Virgin” multiple times. I wrote on my blog, scrolled through social media, and removed connections that didn’t resonate with my feelings. I managed to keep going, and eventually, we decided to try for another baby. There’s something hopeful about trying again. Fast forward a year and a half, and I am now writing this while my rainbow baby nurses.
Losing a child nearly shattered me, but the joy of my rainbow baby has been the sweetest reward after such a storm.
If you’re looking for more insights, check out this other blog post on home insemination. For those seeking expert information on artificial insemination, Make a Mom offers a comprehensive guide. Additionally, for valuable insights on IVF and fertility preservation, consider visiting Cleveland Clinic’s podcast.
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Summary:
This article reflects on the emotional journey of experiencing a miscarriage during the pandemic, highlighting feelings of isolation and grief while also emphasizing the importance of coping mechanisms and the eventual joy found in welcoming a rainbow baby.