In Bloom Doula Services

I have shared many joyful experiences since being on social media and have had my friends celebrate them all with me graduations, engagement to marriage, buying a home, the births of my son’s, career changes to becoming a doula. Accomplishments and blessings seem to have filled the majority of 2019, and this decade. Although, not without some trials, challenges, and tragic moments, but I have never shared much of the darker experiences on social media until now. I knew I had to share about my early miscarriage for many reasons, but the main reason is that I was very lonely in my grief. My closest friends can’t relate no matter how caring and supportive they are. It’s all I’ve wanted to talk about. It’s all I’ve thought about. I wanted to reach out and connect to other women who have experienced a loss as well. I also wanted to honor the soul that touched our lives ever so briefly, but made a huge impact. I don’t know who they would have become, but I will forever live with that longing for them, the discontentment in the unknown and the what ifs. I will always be missing a part of me and my family now, and I just felt called to share those feeling here. 

The night I knew I had miscarried I sat down and wrote the following story of my experience; from the day I discovered I was pregnant up to the end of the physical signs of the loss. I know some people don’t agree with sharing things like stories of miscarriage. Since it happened, I have already seen comments on Facebook like, “I had three miscarriages, but back in my day we didn’t tell the whole world about it.” I think there are many problematic issues with that train of thought. Writing is the best way for me to purge my thoughts and has always been very cathartic for me, whether I share it or not. However, there are several pieces to the story I am choosing not to share as they are just so personal. I’d like to keep those parts of the story just for me.

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On Friday November 1st, I woke up before 6 am. I had planned to take a pregnancy test, but wanted to wait until my husband, Nathan, left for work, so I could surprise him with a positive when he got home. We had my oldest son’s first birthday, the Astro’s were in the World Series, Halloween, and birthday party planning/ prep made our week quite eventful and busy in the best way. I figured it would be perfect to find out the best news, that I was pregnant with baby #3 then as well. 

Too bad I couldn’t hold my pee any longer, so I took the test and immediately saw two lines. I sat there watching it get darker and darker until I saw a bright bold positive and rushed out to show Nathan. A positive pregnancy test is always a shock. Even one we tried so hard for. We had been trying for about 7 months, tracking ovulation symptoms, logging in my app. I wasn’t exactly surprised, but it felt surreal none the less that it was actually happening, and by July I’d have three babies! I couldn’t believe it. I went through the next few days casually telling my friends and family that I saw in person the news we had learned. Watching their faces light up. I had never told them in person before with my first two pregnancies, always the day of my pregnancy test over the phone or text because I just couldn’t wait to tell them.

I felt a lot of excitement, and honestly a lot of fear. I worried about how I would handle three babies. We thought over our car situation, and I even turned down a doula job because I knew I wouldn’t be available in July. I thought of more names, and was hoping the baby would be born on the 4th of July. I excitedly planned how I would announce this pregnancy by adding a stocking to our mantle, or a bump shot with the boys in matching Christmas pjs; because I would be twelve weeks the week of Christmas, and I knew I would be showing since I showed with Waylon so early. I even picked out the pajamas and had them in my Target cart ready to order, waiting on payday. 

One thing I noticed, and thought was strange was I didn’t feel pregnant. I noticed my sensitivity to smell was stronger and breastfeeding Waylon was very uncomfortable, but I usually felt an all consuming exhaustion. A hit upside the head fatigue that I’ve only ever experienced while being pregnant. I can’t get off the couch tired. The take a three hour nap and wake up confused as to what day it is and where you are tired. But this time I had none of that. In fact I had extra energy. I did things like power clean dishes, and deep cleaned my entire house after the busy week we had. I actually felt energetic, which is nothing like my previous first trimesters. But I felt confident in my pregnancy because my pregnancy test had such dark lines. I even talked to my sister-in-law about the lines being so dark being a good sign. Miscarriage is always a fear in the back of your mind in the first trimester, but I was’t worried, and thought I had no reason to be. I had two healthy pregnancies under my belt. I figured the symptoms would kick in within a few days and took advantage of the extra energy while I had it. 

On Tuesday, I called to schedule my first prenatal appointment. I excitedly told her this was my third pregnancy and that I was probably about 5 weeks along based on my cycle and ovulation symptoms. I decided to go to a new midwife at a birth center and was excited to see it all and make this birth I have been envisioning a reality. A water birth, out of the hospital. I had been scoping this birth center out for months knowing it was where I’d want to go.

But that evening I went to the bathroom and saw some pink and brown spotting. I, of course, consulted Dr. Google, which actually put me at ease this time. According to many websites spotting in early pregnancy is very normal and no cause for alarm. The spotting continued throughout the evening and I hoped and prayed it would be gone when I woke up in the morning. 

It wasn’t.

Wednesday morning I woke up to red blood and would see it in the toilet and it began to fill a pad. My heart sank. I knew I couldn’t talk myself into thinking this was probably normal. I knew it was bad. I waited around until 9 am to call the midwife at the birth center and then burst into tears on the phone when she answered. I told her, “I called yesterday to schedule a prenatal appointment, but I started bleeding and I am not sure I need to come in anymore.” She tried to comfort me, and I was left with the smallest sliver of hope that maybe everything could still be ok, and tomorrow on the ultrasound I’d see a little yolk sack. I had light cramps and just a feeling of all consuming dread. I knew what was happening.

I had surges of fear throughout the day where I’d break down in tears and then try and talk myself out of it saying it could be normal and it could be ok. But that night I started to pass clots and tissue. Blood poured out like a period, and I just knew the baby was gone. 

I woke up Thursday morning and the first thing I thought of was the pregnancy and then the sinking feeling that yesterday had happened. For a second I hoped it was a bad dream I would wake up from, but then realized I was awake and it wasn’t. First thing in the morning I went to my “prenatal appointment” and instead of confirming my pregnancy I had an ultrasound confirming an empty uterus, and confirmation of what I already knew, but didn’t want to be true. I got a blood test done and left just feeling very very sad.

So, I sit here now at 11 pm eating frozen pizza and trying to process this rollercoaster of a week in the best way I know how: by writing. I don’t want to be one of those people, but I never thought this would happen to me. I had two perfect pregnancies with no trouble conceiving, no complications. I guess I thought I was a gifted baby maker and I felt blind sided that this would happen. There are many complicated emotions.

The whip lash of it being such a short-lived experience. I just found out I’m pregnant and was in such joy, and now I found out it is gone. It makes me feel foolish for celebrating in the first place. I second guess if I just made something out of nothing. I knew this wasn’t a false positive, or a later period, but when it is so early I almost feel unjustified in feeling anything at all about it. The social worker, compassionate, loving, doula in me shouts ABSOLUTELY NOT, you feel all the feelings- THEY ARE VALID. THIS BABY EXISTED. THIS BABY MATTERED. But I can’t help, but feel guilty about that.

I have already heard the response “well at least it is early.” Part of me is like yes, of course, I can’t fathom anything much more than this, but I also get angry and think, “but it all sucks.” I am left feeling like it doesn’t count, but if it doesn’t count then why am I so sad?

I’ve thought to myself “Alexa, you should have cut out caffeine like you did with Holden and Waylon. You shouldn’t have lifted Holden up with your legs to fly like an airplane, or cleaned the entire house like that. You should have gone to bed earlier instead of staying up until 2am making a birthday cake. You shouldn’t have picked up heavy boxes helping friends move. You should have appreciated the pregnancy more and focused on how happy you were to be blessed with the gift of life instead of how nervous you were about handling three kids three and under.”

Now its Thursday night and I realized the bleeding is tapering off. I thought I would be happy to move on beyond that, to be done bleeding and move forward. But I actually felt another wave of sadness wash over me when I saw no blood. Well now it is actually over, and my baby to be is actually gone. Im not pregnant anymore. Im not miscarrying anymore. Now it is just a memory and will be something only I truly feel. 

I don’t quite know what to think of or what to do. Holden said to me, “Momma, lets make cookies. That would be yummy.” So I took the boys to Target today to look at Christmas decorations and get a holiday Starbucks drink and cookie dough. I got choked up looking at the decorations thinking about the Christmas announcement I had dreamed up in my head and how it won’t happen now. I realized in line for Starbucks that it doesn’t matter it I drink caffeine in my coffee now, and I realized I will be able to go skiing on the ski trip in December now. But I am not sure I will be able to enjoy myself. I think I’d much rather be sitting in the cabin wishing I didn’t have to miss out again, but perfectly content that I was because I’d rather have the baby.

I run through the Chickfila drive through, and the check out line in Target. I am greeting with a “Hi, how are you doing today?” I try to smile and say “I’m fine, how are you?” I wonder what the teenage boy taking my order would do if I said, “I’m miserable. I’m bleeding my would be third baby away right now and just wanted to get my kids chicken nuggets for lunch because I haven’t had time to go to the grocery store and we have literally nothing at our house. But How are you?” Instead, we joke about how my name is Alexa, like the Alexa and how thats so funny, right?

I’ve been listening to songs about miscarriage (theres not many), searching Instagram and Pinterest about miscarriage, watching Youtube videos about other people’s experience with early miscarriage. Trying to find any movie or documentary about miscarriage I can find (theres not many of those either.)

A lot of people say they feel alone, but I don’t. I know countless “youtubers,” celebrities, and even other Facebook friends and family members who have experienced a miscarriage. I know they would offer me support and love. I know that they would understand and feel for my loss. I don’t feel alone- I feel lonely. This pregnancy wasn’t tangible to anyone but me. It wasn’t quite real to anyone but me and the handful of people who knew. And I know they can’t quite understand because I have been that person. The person to learn of someone else’s loss and feel so sorry and sad for them, but it is different when it is you. When you see the blood all alone in a bathroom, clean yourself up, choke back tears, and go back outside and push your 18 month old in a swing while he giggles and blows kisses at you. What else can you do? And your three year old asks “Momma, you sad in your eyes?” And suggests “we go see doctor?” when you tell him you’re worried about the baby in your tummy. What do you say to them?

I wish I could end this on a positive note of hope, but I feel wrong thinking about a future baby right after I lost this one. I feel like that soul deserves its own time and space. Rushing to a new baby feels like leaving this one behind to me and I don’t want to do that.

Or maybe I should try again right away to put an end to the anticipation and wonder. Can I get pregnant again? Will I get to have another baby? Sometimes the best idea seems like to jump into it again and find out instead of waiting around in fear.

I will always look at my family and know there is someone missing. Was it a boy or a girl? Would they look like their brothers? Dark brown eyes and curly hair like Holden? Or a big blue eyed, tow head like Waylon? What would their personality be like? I don’t know who they are, but they are so wanted. They are so loved. They are so missed. There will always be a space and wonder that can’t be filled or known, which makes me feel incomplete.

Everyone who I have told asks me “how are you? How do you feel?” I can only think of one answer. I just feel sad. Very sad. A sadness I haven’t ever experienced before. A sadness I will try to distract myself from with Friends reruns and leftover Halloween candy at midnight utill I fall asleep.

On Saturday, I took my second blood test and did some Christmas window shopping. I made some purchases I shouldn’t have in my “treat ‘yoself” mindset. On Sunday, we told our pastor at church who prayed with us as I cried. I thought I would be done crying by now, but it keeps creeping up on me. I’ll be distracted by the boys, or busy doing something around the house and the sadness with hit me like a wave and my chest gets tight and tears fill my eyes. I feel like I get sadder with each day.

On Monday, I got the results from my blood test confirming the HCG was declining and was further proof of what I knew to be true. On Tuesday the bleeding was all finally done, and it was officially over. Now its not something that is happening – its just something that happened. Almost a week of known pregnancy and a week of miscarrying and I’m left wondering what to do now, or where to go from here? 

I have had a couple of experiences that seem to almost pause your life, and mark it as a major land mark event. There is life before that experience, and then life after it. This seems to be another one of those moments. Life is about to start back up again, and I am not sure how to navigate it all. I have already seen a handful of pregnancy announcements since I knew I would not be having a baby joining us in July. They sting worse than I thought they would. I mean I have two perfect, healthy son’s. I have more than my fair share of blessings. I feel greedy for wanting more. I feel guilty for feeling bitterness, anger, jealousy of their happiness and healthy pregnancy.

I feel like I am not allowed or don’t quite belong in this group of mom’s mourning losses because I still have two sons. I feel like I am not allowed and don’t belong because I was so early. I can’t escape the thought that it just doesn’t count, despite knowing deep in my soul that it does.

I’m a very sentimental person. I put a lot of weight on the beginnings and endings of things, especially a New Year. I hate to end such a great year and such a great decade on such a sad note. I hate to move on in life and know that little soul won’t be coming with me. I hate to think that it probably will get harder as I approach would be milestones in the pregnancy, or my would be due date in July. I hate to think about how any future pregnancy will be tainted with a very realistic fear that it could slip away and there is nothing I can do about it. 

One thing I can say is that this has been a humbling experience that I know will grow me as a mother, person and a doula. If anything I hope it can make me a more empathetic and understanding person when it comes to loss. How to talk about loss to other women in a way that is sensitive and honors the life of the baby that the world didn’t get to meet.

When I am sad I search frantically for familiar grief to see if someone understands me. The most helpful thing I have found so far is a documentary called Don’t Talk About the Baby. I mostly just had a cathartic cry while listening to other people share their stories, some much more tragic and upsetting than mine. A common theme through them all though is that silence surrounding pregnancy loss can be damaging to our healing process. Sharing our experiences can be helpful to other women since 1 in 4 women will experience a pregnancy loss at some point in her life (probably even more than that.) If you are one of those 1 in 4 and feel the need to share your experience with someone, I would love to listen. Hearing from others who have been where I am now is the only thing I can think of to ease the loneliness. If you feel lonely in your grief, I am here.