I have shared my experience with chemical pregnancies on my blog before. But that post was very cut and dry. I never really talked about the emotional loss and mental effect it had on me. Since October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month, it is the perfect time to share.
On July 24, 2018, I got my very first positive pregnancy test. We had only been trying to get pregnant for 2 months. And by trying I mean that we weren’t actively avoiding getting pregnant. I was shocked to see the line that said that there was a life growing inside of me, but happy.
At the time Steven and I lived in Alabama in a small studio apartment that was behind a Target. I walked over there and found cute little botties that I bought. I also bought a digital pregnancy test so Steven and I could take one together.
Once I got back home I prepared a cute little display to surprise Steven when he got home. I ripped out a piece of notebook paper from my health insurance class notebook and wrote “Are we parents? Here’s a test we can take together” and doodled it with hearts and a smiley face. I placed the booties on top of it, my positive pregnancy test, and the new Clearblue digital test around it.
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Then I waited.
Steven walked in the door, confused why the bed was made and I wasn’t doing homework. Because we only lived in that studio apartment for the summer, our only piece of furniture was the Murphy Bed. I was always doing homework on the bed when he got home so it was usually unmade. He saw my display, and joy overcame him. He was so excited.
All Steven ever wanted was to be a dad. He wanted to have a child to love, play with, and teach. One of the things that attracted me to him the most was how much he wanted to be a dad. It reminded me of my own dad and I wanted my kids to have a good dad as I had.
I took the new digital test and got the word “pregnant” on it. Steven was overjoyed. I was scared but happy.
The rest of the week I didn’t feel any different. It was odd to think that I had another life inside of me though. The only thing that changed was that I wanted eggs all the time. Scrambled, fried, sunny-side up–I wanted it for every meal.
A week after my positive test, I woke up in a pool of my own blood.
I shook Steven awake, panicking before I raced to the bathroom. He followed me, still rubbing his eyes asking what was wrong.
My eyes immediately filled up with tears and I lost any control I had over my emotions of loss. I started cramping, severely, and a lot. Clotted blood was just pouring out of me. Up to that point, this was the most pain I have ever been in.
I didn’t really know what was happening because it was my first go around, but I knew it wasn’t good. Steven and I hadn’t told anyone else we were pregnant, but we didn’t know what to do. I called my parents, still on the toilet with Steven holding my hand, and explained what happened. They encouraged me to go see a doctor.
Long story short, (you can read about it in my previous post on chemical pregnancy here) it was concluded that I had a chemical pregnancy.
Some people don’t think chemical pregnancies are babies.
But for me, and what I believe, it was a baby. And I suffered a loss. I imagined my life with the baby. I imagined and planned how I would handle my last semester of college in my second trimester and how I would walk at graduation 5 months pregnant.
It was hard. The night we got home from the hospital Steven and I just held each other and cried. Honestly, he cried the most. And I cried because he was sad. I think at that point I just cut myself off from any feeling. Didn’t want to feel those emotions of loss. I wasn’t ready to accept that I really lost a baby.
The second loss I experienced was in August.
I took a test after we got back from a day trip to Atlanta. This time, I waited longer to take a test. Another positive. A week later, blood.
This time, it hurt even more. I couldn’t understand why it was happening to me. I wanted a baby. My heart sunk to my stomach and clouds of sadness surrounded me. I knew how much Steven wanted to be a dad and I wanted to give him that opportunity. I thought I was doing something wrong. Was I eating too much? Too little? Was the eating issues I had as a teenager causing me to not be able to carry a child? Did I screw up my reproductive system? Was I working out too hard? Did I just not want it enough?
I felt like my body was betraying me. I wasn’t able to do the one thing biologically I was supposed to do. But I couldn’t for whatever reason. In order to have some control of an uncountable situation I ordered some ovulation tests and more pregnancy tests on Amazon so I can better track my cycle.
I took the tests every single day. Kept track of the days we had sex. I knew when I ovulated.
September rolled around and we drove back to Idaho from Alabama and moved into our last apartment as college students together. I noticed that I missed my period and hesitatingly took a test. Part of me didn’t want to know if I was actually pregnant. I just didn’t want to have to go through the pain again of another baby loss. I thought if I didn’t actually know, that if I were to start bleeding again it wouldn’t hurt as much. But I took one anyway.
Positive.
We attended church a week or 2 after that positive. I was actually feeling nauseous this time around so I was pretty confident that I was going to stay pregnant. We went through the service and right in the middle of Sunday School, I felt a gush. I left the room to go to the bathroom. I kept telling myself that it was probably just some discharge and I was fine. But the moment I went to check, I just knew. I just knew what was happening. And the blood in my underwear confirmed it.
We left the church house back to our apartment. We were silent the drive home. I dragged myself up the stairs of our apartment complex and crawled into our bed. My body quivered in pain, from both physical and emotional loss. Steven lay next to me and tried to comfort me through his tears.
A week or so later, I came up with a plan. That was it. No more trying to get pregnant. I didn’t want to feel any pain anymore. I don’t want a baby anymore. Not ever.
I informed Steven of my plan. He wasn’t on board.
We had a very, very long discussion. Told me we could stop actively trying and take a break. He understood the pain I was dealing with because he dealing with it too.
Steven and I are religious. I experienced a very personal experience that I can only describe as an act of God. I was comforted and assured that there was a baby out there, just waiting for me to be ready for it. It gave me the boost of confidence that I needed, although I was still not completely on board the baby train.
October rolled around. My period was late. I decided to wait even longer because I didn’t want to have to see the positive just to bleed later. But then, I never bled. Hesitantly, I took a test.
Positive.
I took another one the next day. And the next day. Every single day up until I went in for an ultrasound. I was so anxious that it was going to happen again. I just wanted to be sure that this one would stick and wouldn’t end up as a loss.
Seeing the little peanut on the ultrasound was unbelievable. I couldn’t believe that something was actually growing inside of me! As most of you may know, my pregnancy was much less than picture-perfect.
It really sucked. I was really angry and hurt. I went through so much loss. One baby finally stuck around, only to have that pregnancy be cut short because my body couldn’t handle it anymore. I was a failure because of this loss.
There wasn’t anything anyone could tell me otherwise. I failed.
Looking at her through a plastic box with wires and tubes made me feel empty. So empty. Her being in that box just proved to me that my body wasn’t up to the task of completing a full pregnancy.
It took me a while, and honestly, I am still working on it, to realize that I am not a failure. My self worth is not dependent on a line on a stick. My self worth isn’t dependent on carrying a baby for 40 weeks and giving birth vaginally. I am no less of a woman or a mother for the loss of pregnancies, giving birth early, and going through major surgery. In fact, it has made me a strong woman who went through something that saved both my and my baby’s life.
Part of me felt that grieving those losses wasn’t valid. It wasn’t like I ever saw an ultrasound of those pregnancies. It wasn’t like I gave birth to them and held them until they passed. Those women experienced real loss, in my eyes. Mine wasn’t real. But I was grieving. I was hurting.
It wasn’t until I let myself grieve those losses, that I really started to heal. Once I validated my feelings and my life experience I was able to start taking steps forward to healing. Those booties that I bought now sit on top of my daughter’s nightstand. I honor the loss of those babies with those booties. I like to think that when I die, I’ll be able to meet them. And that brings me a lot of comforts.
A loss is a loss. Doesn’t matter how early or late. You are allowed to grieve the baby you never got to hold.
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