My Story of Loss

She would have been born in May. It was too early to know the gender of the baby but I knew it was she. I felt it, deep within my heart. It’s funny what your instincts tell you. I knew that I was pregnant even before I took the test. I peed on the stick and anxiously awaited the two pink lines. As sure as I was that I was pregnant I was equally as confident that this baby wasn’t meant to be. I tried to avoid feeling anything at all. I told no one, except Mr. C. I took the test and then I waited. Patiently.

Then one day, just as I had anticipated, it started. First with light spotting. Though I was expecting it, I was scared nonetheless. Scared and devastated. Though I tried to remain hopeful, I knew in my heart that this baby was slowly leaving my body.

I went to the clinic in my building. The doctor was so cold. So matter of fact. Explained to me that 25% of all pregnancies end in miscarriage. He didn’t look me in the eye. He didn’t ask how I felt. He didn’t ask me much. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say ‘it happens’. That was it. No instructions. No direction on what to do next. No words on what it was going to feel like.

I took a taxi home and waited.

I had a little guy at home. He was 1. He needed me. He was going in for an MRI the very next day. I didn’t have time to be sad. He needed me.

I crawled into bed and I cried. Mr. C. came home with our little man and he knew something wasn’t right with his mummy. He snuggled in close and I breathed in his smell and I was comforted.

Mr. C. laid at the end of our bed and quietly rubbed my feet as I cried myself to sleep.

I awoke the next morning with more pressing issues on my mind. As I hurried about preparing for our day at Sick Kids the pain kicked in. I popped a couple of advil and pushed it to the back of my mind.

When we took Mr. T. in to the MRI and they asked me if I was pregnant, I held my breath, just for a moment, before I answered “no”. I cried while my son was undergoing yet another procedure. I cried while he cried. I was relieved when it was all over. I took him home with me and held him close all day.

It was then that I realized I lived through a sick baby once and I didn’t think I would survive it again.

I knew the medical aspects of a miscarriage and that it occurred because something wasn’t right. My head knew that this is what had to happen but still, my heart hurt.

I felt like I had no right to mourn my loss. Just a year earlier I spent 6 weeks in a NICU, meeting parents who had just lost their babies. I knew women who lost babies when they were much further into their pregnancy. This was nothing compared to their losses. I felt so guilty.

Regardless of how early you are in your pregnancy. It doesn’t matter what percentage of pregnancies end in miscarriage. If it’s your first miscarriage or your fifth; losing a pregnancy is a loss. You have the right to cry. Mourn the loss your baby, the loss of your dreams and the life you thought you were going to have. In time, you will heal and your life will continue down a different path than you had imagined. Sometimes the path you end up on is so much more than you ever could have imagined.

If I had not experienced my first miscarriage, I would never have had Ms. J. and she is the light of our lives. Even during my dark moments, there was always a light at the end of the tunnel. I just had to give my heart time see that light.