At 34, I found myself unexpectedly pregnant. It wasn’t part of our plan, and, honestly, it threw us for a loop. But as people often say, you can’t really predict these things—it usually works out in the end. So, we visited the doctor, began to embrace the idea, and even started to feel genuinely excited about it. Then came the heartbreak: I had a miscarriage.
It was early—just six weeks along, I believe. That’s the challenge of being so attuned to your body; you notice everything. My OB mentioned that many women experience early miscarriages without ever realizing it—they simply think they’re late, only to be met with a heavy period. But we knew we were expecting, and when that “heavy period” hit, I understood what was happening: I was losing the baby.
Fast forward three months, and I was pregnant again. Back to the doctor we went. Initial blood tests looked good, but then the strange pains and bleeding started. An emergency room visit confirmed my fears: it was an ectopic pregnancy, meaning the embryo had implanted in my fallopian tube and wouldn’t be viable. We had to act quickly to prevent a rupture that could lead to serious complications.
Fortunately, it was early enough that they didn’t have to remove my fallopian tube. Instead, they administered a powerful drug called Methotrexate, meant to stop the growth of rapidly dividing cells—whether they be cancerous or, in this case, embryonic. The injection was painful, but they sent me home with strict warnings: don’t try to conceive for a couple of months, as it could lead to birth defects.
A year passed. I was now 35 and ready to try again. Month after month went by with negative pregnancy tests. I started to worry that Methotrexate had ruined my chances of conceiving. Then, finally, a positive test!
Getting pregnant after loss is nerve-wracking. You’re constantly waiting for bad news. I felt super anxious during my early doctor visits, but when we finally saw a heartbeat, I began to relax—just a little.
A crucial milestone for expectant mothers is the 12-week ultrasound. Once you get past that point, many consider themselves in the clear. I hadn’t shared my news widely, only confiding in family and a few close friends.
But exactly one day before my 12-week ultrasound, I began bleeding heavily. Another trip to the ER confirmed what I feared: I was miscarrying again. This wasn’t like the last time; the bleeding was severe. As I sat in the waiting room, something felt off. Once in triage, I experienced a painful cramp, and when I pulled my hand away, it was covered in blood. I had soaked through three layers of clothing and was sitting in a puddle of blood.
They moved us to a private room. My husband tried to help me change, but his arms became stained with blood, as did the floor. I felt like I was in a horror movie. Am I dying? I genuinely thought I was. My husband ran for help, clearly terrified.
A nurse returned with him and seemed unfazed. “Don’t worry, this is totally normal,” she said. What? Really? It turns out she was serious. The statistics are staggering: one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, equating to about 500,000 losses annually in the U.S. I generally consider myself informed about women’s health, so why hadn’t I heard what a miscarriage felt like?
There are a few reasons for this silence. It’s disheartening, clinical, and honestly not something people want to talk about. It feels like failure. As a woman, I thought I was meant to do this, yet here I was, unable to carry a pregnancy to term.
The emotional toll is immense, compounded by the hormonal shifts and the fact that you’ve just lost a child. Unfortunately, society often doesn’t recognize your grief as a mother who has lost a baby. But you are. You are.
Did I mention the pain, the bleeding, and the overwhelming sense of loss? And then, the expectation to return to life as if nothing happened? You’ve spent months dreaming about this little being you were nurturing, imagining what they would be like, picturing your life as a mother. And just like that, it’s gone.
If you’re facing this right now—and I know some of you are—I want to assure you: you will get through this. You are a woman, and women are incredibly resilient. Despite the statistics, many of us go on to conceive healthy children. After two miscarriages and an ectopic pregnancy, I eventually gave birth to two amazing children at ages 38 and 40.
It’s important to talk about these experiences. We aren’t helping each other by keeping quiet. These stories are ours to share and are common experiences among women. If you’re miscarrying at three months, it can be intense, but you are not alone.
Let’s open up these conversations—don’t you think?
For more resources, consider checking out this post and learn about fertility options at this excellent resource. Also, if you’re looking for an at-home insemination solution, you can explore this fertility kit.
Summary:
This article discusses the emotional and physical challenges of experiencing miscarriage, emphasizing the importance of sharing these experiences among women. It highlights the commonality of pregnancy loss and encourages open conversations to reduce stigma and isolation.