Just ten days after discovering I was pregnant, the excitement of the unexpected news was palpable. My partner and I had begun to share our joy with family and friends. The night before the unexpected turn of events, my husband was busy searching for baby names while I contemplated creative ways to share the news with our kids, possibly using their Elf on the Shelf. With the holidays approaching, we even entertained the idea of knowing the baby’s sex—hoping for a boy who could grow up alongside his brother, just 16 months apart, sharing moments like playing football together. Then, without warning, I started bleeding heavily.
The next morning, I confided in my husband and made the call to the clinic first thing. I was in tears as I expressed my fears to him, and on our way to the doctor, I sobbed, “I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t want this enough, and that’s why it’s happening.” Deep down, I knew it wasn’t my fault, yet that was the overwhelming feeling in that moment.
At the clinic, a blood test revealed low hCG levels. My midwife gently informed me that I was likely experiencing a miscarriage and that I needed to return for another test later that week. Back at home, I felt the weight of despair and sought solace in a shower, hoping to wash away the anguish. But as the water cascaded, I couldn’t help but notice the blood swirling down the drain. The thought consumed me—could that be my baby? I wanted this to be a nightmare from which I’d awaken.
Two days later, another blood test showed my hCG levels had only slightly increased. Confusion clouded my mind. Just days before, I was told I was likely miscarrying, but now there was a flicker of hope that perhaps the pregnancy was still viable. Should I continue to search for ways to announce this to our children? Did we still consider baby names?
By Monday, another test confirmed my hCG levels had risen again, but not enough to indicate a healthy pregnancy. An ultrasound was ordered to rule out an ectopic pregnancy. After the procedure, my heart sank when my midwife stated that there was nothing visible in my uterus. “So, there’s no baby?” I asked, and she confirmed my worst fear—most likely, I had miscarried.
A week later, on my way to work, I was hit with excruciating cramping that left me incapacitated. A call to my nurse led me to the emergency room, where blood tests and an ultrasound revealed a tennis ball-sized mass in my left fallopian tube. Just days earlier, nothing had been detected. The doctor informed me that emergency surgery was necessary due to the mass’s size.
On September 19th, at just eight weeks and two days pregnant, I faced the heartbreaking reality of losing my baby due to an ectopic pregnancy. The anguish of losing a child, coupled with the pain from the surgery, felt insurmountable. I longed to cry and grieve, but the physical pain from the incision made it difficult. I wished for someone who understood this sorrow, yet it felt isolating. I leaned on close friends, family, and my husband, who shared in my grief.
Every day since has been a reminder of that tragic moment. The scar from surgery now serves as a constant symbol of my loss. It’s a painful reminder that I will carry with me, questioning what could have been—boy or girl, we will never know. Our hearts ache for the child we never got to meet.
If you’re seeking more insights into the emotional and physical aspects of pregnancy loss, resources like the CDC provide valuable information on fertility and pregnancy. Additionally, for those exploring home insemination, check out intracervical insemination for helpful guidance, or visit Make a Mom for expert advice on fertility boosters for men.
In summary, the journey through pregnancy loss can be an incredibly isolating and painful experience. The emotional and physical scars left behind serve as constant reminders of the love and hope that was lost. Yet, seeking support and resources can help navigate through this difficult time.