I glanced down and noticed small droplets of blood quietly pooling in the toilet. The water turned a deep crimson, reminiscent of a professor’s red correction pen. I was just seven weeks along in my pregnancy. My hands trembled as I stared at the blood-streaked toilet paper and shouted for my partner. “Put your sneakers on,” he urged. We needed to head to the ER. As we rushed down the stairs of our apartment and into the parking garage, I paused for a moment and clutched him tightly. “I want this baby,” I cried into his shirt. “I know,” he replied, guiding me into the car.
This was my first pregnancy, and I had never desired anything more intensely in my life. At the ER, the doctor examined me, and after pulling off his blood-stained gloves, informed us that a transvaginal ultrasound was necessary to gather more information. “The technician won’t disclose any findings or if there’s a heartbeat; you’ll need to hear it from the doctor,” the nurse cautioned.
In the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the ultrasound machine, I watched as the technician concentrated on the screen, her brow furrowed. She paused, glancing at me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I quietly sobbed, while my partner struggled to hold back his own tears, gripping my hand. “Oh, honey,” she said compassionately. “Look. It’s okay. There’s the heartbeat. There’s your baby. Right there.” She turned the screen towards me, revealing a pulsating black shape. The relief I felt was so profound that I was left speechless.
Despite the reassuring news, the doctors could not explain the bleeding. They handed me a glossy black-and-white image of the blob and sent me home. I carefully placed the picture on our fridge, admiring it each time I opened the door for a snack, securing it with four small magnets to prevent any damage.
A week later, I experienced bleeding again. This time, I went to labor and delivery, and once more, I was reassured that everything was fine. They handed me another ultrasound image of the now slightly larger blob and sent us home. My anxiety about carrying this child grew heavier, leading my mother to fly across the country to take me out for a calming tea. When I requested a few days off work to spend with her, my boss noticed my distress and asked if I was okay. I confessed, “Not really. I think I’m losing my mind.”
The bleeding persisted throughout my pregnancy, accompanied by anxiety, guilt, and shame. I felt guilty for frequently leaving work to visit the hospital. My partner, who attended every emergency and routine appointment, had to explain his absences to his bosses. I was embarrassed by my fear, feeling that each episode combined panic with humiliation. Then, one doctor changed everything for me.
Around my fifteenth visit to the hospital, I learned the doctor on call was an older gentleman. Not my ideal choice for a gynecologist, but I had little option. After examining me and confirming that my daughter (we had found out her gender by then) was okay, I found myself apologizing. I awkwardly joked about visiting so often and wasting everyone’s time.
He paused, moved his chair closer, and said, “Honey, no one here thinks you’re overreacting. This is your baby. You do whatever you need to do to feel secure. Pregnancy is scary. No one will judge you for wanting to ensure your child is okay.” My gratitude was overwhelming as he handed me yet another glossy image of my child for my growing collection.
His words liberated me, granting me permission to advocate for my needs and my child’s. I wasn’t being irrational; I was simply embracing my role as a mother, even if I hadn’t fully recognized it yet. By the end of my pregnancy, I had collected 22 images of my child. My fridge became a chaotic collage of overlapping photos, eventually replaced by a colorful snapshot of my daughter swaddled in a duck-patterned blanket at the hospital. However, I never forgot the images that came before. I remembered the courage it took to confront my fears and seek help.
If you are experiencing bleeding, fear, or uncertainty, I want to echo the words of that doctor: This is your baby. You do whatever you need to do to feel reassured. Pregnancy can be daunting, and you will never be judged for wanting to ensure your child’s well-being. If you want to read more about pregnancy and home insemination, check out this excellent resource from Parents.
For more insights, visit this blog post or learn about at-home insemination kits from Make A Mom.
In summary, my journey through pregnancy was fraught with challenges, primarily due to persistent bleeding and anxiety. With each visit to the hospital, I learned to embrace my role as a mother and advocate for my child’s health, finding support and understanding along the way.