I’m a worrier. I worry when I have nothing to worry about. So when I found out I conceived only two weeks after going off the pill in April 2013, I was both elated and worried- it seemed “too good to be true.” I also unfortunately knew several women who miscarried before me, and even a few who had either a stillbirth or had a death shortly after birth. I did not take my blessing for granted.
The day we were scheduled for our first ultrasound was a day of both excitement and trepidation. The ultrasound tech took several minutes of looking, in which I started to wonder, but had no background knowledge to know this was unusual. Once she said, “I’m going to take one more minute before I say anything,” I burst into tears, knowing what that meant.
The miscarriage is known as a blighted ovum, in which the fetus terminates almost immediately, but the placenta continues to grow, with hormones still intact. It feels especially cursed you have no reason to suspect anything is wrong- the body feels and essentially tells you are pregnant. The next week was a whirlwind of grief, telling those we had announced to that it wasn’t to be, and the D&C, the hardest part of all. I both desperately needed and dreaded the closure.
99% of the time our worst fears never come to realization. I experienced the 1% when it does. And I lived. There were days I couldn’t get out of bed. There were days nothing and no one could help me. There were days I was so bitter, resentful, and jealous of those who had a child. But there were many more days where I was humbled and amazed by those who supported and loved me.
My son, Ace, is four months old now. The moment I saw his little heart flicker on the ultrasound at seven weeks was the greatest moment of my life. It does get better, if you allow it to, one day at a time.