The Heartbreak I Hid

It’s incredibly common. It happens in one in eight pregnancies and it’s happened to at least half a dozen of my close friends. The commonality doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking and the pain it causes makes it an easy topic to gloss over or bottle down inside. It’s happened to me. And yes, I never talk about it either.

In April 2013, I took a positive pregnancy test. Overjoyed at the prospect of having the baby we’d been trying for, I told my husband right away, taking video of his reaction on my phone. I set up my first ultrasound and envisioned telling my dad in person, when he was scheduled to visit that month. But soon after, I found myself doubled over in pain, losing a pregnancy. I was a little more than six weeks along.

I remember crying as I deleted the video from my phone. I didn’t tell my dad anything during his stay. We toured Sedona and celebrated my birthday and had a wonderful time while my heart broke on the inside. I wondered what was wrong with me.

I kept my appointment just to talk to a doctor and find out what happened and what I should do next. I remember the nurse checking me in with a smile on her face that faded into pity when I told her I was no longer pregnant. The doctor came in and handed me a box of tissues. And THEN I found out one in eight pregnancies end in miscarriage. That there wasn’t anything wrong with me, that there was nothing to worry about, that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t know. Because no one ever talks about it.

A month later, I was pregnant again. I spent the pregnancy doing everything by the book, taking every precaution and holding my breath. I tracked everything I put in or on my body for nine months. It may have been a little obsessive but a control freak likes to think they’re in charge and I didn’t want to feel that heartbreak ever again.

In February 2014, I had a healthy baby boy.

Since then, I’ve told several fellow moms as we share stories of the trials of conceiving a child. I’ve watched close friends lose their babies and I’ve offered my shoulder to cry on. But for the most part, I left my experience in the past, the only hint a well-placed object in the background of the photos during my pregnancy with my big boy… a rainbow.

I wrote this blog post years ago and never published it. To be honest I thought people would find it absurd that I grieved someone I never saw. There are so many other tragic stories, so many other babies who come so close to term or delivery and don’t make it. It seemed ungrateful to write about something dashed that was so fleeting. But I’d never want to dismiss anyone else’s pain, so it’s unfair for me to dismiss my own. My hope is that by talking about it, more women will feel a sense of community and compassion instead of isolation. I also hope that every mom struggling to conceive or dealing with the loss of an unborn child finds their rainbow after the storm.