Marissa’s Loss Stories

My first pregnancy was beautiful. It started beautifully and the entire experience was so joyous. My husband and I had been married a little less than four years. Things had finally settled down with his career and our living situation. It seemed like the right time to grow our family. It did not take me long to conceive, and seeing those two pinks lines on that pregnancy test was one of the most amazing moments of my life. Everything was going so wonderfully.
… Until I went for my second ultrasound at ten weeks pregnant.
“I’m sorry,” the ultrasound tech said. “I’m not seeing a heartbeat.” Devastated is the only word for the feeling I had in that moment and for weeks afterward. It was seven and a half years ago now that I heard those words, and I still remember what I was wearing. I sat in the exam room, waiting to see the doctor, and cried. My husband had not come with me to this appointment because of work. But that was okay. I almost preferred to be alone to process what had happened.
Once I got out to the car, however, I did call first my husband and later my mom to tell them what had happened at my ultrasound appointment. Both of them would prove to be an important part of my grief journey as I confided in them about my pain and struggles in the following months.
But I spent the rest of that first day alone, trying to process this unimaginable thing that had happened. But how could I process it? I was trying to accept that my body was no longer carrying a living child when my body itself did not even seem to realize that yet. I was still having all of the pregnancy symptoms and I had not had any bleeding.
I wanted to let the miscarriage process happen naturally, but it was incredibly agonizing waiting for it to happen. I wanted this to be over so badly, this awful nightmare that had smashed my beautiful dreams for my beautiful baby. I waited a week and a half after that ultrasound before I finally began to bleed. But the bleeding remained minimal for another week and a half before I finally began to feel the painful waves of cramps (contractions, really) roll over me one evening.
As things escalated, I was grateful my body was finally doing what it needed to in order to begin moving on so that I could mentally and emotionally move on. Not that I would ever forget or let go of that precious life I carried for a short time. But my body holding onto something that was already gone was just so painful to my heart and made it that much harder for it to begin healing.
Even though I was ready for this physical process to progress, I was also scared. I was afraid of how painful it might be. I had heard some horror stories of excessive blood loss. It was indeed painful and there was a lot of blood and clots expelled from my body. But I was okay. The physical process itself – painful though it was – was not traumatic.
No, it was not the physical effects of miscarriage that left me with scars. It was the loss I felt as a mother – because I had certainly become a mother. Even though I did not have an Earth-born child yet, my heart had grown to make room for this little one … who was now gone forever.
The process of moving through this unfamiliar season of grief was complicated. I continued to bleed for another week and a half after passing all of the clots and tissue during that one evening.
There was a brief concern at one point about retained tissue, although an ultrasound quickly settled this concern. When I finally stopped bleeding, I was so relieved.
Until I started bleeding again just ten days later. I was so afraid that something related to the miscarriage was wrong with me. Again, I was worried about retained tissue or some other complication. Why didn’t this bleeding ever seem to stop? Why could my body not get past this very difficult moment in time? Why was it determined to trap me in this horrible bad dream for seemingly endless days and weeks?
But, thankfully, after another visit to my OBGYN, I was told that the bleeding was actually my first period. Finally, this nightmare was over. Finally, I could fully grieve. Finally, I could start thinking about trying again. As much as I loved and missed my first baby (and I knew I always would), I so badly wanted to be pregnant that it was hard to wait. I also just felt so sad and I believed being pregnant again would help with that as well. I wasn’t trying to forget my first baby, but I was trying to cope with the loss and the fact that I did not have any children.
We waited a couple of months to try again to conceive. I was sure I had become pregnant as soon as we did try again. I was so excited and planned out how to tell my husband. But then the pregnancy test was negative. I was so crushed, I could barely drive to work due to the sorrow I was struggling with. After that, I needed a break from the emotional rollercoaster of my grief intertwined with my desire for a baby, so we took a break during the next cycle.
Eventually, once my hormones calmed down from the chaos they had been experiencing since my miscarriage, I did conceive again. And that next pregnancy was as wonderful as my first – without the tragic ending. It resulted in my now-6-year-old daughter. Throughout my pregnancy with her, I was naturally more aware of the possibility that something could go wrong. I probably had a higher level of anxiety during my first trimester than I had with my first pregnancy for obvious reasons. However, for the most part, I naively believed that miscarriages were a common result of first pregnancies only. I had known several people who had miscarried their first babies only to go on to have several healthy pregnancies. I somehow equated this to very little risk of miscarriage after the first pregnancy. I did experience some light bleeding at around 10 weeks pregnant with my daughter. But after rushing to the OBGYN in a panic for an ultrasound, I was assured that everything was fine. And everything was fine for the rest of my pregnancy.
When my daughter was born, we fell so in love so fast with her. We instantly wanted another baby. But my daughter had acid reflux and she wanted to comfort nurse so often that I did not have a cycle again until she was two and a half years old.
When I did finally resume my cycle, I conceived very quickly – much quicker than I expected and without actively trying, as a matter of fact. After 9 months of hormonal craziness following the partial weaning of my daughter from breastfeeding, I did not believe I was capable of conceiving yet. So when I saw those two pink lines, I was kind of shocked, but definitely happy to finally be expecting a sibling for my daughter.
We told my parents right away. We even told my toddler right away. Yes, we were excited.
I decided to try to have as natural of a pregnancy as possible and forego the ultrasounds. I believed that if something was wrong, my body would tell me when it was ready. I did not want to repeat my first pregnancy experience of finding out before my body did that I would be losing a baby. I also innocently believed it was unlikely that I would miscarry again. 
I was having a much harder time with this pregnancy physically than either of my first two. The worst part was the severe exhaustion. By afternoon each day, I would be so exhausted, I had to lie down and take a nap. But I would only sleep for 15-30 minutes. And then, when night rolled around – despite my exhaustion – the hormones made sure I could only sleep for 3-5 hours. 
By 15 weeks pregnant, the exhaustion was still not letting up, but I was grateful this must mean I had a healthy baby… Until I went to use the bathroom at 15 1/2 weeks pregnant and discovered I was bleeding quite a bit. At first, of course, I panicked. But then I reminded myself that bleeding can be normal even in healthy pregnancies, like the light bleeding I had with my previous healthy pregnancy.
Additionally, my sister had experienced very heavy bleeding early on in her most recent,
successful pregnancy due to a sub chorionic hemorrhage. So I calmed myself and told my husband. We agreed to wait until the next day to call my midwife (it was a Sunday) instead of going to the ER to see a strange doctor. I knew from my previous experience that there was nothing that could be done to save the baby this early on if something was wrong. 
I have to pause here to state that I do not recommend anyone follow my example on this. If I were looking in from the outside at someone in my situation at that point in time, I would strongly urge them to go to the ER. But at the time, I did not want a strange doctor from the ER – whom I did not know or trust – advising me on my pregnancy if something concerning was happening. However, with the experience and knowledge I have now, I would not handle this situation the same way again.
Now back to that Sunday of bleeding.
I continued to bleed heavily off and on for the first half of that Sunday. I spent the day vacillating between crying as I read other women’s stories of losing their 15-week babies to miscarriage and convincing myself that everything was fine because the bleeding had stopped. By Monday, I had not experienced any more bleeding and I felt that everything was fine.
I called my midwife’s office multiple times but kept being directed to their answering service where I ultimately left a message, not realizing that my midwife’s office was closed for Martin Luther King Jr. Day. When I still had not heard from my midwife by Tuesday morning, I called the office again and was finally able to get a message to my midwife. I still had not had any more bleeding and, at this point, I mostly believed my baby was probably fine.
The midwife preferred that I have an ultrasound to check on things even though the bleeding had completely stopped the same day it started. So I was scheduled for an ultrasound on Thursday.
On the way to the ultrasound appointment, my husband asked if I was scared. I told him that I was not really afraid that something was wrong, but it is always hard not to be at least a little nervous about an ultrasound.
But as I laid on the exam table with an ultrasound wand moving over my belly, my life changed dramatically. My husband and I looked at the screen, searching for our baby who should have had obvious human features and limbs at this stage. But all we saw was a large, white, hazy blob.
And then the ultrasound tech spoke.
“This is your uterus. This is where the baby is supposed to be.”
Supposed to be? I wondered with fear. What did that mean? Was my baby growing in one of my tubes? That was impossible considering I had not had any pain or complications, wasn’t it?
The tech left us with the utterly shocking and crushing words, “I’m not seeing a baby.”
And that was all we would receive from her. We had to wait another half hour to speak with my midwife about what was happening. When she finally came into the room, she explained that I was having a complete molar pregnancy. A baby had never formed. The sperm had fertilized a defective egg that was missing its genetic information. What was growing inside of me and expanding my belly was not a baby … but a benign tumor.
Despite the word, “benign,” the midwife told me that I needed an emergent surgery to have it removed via D&C (dilation & curettage) before it could potentially cause harm. As time went on and my understanding of molar pregnancy grew, I came to realize that, for some women, a molar pregnancy can indeed become cancerous. Thankfully, mine did not.

While I was incredibly grateful to not need chemo therapy to fight cancer as a result of my molar pregnancy, I still mentally battled the reality of what had happened. I was so confused and did not know how to grieve. I had been pregnant … but never with child? I had lost a pregnancy … but not a baby? How was this even possible?
I found that exercise was a great coping mechanism after my molar pregnancy. It helped me to safely work out my anger and it also gave me space and time to think and process what had happened. Looking back, I think it also gave me a way to positively connect with my body after I felt horribly betrayed by it.
After taking about five months to work through the anger, grief and hormones of that unusual pregnancy loss, I felt ready to try again. I was worried about having another molar pregnancy, despite the optimistic statistics. But I also really wanted another baby. I felt ready to cautiously hope again.
We got pregnant quickly again and, regardless of my fears, I instantly fell in love with the (hopefully) baby forming in my womb. I was hesitant to assume I was carrying a baby, but I so desperately wanted it to be a baby – a healthy baby. In spite of the doubts and concerns that were constant in my mind, I was happy.
But it was only a few days after my first positive pregnancy test that I took another test that came out extremely faint, almost negative. I rushed to the store to buy more tests, my anxiety off the charts. This test was completely negative. 
A blood test at my midwife’s office was inconclusive. When I went for a second blood draw, I managed to get the nurse to reluctantly tell me that the results of the first test meant there was HCG in my system but it was very low. 
When I got out to my car after that second blood draw, I called my mom, crying, to tell her that I thought I was having s miscarriage. On the drive home, I prayed about as hard as I’ve ever prayed that God would protect my baby and make him or her whole and healthy. 
The next morning, the bleeding started. I checked my blood work results online anyway and saw a very low HCG number which confirmed that I had very briefly been pregnant. I remember the grief and sorrow that immediately settled on me that day. I had so badly wanted this baby to make it. 
Even though my grief over this incredibly short pregnancy was just as potent as it had been with my first miscarriage at 10 weeks along, I forged on ahead and got pregnant again right away, I used my miscarriage date as the first day of your last cycle calculation on my calendar, sad though it was. I figured out a little too late that I had rushed into this next pregnancy too quickly. But my husband and I had already lost so much time in growing our family. So we had not wanted to wait any more than we had to. 
My anxiety was very high during the two week wait and my hormones were still a little beat up by the time I got my second positive pregnancy test inside of one month. My due date was only a month later than my previous due date, which felt strange. 
I was not in a great mindset with this pregnancy given my two recent losses, one which had only happened four weeks prior. But, of course, I wanted the best for my child, even if I was very doubtful about the outcome of this pregnancy. I hoped this pregnancy would produce a healthy baby, but every mention of the baby included the phrase, ” if this pregnancy works out.”
Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for me to find out the fate of this pregnancy either. We were at a family member’s house when I went to the restroom to discover that I was bleeding, losing another pregnancy just days after my positive test. Despite the fact that I had a somewhat cynical outlook on this pregnancy, I was in shock over the fact that I was actually losing another pregnancy. This was now my third loss in less than a year and my fourth loss in total. This loss broke me in a way I still can’t describe. Having multiple losses in a row is like having your heart stripped over and over, each time being injured again before it can fully heal from the previous time. Eventually, the layers of scars entirely change you and how you view conception, pregnancy, family, life and your future. 
My husband and I decided to take a break and try to get some answers about why I kept miscarrying. So we both got boatloads of blood work done at the OBGYN and then at a fertility clinic. I had an ultrasound that showed a minor anomaly in my uterus. I had a procedure to correct it, but the doctor said it was unlikely that had caused my miscarriages. 
In the end, there were no answers except, “Keep trying and there is a good chance you will eventually have a successful pregnancy since you’ve had one already.” I did not find much comfort in those words. 
Somewhere along the way, I decided I was ready to just be done and put this long, painfully unsuccessful pursuit behind me. I had been stuck in the “trying to have another child” phase for over three years and I was emotionally burned out. I was ready to move on and find a new focus.
I had accepted that we would be a one-child family. But my husband had not. He was determined that we had to keep trying to have another child, for our daughter’s sake especially. While I did not feel entirely on-board with the idea, I couldn’t bring myself to deny him the chance at another child. So I told him I would try one last time. I eventually realized I did not handle this situation as well as I should have. I made the decision to try again out of sympathy for my husband, ignoring what felt right for me. I’m not saying I should not have tried again, but I should have taken the time to think it over and pray about this decision first. I should have waited for a prompting from God to know if this was right and if it was the right time. Perhaps then I would have had a better foundation to help me survive my next pregnancy.
But I did not wait. I rushed in as I so often seem to do with pregnancies, and once again, I conceived very quickly. There was no celebration. There was no joy in my heart. There was no desire to plan an announcement. Just a simple, numb thought: “We’ll see.”
My husband commented that I should be excited. But all I could respond was, “How can I be? I’ve been excited so many times before only to be let down.” How can one continue to get excited about something that has repeatedly broken their heart before?
Unfortunately, this was only the beginning of a pregnancy filled with anxiety, depression, grief, fear, detachment and pain. I experienced fresh waves of grief from each of my miscarriages every day throughout my first trimester. For my entire pregnancy, I carried the heavy burden of three unhealed losses along with the weight of another life which may or may not make it out of my body alive. All I can say is, pregnancy after recurrent loss was the hardest thing I have ever done. My most helpful coping mechanism during this time was talking with my husband. He was the only one I dared to share the depth of my emotions with. And being the strong, logical, unemotional person that he is, he could handle my lamenting without being pulled into how I was feeling.
It was an incredibly difficult time. I did not tell people about my pregnancy until it became necessary or unavoidable. I did not make a public announcement at all until my daughter was born. And, unfortunately, the severe depression I dealt with throughout my pregnancy only worsened after my daughter was born.
But my healing came from the most unexpected of places. Having my pregnancy succeed did not bring me healing. Seeing my daughter safely born did not bring me healing. But participating in and seeing her healing initiated my own healing process.
You see, she was born with an unexpected heart defect. And even though the doctors assured us from the start that she would live a normal life after her heart was repaired, it was a complicated road getting her there. She spent most of her first summer in and out of the hospital and I was right there with her.
I saw everything she went through, I advocated for her, I held her when she was inconsolable, I softly petted her forehead when she was sedated and uncomfortable after surgery. I watched her go through things that hurt and I knew she could not understand why these painful things had to happen even if we tried to explain to her.

And as I walked this road with her, somewhere along the way, I realized I was just like her. I had four holes in my heart, just like my daughter had four holes in her heart. My holes could not be fixed as simply and “on time” as I wanted, just like my daughter’s holes could not be fixed when they were “supposed” to be fixed.
But God was with me through every painful moment, just as I was with my daughter through every painful moment. God didn’t always stop the hard stuff from happening to me, just like I did not always stop the hard stuff from happening to my daughter. God knew what I needed, even when it hurt, just like I knew what my daughter needed, even when it hurt.
I finally realized that we, like children, often cannot understand why God allows our lives to take the paths that they do. When we lose something precious like a beloved pregnancy, sometimes we blame God for letting it happen. Perhaps my baby sometimes blamed me for letting the
nurses poke her multiple times with a needle trying to draw blood. But she could not possibly understand that it was necessary because it would ultimately be a part of her healing.
I used to think that what my family and my life look like right now is not how it was supposed to look. I thought that things got messed up by my pregnancy losses. I felt that even God’s plans for my life had been derailed. I could not understand why I had lost those children or why God would want me in this state of seemingly permanent, though evolving, grief.
But I am just beginning to see that He has a purpose in everything, even when we cannot
understand it. I am coming back to the belief that I used to have that has become buried under layers of pain: That He uses every hurt, every hardship and every heartbreak in my own life to somehow positively impact someone else’s life. And when there is purpose like that in heartbreak, it shifts your whole perspective to make room for joy again.
To read more about my pregnancy loss stories, trying to conceive after loss and pregnancy after loss, come visit me at MamaRissa.com.