I Had a Miscarriage and This is What I Want You to Know
At 32-years-old I had exactly three “direct” experiences with miscarriage before my own. An alarming realization when you consider 10-20 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage.
The first was when I was 15. My high school boyfriend’s mother wore a pendant with small charms representing the babies she had lost during her road to motherhood. I don’t remember if I asked about the pendant on my own, or if my mom pointed it out to me. As a young teen, I question whether miscarriage was a part of my vocabulary. But if it was, it surely fell into the, “that’s sad, but it won’t happen to me” category.
Fourteen years later I had my second and most eye-opening encounter with miscarriage. I was on the phone with a dear friend who had spent the last couple years struggling to conceive. I was standing in our kitchen, balancing Bauer (about 6 months at the time) on my hip when she told me she had just suffered a miscarriage. My heart sank and in the need to fill the silence I blurted out what I quickly realized was the absolute worst response, “I’m so sorry. But it’s encouraging that you can get pregnant, right?”
I’ve never wanted to dig, and crawl into a hole more than I did in that moment. I blacked out for the rest of our conversation and called my husband the second we hung up. I was embarrassed and didn’t know how to make it right. With his encouragement, I called her back and apologized. I explained that I so desperately wanted to say something to comfort her, but couldn’t come up with the words. It would be four years before I knew, from personal experience, the only real response worth hearing. My friend showed me compassion in this moment. She knew my heart was in the right place and that it was impossible for me to understand her pain.
Eight months ago, I ran into an old acquaintance in a coffee shop. She was sporting a bag that caught my eye and when I asked her about it, I realized we had met once through mutual friends a few years back. I sat down at her table and we got to chatting. Within the first five minutes, the topic had turned to kids and she shared without a moment’s hesitation that they wanted a second and had recently miscarried. I remember being surprised that she confided this with me – despite a few mutual friends, we were close to strangers. But what struck me more than her openness, was her attitude. She had this peace in her eyes when she told me. She wasn’t ashamed, or afraid that her family was done growing. I wondered if I would be able to handle a loss like that with such grace, not realizing how soon I would be tested in just that way.
Last week I ran into her again. She’s almost 20 weeks pregnant, but she had experienced a second loss between our two encounters. She gave me hope. Not because she was sporting a healthy baby bump, but because she had a radiance about her that made me realize life is tough, but with the right tools – we’re tougher.
For the last couple years, I’ve shared my life through this blog and social channels. And my personal feeling is by doing so, I have a social responsibility to share the good and bad. It’s easy to share the happy moments…the one’s I’m proud of…the one’s I want that girl who was mean to me in high school to see. But what about the moments that knock me down? Keep me up at night? How can I foster a real sense of community, if I’m not sharing my real-life?
This past fall was difficult. I had a health scare that resulted in an ultrasound, MRI, CT scan, X-rays, endoscopy, three rounds of blood-work and a major surgery.
I also lost a baby.
I’m 1 in 4 and this is what I want you to know:
If you believe, as I do, that life begins at conception – losing a pregnancy, no matter how early, is a loss of life. With the first positive pregnancy test, our family had grown from four to five and we were dreaming about who he or she would become.
A miscarriage isn’t a moment in time, that a woman needs to move on from. It’s something that forever changes her: physically and emotionally. The initial loss is gut-wrenching. Physically feeling your body lose a child is something I wish I could erase from my memory. And the fallout continues long after.
Let’s rewind a bit. I had an ultrasound a week before learning I was pregnant which showed, what they thought at the time, was an enlarged gallbladder. More testing was recommended, but after learning I was expecting we paused everything for the safety of the baby. After our loss, I moved forward with the recommended MRI, CT scans, etc. I tell you all this because there’s a question on every medical form that may not jump out at you unless you’re a woman who’s suffered a loss.
How many pregnancies? How many children?
In the weeks following my miscarriage I went to 10 different doctor’s appointments and continually had to answer this question:
3 pregnancies, 2 children.
Those numbers won’t line up for the rest of my life, and it’s an unnecessary reminder of the child we didn’t get to meet on earth.
It was in one of these 10 doctor’s appointments, however, that I realized the only appropriate response to a woman that’s told you about a miscarriage.
I was at my pre-op appointment for a surgery that would remove my gallbladder and a massive cyst. The nurse was explaining that they’d do blood-work to confirm I wasn’t pregnant – just routine since I was in my childbearing years and it was information they needed to be certain of before cutting me open. I assured her it wasn’t necessary. That I had miscarried three weeks earlier.
She looked up and simply said, “I’m sorry you lost your baby.”
That’s it. Simple. Not, “At least it was early…. or the time wasn’t right considering you needed this surgery….or at least you have two babies at home.”
She simply offered her condolences and acknowledged what we really lost: a baby.
Let me clear: I know the timing wasn’t right. I recognize that I was not in the right place (physically or mentally) to grow a life inside me. Theoretically and rationally, this should make me feel better. But our emotions aren’t rational. And a life isn’t theoretical.
The underlying point of all of this is that after our loss my initial reaction was to tell no one. I had miscarried at my parents’ house and so my mom and dad mourned the loss with us, but I wanted to spare my sisters. My older sister was two weeks away from delivering her first and my younger had yet to enter this phase of her life. Both had years of trying to conceive and growing healthy babies ahead of them and I didn’t want my loss to feed fear into their future happiness. I told my mom this and she immediately said, “They’ll want to know what you’re going through.”
I texted my sisters. I wasn’t ready to say what had happened out loud. And then I texted a couple of my best friends. I wasn’t ready to talk about it, but I wanted them to know – because I felt changed. I saw my sister-in-law during the immediate weeks that followed and because I felt like a zombie walking around in a shell, I crumbled and cried on her shoulder at a busy city playground.
My friends know this about me: when times are difficult I want to talk to exactly ZERO people about it. And then when the cloud lifts I do a 180….writing becomes therapeutic and zero turns to TELL EVERYBODY, in an effort to touch EVEN JUST ONE.
I’m not a Christian writer, but I am a writer who is Christian – and I don’t talk about my faith enough because I don’t think I can convey what I believe eloquently. And quite frankly, that’s something I need to get over.
I’ve always been amazed that the people I know with the strongest faith are so often the people I know who have been tested the most. And I’ve always found that a bit confusing and wondered how they could have such a strong faith when they’ve been dealt so much heartache.
But there we were: in the midst of a really crappy season and I found myself more drawn to God and Heaven than ever before. We will still try to have a third child. And I also believe, that at the end of the day, if we have another child – it will really be our fourth. And so, Heaven is the only place, where once all of our living babies have celebrated their 105th birthdays, we’ll all be together.
I know this is a lot. I’m supposed to be the funny one. It’s not my intention to write a sob story for sympathy. I know many have suffered far worse. This is just my story. And my hope is to shed a little honesty into an online world that’s vastly edited and filtered.
The fastest way to feel like a fraud is to continue to share tons of happy, family moments without acknowledging the hard times. I’m not saying everyone needs to write a long essay or Facebook post with every loss they experience – but I felt responsible to share our story, because this is a community of sorts.
If you’ve experienced a loss, I would encourage you to talk to someone. Don’t be afraid to tell your family or friends. Or even a stranger in a coffee shop. Because what you’ve survived, may be enough to help someone else get through the same hardship.
There are a few things to keep in mind if you’ve had a miscarriage:
one. It’s OK to be sad. No matter how early it was. And it’s OK to be sad for as long as you want, and need to be.
two. It’s OK to heal in your own way. I know everyone doesn’t believe that an early miscarriage is a loss of life. But we do. And so, tucked away in my closet – I have all the pregnancy tests, wrapped in a baby blanket – because I don’t want to forget. And I don’t want time to play tricks on my mind – that it wasn’t a real pregnancy, because it wasn’t a full pregnancy. I’ve also added a little diamond to my necklace that has Bauer and Kingsley’s initials to acknowledge and remember our baby.
three. Don’t be afraid to try again. I had heard the term “rainbow baby” before, but I think it’s one of those things that until you’ve experienced loss – the gravity of the words may be lost on you. I imagine pregnancy after a miscarriage is terrifying. But man, holding a newborn after miscarriage – I can only dream of the type of joy that brings
four. You aren’t alone. And not just because 10-20 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage. But because, it takes two people to get pregnant. Even though I was the one experiencing the physical loss – I’m confident Kelly must have felt even more helpless watching me in those moments. We both created the life. And we both lost the life. And looking back at how I handled those few weeks, my only regret is that I didn’t ask him more often how he was feeling.
If you read this and feel like it was written for you, it was.
Memories captured by Alea Moore Photography.
Ashley says
Oh Meg. I am so sorry. The last time I saw you I said something about more babies and if anyone knows how painful this comment can be after a loss, it’s me. I knew as soon as I said that I shouldn’t have bc who knows what someone is going thru. I’m sending you all my love.
Meghan Basinger says
Please don’t give it another thought. We’re friends and friends ask about babies and future babies. It’s just what we do and I know your heart is always in a good place. Can’t wait to hear the happy news of your new little one…so soon! xoxo.
Katie says
Thank you for writing this wonderfully worded post. I experienced a miscarriage the day after Christmas- ugh what suppose to be the best time of year was filled with fear and sadness. I still think to myself everyday I can’t believe I’m not pregnant anymore… I cry daily but it’s when I look at my 21 month old and know what a beautiful and perfect little girl we made that reminds me daily God knows what he’s doing even though we might not see it now he knows!! And like you said it- that rainbow baby will be just even sweeter when he or she arrives.
From Kris Budden’s blog:
“The only way to prevent the pain of a miscarriage is to never get pregnant. But if you do that, you’ll rob yourself of the joy when it finally works.”
Meghan Basinger says
Hi Katie – I’m so sorry you lost your baby. I know your little girl is providing you comfort during this time, but your heart will always ache a little. Sending you prayers for your rainbow baby soon. That’s a beautiful quote you shared from Kris’ blog. Thank you.
Pam says
Beautiful!! Blessings to you and your family!
Meghan Basinger says
Thank you so so much!
Becky klinger says
They may not be the right words, but that was beautiful. I’m sorry that you lost your baby. I, too, suffered a loss. My husband and I hadn’t even been married a year, I was 26, and it was my first pregnancy. I didn’t know anyone my age who was pregnant, let alone who had lost a baby. I didn’t have anyone to talk to, other than my husband. I am now also 32 and have 3 healthy, beautiful kids. I make it a point to talk about our sweet angel and what we went through as much as I can, because if there is just one person that I talk to that has gone through it and feels less alone, then I feel like something good will have come from it and the stigma will have lessened. It takes time, though. Every day I wear a necklace that has charms with each of my children’s names on it – Jack, Brady, and Sarah. There’s also a small charm with the letter B for their sister, Bethany. When people ask who the B is for I don’t hesitate to tell them about her. She will always be a part of our family. She will always be a part of me. And your sweet baby will always be a part of you. Almost 7 years later, I still find myself crying in the shower now and then thinking about it what she’d be doing now, but for the most part, when I think of her they’re happy thoughts. And I know that someday I’ll get to meet her. That will be a beautiful day. <3
Meghan Basinger says
Oh Becky. Thank you so much for sharing your story with me. I love that you wear a necklace with Bethany represented. And it will be such a beautiful day when you hold her in Heaven. Thank you for reading my story and reaching out. It’s been so healing to speak with other women who understand. Sending you hugs. Thank you so much.
Chelsea says
You are strong, inspirational, and a beautiful person. This brought me to tears as I am carrying my third child right now, but the stastistics of miscarriage are with me every single day. I have known too many women who have lost a child and I can’t fathom that pain, no matter how old the child was. Thank you for sharing.
Meghan Basinger says
Thanks for reaching out, Chelsea. And so exciting about your third. I’m wishing you so much health and happiness. Thanks for taking the time to read my story.
Brenna bastian says
Thinking of you and your family. And, thank you for sharing. We just experienced this in March, at our 12 week appointment. It took me a few months to talk about but with a help of a therapist, I am your friend in the coffee shop that doesn’t hesitate anymore. It’s such a taboo subject that doesn’t get enough attention. We are now 34 weeks pregnant with a baby girl, and although it was an anxiety filled 34 weeks, we feel blessed, and wouldn’t trade our journey for anything. Sending love and best wishes for you and your families rainbow baby. Brenna
Meghan Basinger says
Oh Brenna. I’m so sorry to read this, and sorry for your loss. Thank you for sharing with me and reaching out. It’s always nice to feel connected to old classmates and friends. I’m so happy you’re so close to holding your rainbow. Wishing you all the happiness!
Chelsea says
I also suffered a miscarriage but before my first Baby early on but it was horrible for us. This was written beautifully. Thanks for sharing. I now have two beautiful babies.
Meghan Basinger says
I’m so sorry about the loss of your baby. I know that must have been so horrible as a first pregnancy experience. I’m glad you now have two beautiful rainbows.
Emily says
This. I’m so sorry for the loss of your baby. Thank you so much for sharing and for putting into words what so many of us feel/have felt – A club filled with millions of women that nobody wanted to join. Thank you for being vulnerable and helping normalize conversations about miscarriage. ❤️
Meghan Basinger says
Thank you for reading, Emily. You’re so right about it being a club we never wanted to join…but the support has been amazing. I’m sorry for your loss and I’m so appreciate of you reaching out to me.
Angela says
You will be forever changed for the loss of your unborn babe, but you will love deeper and cherish your surviving children even more than you knew possible. Your rainbow baby pregnancy will be worry-filled but the feeling of having them placed in your arms will make it all worth it. I have been in your shoes and I identify so strongly with how you expressed your feelings in the aftermath of loss. Such shame and stigma, and loneliness! But you are not alone. Prayers for you and your beautiful family. ?
Meghan Basinger says
Thank you, Angela. Your words are beautiful – and I know you are right. Thank you for taking the time to read my story and reach out to comfort me.
Giana says
Thank you for this. I had an early on miscarriage years ago and I always push it out of my mind like it wasn’t a “real pregnancy”. But, I know the feelings I had for those weeks and then I know the emptiness afterwards.. You wrote this beautifully and explained everything I ever felt. ❤️
Meghan Basinger says
Thank you so much for sharing, Giana. I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s been comforting to connect with other women that understand and I appreciate you reading my story.
Brittany says
Hi Meghan, thank you so much for sharing this. And, I’m so sorry you lost this baby. My husband and I lost a baby during our second pregnancy this fall and it was heartbreaking.
My mom gave me a card to add to our memory box that I kept for the baby we lost, and the words are perfect. It reads, “I carried you for every second of your life and I’ll love you for every second of mine.” It really spoke to me and conveys how a loss stays with you. I wrote about it here: https://www.motherhoodherway.com/blog/2018/11/7/theres-always-a-silver-lining.
Thank you so much for sharing experience. I find comfort in reading others’ stories – and I wish comfort for you as well and that you’ll be able to grow your family soon xx
Meghan Basinger says
Wow, Brittany. That’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing…I’m sorry you lost your baby, too. Thank you for reaching out. Sending you love and prayers.
Lauren says
Thank you for sharing this. It’s not easy and I am happy you did because your story will help others. I love following you and your family.
Thank you,
Lauren
Meghan Basinger says
Thank you for the sweet words and encouragement, Lauren. I really appreciate you!