My first pregnancy started off as all do. Wistfully swept up in all the pregnancy happiness. We were so excited that we shared our news after the first doctor’s visit. 

My first trimester was going along beautifully. No bad pregnancy symptoms and joyously awaiting for my baby bump to show. We had already had our first ultrasound and glimpse at our babe. All vitals were as they should be. 

That summer, my husband and I had our 3-week honeymoon. I was 11 weeks pregnant and would be returning for a normal checkup and second ultrasound at 14 weeks. It wasn’t until that ultrasound that our world quickly changed and I’ll never forget those hours of learning my very worst fears. 

Sitting at my ultrasound I found it odd that the technician turned the screen away from my view. I simply chalked it up as a normal routine and patiently waited to see baby again. The screen was never turned. The tech simply told me she got what she needed and I would hear from my doctor. I stupidly asked for an image of baby, but she conveniently said she had already put everything away. My doctor called me upstairs to her office immediately. Sitting in her office she revealed that our baby had stopped growing at 11 weeks. That my body had not expelled the pregnancy or given me any warning signs and that this was termed a “missed miscarriage”. I would need a dilation and curettage (D&C) to remove the pregnancy. I was hit with waves of shock, horror and sadness. The title ‘baby’ quickly became ‘fetus’ in my mind. I had been so cautious with what I put into my body. I was fit and ate incredibly well. Frequented the gym 3x a week with a trainer who was aware of my situation. I refused to do anything that involved jumping and/or bouncing. I had felt great. Until I had to be told that the fetus had been dead inside of me for weeks. I made the appointment for the D&C to be the following day. I couldn’t live with this, quite literal, dead reminder of how my body had failed to nurture a chance of a child. How it failed to remove an unhealthy pregnancy. I called my husband on my way home and simply told him I needed him at home. He held me through my sobbing pain. He was my rock. The only one I wanted and allowed in my world. 

As I lay in the hospital gurney awaiting my anesthesia for the D&C procedure I was horrified to realize I wasn’t crying. I felt completely empty. Drained of all emotions other than that anger. I forced myself to shed a few tears to show my remorse before saying good bye to my husband. Upon waking up in the recovery room I stupidly and immediately asked the two attending nurses if I could have the remains of my pregnancy. They shared a panicked look and shyly told me everything had been cleaned up. Months later my dark humor would find this moment hilarious. At the time I simply laid back in full defeat over the entire situation. They quickly brought my husband into the room. 

Days, weeks, even months I felt pure anger towards my body. I hated how betrayed I had been. How I thought I was doing everything right and yet my body couldn’t figure out how to handle the gift and loss of life. I was angry at anyone that tried to give positive affirmations. I was especially triggered  by folks that tried to relate with a loss but had already had a kid or two first. They could go home each day to hug and kiss their babies. Even when they grieved they still could look at the pregnancies that had survived and thrived! It was all made worse by the fact that for months we had to tell friends and families that we had lost our pregnancy. I mourned the due date as the day came and passed. 

Slowly I learned to accept that at least my body had halted an unhealthy pregnancy. Even if it hadn’t properly rejected the tissue inside of me. I found it helpful for myself and others to speak about my experience. To offer a shoulder and listening ear. 

Any type of loss changes us. How we find our way through those emotions to the other side truly boils down to how we can best accept all of those shitty emotions. It helps to have support close by. It is possible to get through these awful and trying times. And that is what I told myself religiously. Over time the pain lessened.