I had a missed miscarriage in March of 2017. It was my first pregnancy and I had no idea that it was even possible to miscarry without any symptoms. I was completely blindsided. When I went in for my first appointment/ultrasound, the nurse made the (in my opinion) huge mistake of going over pregnancy guidelines and birth plan paperwork before we went in for the scan. She even asked me which hospital I planned to deliver at. None of it mattered ten minutes later when the ultrasound technician looked at the nurse and asked, "Are you going to tell her?"...like I wasn't even sitting there. "Oh, honey," she replied. There was no heartbeat and the baby had stopped growing at 7.5 weeks, just a few days earlier. I had a D&C shortly thereafter.

I got pregnant again almost immediately. A few minor complications but was blessed with a healthy baby boy in February 2018. He was breech and came via C-section.

I had all sorts of post-partum complications including retained products of conception (meaning the on-call OB who performed my C-section left fragments of placenta or tissue inside of me). This led to a lot of pain and... not one... but two D&Cs to make sure they got everything out. This was the point when I decided it was time to find a new clinic.

Fast forward to April 2020. I'm pregnant again. I went in just after 7 weeks for my first ultrasound and the baby had a strong heartbeat. It was a little earlier in the pregnancy than expected so the technician asked that I come back in a couple of weeks for a follow-up scan. She didn't have any concerns. I met with a nurse afterward who, again, walked me through all things pregnancy and said everything looked great.

Between that ultrasound and the next, we told our families and some close friends the news. We'd kept the pregnancy with my son quiet until well into the second trimester but figured we'd heard the heartbeat and were told everything looked/sounded great.

I returned to my follow-up scan two weeks later, excited to hear the whooshing sound of the tiny heart beating again. But, instead, I heard the same thing uttered during that very first ultrasound. "Oh, honey." Those two words will forever haunt me.

I didn't cry like I did when they told me I'd miscarried the first time. I didn't cry when I got home and my husband and son were sitting outside, waiting to scoop me up. I didn't feel anything. It was almost as though my brain's response to this traumatic news was to shut off all emotion entirely. I was numb.

They couldn't get me in for a D&C until several days later so I had to wait. With a lifeless being inside of me. Someone who I had been so excited to welcome into our life. It was agonizing. I was so angry and full of questions. But, I was stuck in this awful waiting period, unable to get closure or escape the fact that my body had failed me for a second time.

We were right in the thick of the pandemic so I wasn't allowed to bring anyone along for the procedure. I felt bitter and helpless and at fault. Was it something I did or didn't do? Why did it happen again? What's wrong with me? The admitting nurse noticed on my chart that it was almost my birthday. She said, "Well, this isn't a great birthday present!" clearly not thinking through why I was having this particular procedure. They brought me into the operating room, hooked up the anesthesia, and that was the moment the emotional floodgates finally broke open. I sobbed as they put me under.

We had the products of conception sent in for analysis to try to find out what had happened. Everything came back normal. A baby girl. No chromosomal abnormalities. And no answers.

I was shattered into a million pieces. I can't tell you how many nights I didn't sleep at all... Googling every combination of words that could possibly, maybe, hopefully find some sort of reason for this happening again. Again, trying to figure out if something I'd done could have caused it. So much self-hatred and blame. For many, many weeks, it felt like something had shifted so deeply inside of me that I was never going to be the same me again.

Of course, it did get easier. And then harder again when a friend would announce their pregnancy. Or when the bill for my D&C arrived. Or when my due date came and went. I imagine it will always ache a little bit when I think of her and who she could have been.

So, here we are. May 8th, 2021. I'm 8 weeks and one day today. They did lab work right when I found out I was pregnant and the numbers looked great. My OB immediately started me on all sorts of things that might help prevent miscarriage-- blood thinners, progesterone, etc. I feel pregnant. I've got a little belly, I'm nauseous, and my boobs hurt. But, my body has so cruelly fooled me in this same way before. I want so badly to distract myself but can't escape the constant reminders. The daily self-injected shot, three-times-a-day suppositories, praying that I don't see blood everytime I go to the bathroom, the rush of fear anytime I feel the smallest twinge.

I go in for an ultrasound in four days and can't wrap my head around how to emotionally prepare myself this time. As with any woman who experiences pregnancy after a loss, I want to be hopeful. Of what the future could look like. Of who this child could become.

But, the truth is, when it comes to miscarriage, hope can set you up for a world of heartache. Right now, fear is winning. I am more scared than I am hopeful and can't find a way to shift that mentality with something so potentially life-altering on the horizon.

If you have experienced a miscarriage, please know you are not alone. My words can't mend your broken heart, but leaning on one another for support can ease the pain. A whole lot of us have had them and not nearly enough of us talk about them. The profound effect of a miscarriage goes so much deeper than having to grieve the loss of a child. It calls into question your self-worth, your body image, the way you view the world around you, your purpose. Hugs to you all.