“I’m sorry, but I’m not detecting the heartbeat we were hoping for.” These words are seared into my memory. Just four days after my miscarriage, those chilling words echoed in my mind. I had thought I was eleven weeks pregnant when I woke up on April 23rd. The night before, I had called my OBGYN’s office with a concern that seemed minor but felt worth mentioning. The on-call doctor reassured me, suggesting I connect with the nurses in the morning. They reached out first thing, scheduling an ultrasound for 1:00 PM to check on everything.
Hearing that sentence was like being hit by a freight train. Until that moment, I hadn’t even entertained the thought that we could have lost the baby. I often battle anxiety and tend to imagine the worst-case scenario in every situation. Yet, I had somehow pushed those fears aside this time. I have a beautiful, healthy, strong four-year-old, and my previous pregnancy had been smooth sailing. Why would this one be any different?
The Moment Everything Changed
The ultrasound revealed troubling news: there had been little to no growth since my nine-week appointment. We had seen a flickering heartbeat, movement, arms, legs, and a big head—everything the apps describe. Why hadn’t there been any warning signs then? Would a more experienced doctor have caught something? “I was just here, and everything seemed fine!” I cried, tears of disbelief streaming down my face. But it wasn’t fine; we just hadn’t known yet.
The mix of anger and sadness is overwhelming. We were just two weeks away from sharing our exciting news. I had purchased books to help my son prepare for his new role as a big brother. We had been planning ways to ensure he wouldn’t feel neglected. How could this be happening?
Silence Amidst Sorrow
Just five days ago, I was pregnant, and now I was not. I have to go to work each day and act as though nothing has changed, even as I see the blood in the pads I’ll need to wear for weeks. Very few people were aware of my pregnancy, so who would suspect anything was amiss? And therein lies the heart of the issue. Communicating a loss at any stage of pregnancy is fraught with difficulty, but it’s these early miscarriages that leave so many feeling isolated and alone.
When Statistics Hit Home
Did you know that the miscarriage rate in the U.S. is between 15% and 20%? Chromosomal abnormalities account for around 60% of these losses. After seeing a heartbeat at nine weeks, the risk of miscarriage drops to less than 5%. Most miscarriages—over 80%—occur before the 12-week mark. Women who experience nausea have about a one-third lower risk of miscarriage. These statistics are staggering, yet how often do we hear someone discussing their recent miscarriage?
Unless you’ve been through it yourself, you may never hear about it. It’s like a hidden, secret society that you only learn about once you’re initiated.
Five Reasons I Keep My Grief to Myself
What keeps this common yet unexpected loss from being openly discussed? Here are my thoughts:
- I don’t want pity. This experience is painful enough without feeling like I have to navigate the sympathy of others. I want to feel my sadness without being reminded of it by well-meaning coworkers or friends.
- I don’t want to deliver bad news. I constantly weigh the pros and cons of sharing my experience. What good would it do? Would they really want to know?
- I’m putting on a brave face. When I run into someone at the grocery store, they have no idea about the emotional toll I’m carrying. I have to keep up appearances, pretending that I’m fine. And sometimes, I even convince myself that I am—until I break down in tears while picking out sweatpants.
- I fear my experience will be trivialized. I worry that if I share my news, others won’t grasp the weight of my loss.
- If I don’t talk about it, then maybe I can convince myself it didn’t happen. I wish this reasoning was valid, but deep down, I know it isn’t.
Finding Comfort in Shared Stories
I’ve shared my reasons for keeping quiet, but I know that the one in four women who have faced similar losses likely have their own. By sharing our stories, we can bring light to an experience that so many endure in silence. Perhaps, by opening up when we feel ready, we can help another person feel less alone in their grief.
Words That Inspire Me
“And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.” —The Beatles
“Undo it, take it back, make every day the previous one until I am returned to the day before the one that made you gone.” —Nessa Rapaport
“Though the radiance which once shone so bright be forever taken from my sight, I will grieve not but find strength in what remains behind.” —William Wordsworth
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Summary
Miscarriage is a deeply personal yet shared experience for many women, often shrouded in silence. As we navigate our grief, we may choose to keep our struggles private to avoid pity or to protect ourselves from unwanted sympathy. However, sharing these stories can be transformative, providing solace to others who may feel alone in their pain.