I was twenty-eight years old, teaching high school, and still in grad school when I found out I was pregnant.

It was a Monday night.  I remember because my husband was gone playing cards.  I was home working on homework.  I was finding it hard to focus because my period was late, so I figured if I just took the “whiz quiz” and saw the negative sign, I would be able to gather my thoughts together and get back to work.  I was on the pill, so I didn’t really think I could be pregnant, but I figured I would take the test “just in case.”

It came back positive.  Um, what?  Excuse me?  I freaked right out.  RIGHT OUT.  I started pacing.  I called my hubs and told him to come home immediately and to please pick up some PG tests since the results of the one I just took were NOT ok with me.

After four pregnancy tests (3 at home and 1 at the doctor) and lots of crying, we came to terms with the fact that we were going to be parents a bit earlier than we were planning.  We would make it work.  I started day dreaming about the little punk girl or rock star boy that was growing in my belly.  I even turned up the music in the car on my way to work so the little one could start his or her life out with some good tunes.

Then, one Saturday afternoon while helping my husband in the yard, I started to bleed.  I was only about 5 or so weeks along, so I got nervous.  I didn’t have any cramps, so I thought maybe everything was still Ok.  I made an appointment on Monday to see my OB.

As it turns out, I was miscarrying.  But that wasn’t just all.  The baby I thought I was growing?  Wasn’t there.  Yup, you read right…wasn’t there. When my OB did the ultrasound, I had an empty placenta. It was something called a “blighted ovum”.  This basically means that sperm and egg met long enough for my body to get the memo to create a placenta for the new resident, but within only a couple microscopic cells splits, that itty bitty new “cell cluster” decided not to rent after all.

So why did I test positive still for pregnancy?  My body never got the memo that the renters were not moving in, so it continued to prepare.

Why did it happen at all?  I was told that my body probably realized that there was some sort of chromosomal problem and put the kybosh on what was going on.  The doctor tried to be very positive and said there was absolutely no reason I couldn’t get pregnant again and have a totally normal pregnancy next time.  Then he asked me how I would like to proceed with the miscarriage.

I opted to go through the miscarriage naturally instead of having them “vacuum it out” of me. And to his credit, this is what my OB recommended.

This meant waiting.  I waited about a week and a half before it started.  My husband asked the nurse what he could do to help me be more comfortable and she told him, “lots of Ibuprofen and HUGE pads”.  He went out and bought the most monster pads I had ever seen.  They were the size of a small mattress.  We chuckled about them until I had to use them.  Then it really wasn’t so funny anymore.

The whole process was pretty quick and after it was over, I was very emotionally drained.  I had tremendous guilt that by not originally wanting to be pregnant, I had somehow caused this to happen to me. I know in the logical part of my brain, that this impossible.  Yet, that is how my heart felt. What I did though was to push all those feelings down and just get on with my life.  I chose to not dwell on them.  I chose to not think of it as a miscarriage since in my mind (or at least what I told my mind), there was no baby to lose.

Almost exactly one year later, I found myself pregnant again.  This time on purpose.  We were SO excited. We went in for an early ultrasound at 6 weeks to make sure there was a baby in there this time.  And sure enough, a little itty bitty blip showed up on the screen!

As excited as we were, we decided not to tell anyone.  With the first pregnancy, we had told the world and then had to tell that world the sad news.   I had issues with the way I was treated.  I hated the pity, the sad looks when I held my cousin’s new born.  The soft talking when I left a room.  I didn’t want to go through that again. This time we would wait with the news until the recommended 12 weeks had passed.

Around 10 weeks, the doctor had us come in again.  They did a sonogram, but couldn’t locate a heartbeat, so they brought in the ultrasound machine again.  There was the blip, but it was nestled so far on the wall of the placenta, that they couldn’t get a read on the heartbeat.  The doctor also mentioned that the baby seemed too small for 10 weeks and that maybe they got the due date wrong. So I needed to come back in ten days.  Although he was pretty optimistic, I suddenly knew in my heart it was over.

Sure enough, ten days later the baby was the same size with no heartbeat.  I prepared myself for another miscarriage.

This miscarriage was worse on every level.  For one, the baby was THERE this time.  Physically and emotionally this hurt.  I was losing a BABY this time (I was the first time too, but I pushed that thought down).  And when I lost this baby?  The physical pain was almost unbearable.  Now having been through labor and birth, I know that what I had to go through was full on labor.  And I had to do it home by myself.

The labor started in the evening.  I was cramping and wanting to push by the wee hours of the morning.  I curled in a ball in the hallway in an attempt to not wake my husband who would have to work  in the morning (meanwhile, I put in for a sub for my classes stating that I was “ill”).  I still had not “passed” the whole thing by morning, so I took a bunch of ibuprofen and tried to sleep after my hubs left for work. That afternoon I got a HUGE urge, went to the bathroom, and ridded myself of my child.

I texted my husband to tell him it was over.

At my doctor’s appointment later that week, I was asked if I wanted to try again.  I just didn’t know.  This was getting too hard.

My husband and I went home and discussed our options.  He didn’t want to put me through that again.  Ever.  I wanted a baby.

We compromised.  One more time.  We would give it one more go.  I could go through it all again once more.  If it didn’t work, we were done.  DONE.  Maybe we would adopt, but we were done putting my body through hell.

Six months later I was pregnant again.  My doc immediately started testing me and found I had low progesterone.  I was started on supplements.

In June my son was born via emergency C-section.  He is perfect.  I am still recovering from the pushed down emotions.  But I am getting better.  Slowly, but surely.

Thought up by Dawana, author of A Bittersweet Existence, as a way to share stories from a variety of Moms in one place regarding the trials and tribulations. A Stay-At-Home Mom herself who often thinks she is losing her mind, Dawana has found a great deal of comfort in the stories from other Moms and wanted to share them all in one place. If you’d like to submit a story, please feel free to email Dawana by clicking here.