Pregnancy After Loss

Although this is not directly related to poly, it is related to parenting and a large chapter of our life and journey. March is Pregnancy After Loss Awareness month. This was such a devasting and conflicting chapter for us all.

In May of 2024, I discovered I was pregnant. This was such a kismet moment for me in so many ways. The mechanic, the gardener, and I were on a family vacation in Duluth, Minnesota; the town the mechanic and I truly fell in love together and grew into adults in. We were showing the gardener around our favorite old places and strolling down memory lane. Part way through the weekend, I started having crazy dreams and just got this sense. I anxiously took a test midday and saw a faint line. I told myself it wasn’t possible; we had been trying for ten months to no luck. My test the next morning was a glowing blue beacon. I couldn’t contain my excitement, and since I had had a plan to reveal pregnancy to the mechanic for so long, I did not say a word to him until we got home, and I could give him his “soon to be dad” gifts. But, in that bathroom of the Airbnb, I flashed the test to the gardener and she and I both did a happy dance.

Back home, we all silently celebrated, scared to tell the world, but so excited. My parents came to visit, and I could not contain the secret. There was so much hope and excitement brewing. I downloaded all the apps, tracking the size of the baby by fruit (and car parts of course).

The wait from the positive test to the first ultrasound felt like an eternity! I remember cueing up my “baby” themed playlist in preparation for the drive to doctors’ office. The gardener and I rode in my Miata, while the mechanic followed on his motorcycle. So much joy and excitement were in the air.

With so much hope, we went into the ultrasound room. The cold goo covered my belly, and I held my breath as the technician put the monitor to my stomach. Silence. Painful, uneasy, silence. After too many uncomfortable (for myself) beats, I asked “Is everything okay?” The technician nodded and continued pressing the device into my stomach, with slightly more pressure now. Still, we were met with silence. The technician removed the monitor and said she would be right back. I shattered. I knew the silence was telling. Still, the mechanic and the gardener continued to reassure me that my fear wasn’t solidified; it could be anything.

Without much further answers, despite my persistence with the technician, we were moved to a room to wait. As I hysterically cried, knowing my fate, I was offered continued, though less enthusiastic condolences from the others, the weight of grief filling the room. By the time the doctor (not my actual OB, which was also telling) arrived, we had all silently admitted it was likely over. The news confirmed our believes…the fetus did not have a heartbeat. With a sense of overwhelming numbness, I listened to the options for how my body could end the pregnancy. We opted for the non-surgical route this time and as many people celebrated the birth of the country, my 4th of July that year was spent in excruciating pain as my body said goodbye to the baby I had so many hopes for.

For weeks, all I could feel was the loss. It broke my soul and filled our home with so much pain. I could see the fear and sadness in the mechanic’s eyes; and even though most questions were met with “I’m okay and I know its hard;” the grief was palpable. The gardener tried to offer so many kind words, but the grief bled into her tone. We all felt it.

Several months later, I had another strange pregnancy-related dream, like I had had in Duluth. Without much confidence, I took a test. The positive results landed with a pit in my stomach more than the joy I had hoped it would. When I told the mechanic and the gardener, the excitement was subdued. We were all scared to hope.

I spent the next three weeks between my test and first ultrasound overthinking everything that happened in my body. The second 8-week ultrasound was entered into with fear, not excitement. I truly wished everything was okay but was preparing myself for the worst. The sigh of relief that came when we heard a heartbeat echoed throughout the room.

Overall, little nugget had a normal and relatively healthy pregnancy. But each appointment was entered into with trepidation. Hearing the first cries after birth was the only thing that truly put my anxiety at ease.

We are so incredibly grateful for little nugget. They have truly blessed all our lives with so much joy.

However, we all still feel the loss of our first child.  We each formed so many hopes and dreams as soon as we saw those positive lines. As I got ready to dress little nugget in Valentine’s gear, my heart ached that our first little one would have been celebrating their first birthday.

We are all so blessed to watch little nugget grow. However, we all feel the loss of what could have been. The balance between grief and hope is the most treacherous tight rope and we all now get to walk it.

Grieving what could have been, while cuddling what is, is the most humbling, validating, but painful process. This month, we honor the babies that should have been, we celebrate the parents who lost and now get to love, and we hold space for the excitement and grief many may feel.

One in five pregnancies terminate prematurely. Thankfully, almost 60% of women go on to eventually achieve a successful pregnancy. However, loss after even a successful pregnancy does not end.

This year, as I excitedly celebrated Valentine’s Day with my little nugget; the “would have been” first birthday of my first pregnancy loomed in the air. I realize, each milestone my little nugget meets, will also have the shadow of what could have been.

For many parents, pregnancy after loss is met with so much excitement but fear. If you have experienced similar, please make space for your body and mind to process and with each milestone, enjoy the progress, however sit with any grief that arises.