Heavy Boots. Otherwise Known as 2012 Can Suck It

Here is a sentence that just shouldn’t be part of anyone’s vernacular;

“This miscarriage is way worse than the first one.” 

Yet, it’s recently become part of my almost everyday speech. And it makes me cry pretty much every time I have to use it. 

The decision to try and have a baby wasn’t really a decision. It was more a by-product of not having a family doctor and my birth control prescription running out. I’d been patiently waiting for a certain sparkly ring, but I’m 33 and the BF is 38 and I don’t have all day. Besides, it wasn’t like I was going to get pregnant immediately. 

I got pregnant immediately.

My initial reaction was a complete freak out. It’s the end of my life! I’ll never wear cute boots again! Or lipstick! And my hair will always be terrible! 

Within a week, I figured out that actually, my life didn’t have to end and a baby was pretty exciting. A baby! 

It was within that same week that I was laid off from my job and I had a miscarriage. 

Nobody talks about miscarriages so it’s not really a surprise that I had no idea how physically painful it is and how emotionally traumatic it is. One day you’re planning maternity leave, thinking about baby names and hoping your kid has his dad’s big brown eyes and the next you’re clutching your stomach in pain and bleeding profusely from your lady parts.

Oh, and there is no more baby. 

And a miscarriage is not just one isolated event. You bleed and bleed and bleed for weeks. It’s like an everyday reminder that you’re body is broken and that thing you were so excited about is no longer. The plans you suddenly had for the rest of your life literally go down the toilet. 

At first, I was pretty excited about the layoff. Although I liked my job, the people I worked with and I made a lot of money, I was commuting four hours a day and it was making me crazy. I threw myself into a yoga teacher training course, reading all the books we were assigned, and then some. I mastered my virabradrasanas, perfected my chaturanga and learned how to align my chakras. Sort of. 

There are a couple rules about trying to get pregnant again after a miscarriage. It depends on who you talk to. Some people say wait a full menstrual cycle, some say wait six months and my doctor said because the miscarriage was only at six weeks and relatively uncomplicated, I didn’t need to wait. 

Within a month, I still hadn’t gotten my period. Huge, sore boobs indicated that perhaps it was on its way. A pregnancy test revealed otherwise. I was knocked up again. 

I heard the heartbeat at six weeks and Googled the shit out of “six week heartbeat”. My sister, who has two kids and suffered two miscarriages, told me the chances of a miscarriage are cut in half if there is a heartbeat at six weeks. I clung desperately to that statistic. I continued to Google each twitch, pain and burp. I so badly wanted this pregnancy to work out and I so badly wanted to be aware of how to protect the baby. I counted down the days until the 12-week mark. I called it the safe zone. If I could just make it until that day, the baby was going to be okay. If I could just make it to the three-month ultrasound, I would sleep at night. I reasoned with myself. It had to work out this time. It just had to. There was no other option. 

I went on to have all the pleasant pregnancy symptoms. Morning sickness, which is actually all-day sickness, constant peeing, constant napping and a vampire like sense of smell. I developed an affinity for citrus. And donuts. As awful as it all was (except for the donuts), I was also thankful that everything in my body told me I was pregnant. 

At eight weeks I started to tell people. I reasoned that the universe wasn’t cruel enough to send me a second miscarriage in a row so it was safe to share the news. Plus, I couldn’t really hide my need to run to the bathroom anytime someone ate their lunch in front of me. I started to think about colours for the baby’s room. I strolled the aisles at Babies 4 Us. I dedicated time to thinking about the growing baby in my belly. We called it lima bean. 

A few days before Christmas, I had some spotting. The BF was at work. I tried not to freak out, rather unsuccessfully, and went to yoga anyway. I cried into my lavender scented eye pillow and drove home shakily. 

When I got home, I had a bath, consulted my plethora of pregnant lady books and calmed myself somewhat. I still called the doctor in the morning to explain my symptoms. At this point, the bleeding had stopped but I had strange fluttery cramps. The doctor told me to rest. As long as the cramps and the bleeding weren’t together, she said, I was okay. 

The following day, I knew something wasn’t right. I insisted on an ultrasound. I was supposed to be nine weeks pregnant that day. I already knew in my heart that it was over despite the BF’s constant cheerleading. But when the ultrasound technician answered my “can you see anything?” question with “I’m not supposed to tell you. The doctor has to go over the results”, that’s when my whole body started to shake and she finally told me there was no heartbeat. No more baby. 

My body took over after that, expelling a no longer living embryo. With that came a hospital visit, multiple doctors, excruciating pain, emergency prescriptions, exhaustion and a lot of sobbing. I spent Christmas Eve rolling around on the couch with a heating bad on my belly, screaming into a pillow. It’s hard to imagine that actual contractions are worse than that. 

Yes, this miscarriage is way worse than the first one.

My parents separated last year, after 40 years of marriage, and it pretty much ruined my family. And where I come from, family is the only thing that really matters. There’s nothing quite like your family falling to pieces to make you feel lost, hopeless and completely in the dark.

But losing this baby is probably worse. Which I didn’t think was possible. My everyday struggle has been to put my family back together. I didn’t need another one. But thanks anyway, universe. 

The free time I so relished when I was first laid off has been replaced with a desperate need to fill the time to get through the day. I have to stay off Facebook because the happy pregnancy news and cute baby photos filling my news feed send me into hysterics. Why does it get to work out for those people? 

Yes, this miscarriage is way worse than the first one.

I think a miscarriage is like a breakup. You have a bazillion questions circling around your head. What could I have done differently? Why didn’t it work out? When do I get my turn? Why me? And the worst part of this whole process is that these questions remain unanswered. 

I cry a lot and I’m scared I’m not going to feel like myself again. I’m scared I’m never going to be happy for other people. And I’m scared I’m not going to get out of this sad place.

I get a lot of “a miscarriage is actually really common, you know” and “the good news is, you got pregnant really easily” and the occasional “there’s obviously something wrong, you should get that checked out.” 

None of these things are helpful. Especially that last one. Nothing is helpful. All I can do is try. 

I try to smile. I try to keep my mind busy. I try to get to the gym or to my yoga mat. I try to keep eating properly. I try to be the funny girl everyone knows. Sometimes I’m successful but most of the time I’m not. It feels like I’m in a movie, or living someone else’s life. 

And I hope. I hope I get pregnant just as easily again. I hope that next time it will work out. I hope there is some truth to “the third time’s a charm”. I hope that nothing is actually wrong with me. And I hope that nobody I know or care about has to go through this. 

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  1. That’s how I felt about 2011 when I gave birth to one live twin and one deceased. I think my exact words on New Year’s Eve were, “2011’s been a bitch. I’m shutting her down early.”

    1. Thanks for your comment. I can’t imagine how horrible that must’ve been. And I’m way ready to put 2012 in my rear view mirror.

  2. This is exactly my story, even down to the dates. I lost my 2nd January 11th. My heart is with you. You’ve made me feel normal. Prayers from me to you. Thank you for sharing your honest and broken heart. <3

    1. Thanks for your comment, Emily. Hang in there. It has to get better, right? I’m trying to actively turn my negative thoughts around into positive ones bout the future. I’m trying to take care of myself and my body the best I can and when I start to linger on the sad bullshit I’ve been through, I think about a hopeful future instead. I hope you can find something that works for you too.

  3. Thank you for your wonderful, candid post – I lost my bub at 10 weeks on Dec 19th. Christmas sucked…I try to be happy for pregnant women, but all I do is stare at their stomachs with a deep sense of loss. 2013 has to be better, right, because 2012 ended horrendously.

    Peace and love to you.

    1. I totally understand. I found out two days after you that there was no longer a heartbeat. I have to stay away from the pregnant ladies because it’s just too hard. The best thing I can do for now is recognize my feelings (jealousy, envy, sadness) and just sit with them for a bit. I really hope that this year is full of only awesome stuff for you and for me.

      1. My hardest thing was being pregnant the same time as my sister in law( and we are very very close) I lost my baby girl at 15 weeks (that was back in November) I was unable to see my sister in law for atleast 2-3 months…..after that still only once in a while….She gave birth to her daughter just this April I held my neice on her birthday (it took every ounce of me to go to that hospital and every last ounce to hold her and put on a smile) I have not held her since and avoid interactions at all cost (which is very hard we go to the same curch and are in business together and have a very big and close knit family, so I opt out of allot of things) and cry every time I see pregnant people or babies…

  4. It’s so nice to hear that someone else gets that stabbed heart feeling when they see happy pregnancy stories on their newsfeed! It’s actually one of them that made me find this page tonight. I lost my 3 babies on december 4th, gave birth to her on the 6th. Needless to say Christmas will never feel the same again. Thank you for sharing xx

  5. I appreciated so much everyones posts and replies…It really bothers me that at a time when we are most hurt confused and broken such hurt full misguided responses are given from those closest to us…I dont want to say I’m glad I’m not the only one that has been on the recieving end of them but maybe its just people obviously not knowing how to deal with our tragedy…Lisa thank you so much for being so Candid and yes every misscariage seemed to be worse than the one before (not sure why). The last 6 months have been very hard to say the least I have had two miscarriages recently one in November where I lost my daughter at 15 weeks and another one where I lost my son just this march. (I have been pregnant 7 times and have two living son’s) the only way I got over my previous miscarriages was by getting pregnant with my son that I finally carried full term…never really dealing with the losses. Once I had my second son who is now 22 months I thought we were out of the woods and then when we found out we were pregnant this past August we were thrilled…only to find out at my 15 week Dr apt. that the baby had stopped growing at 8 weeks. The only way I seemed to get over that loss was again by getting pregnant. This next pregnancy was followed very closely so at 6 weeks we had already known that the baby was non viable. However there was more involved this time. It turns out it was a partial molar pregnancy, which means (in my case after pathology testing) that cancerous cells had grown..Now as I endure weekly blood work to make sure my hcg levels drop (because if they don’t that means they did not remove all the cells and that I would then have to go through chemo therapy) I am having a very hard time “moving on” . Every week is a reminder of what has happened and the possibility of what might. I also was pregnant at the same time as my very close sister in law who just had her baby girl…my wounds are very deep and I am finding it hard to be in the same room as them…I get to watch my precious niece grow up the way my daughter never will. I know that God is in this and with me…I just don’t have much strength to hope…hope that things will turn out alright …hope that he could work a miracle…hope that one day I might have more babies..and I have no one that believes in God and has also experienced this (not that I would wish this on anyone) to talk to or to tell me what I’m feeling is alright. The world stopped for me the day I lost my babies ..but not for anyone else…they have all moved on…but I am stuck…I am usually a very outgoing bubbly person very social…and at this point it takes all my strength to just get out of bed and be there for my little boys…But I feel everyone else thinks I should be past this already…that I should move forward….I just dont know how.

    1. Thanks for your comments, Amanda. While our experiences aren’t exactly alike, I certainly know what it feels like to watch others close to me go through a healthy pregnancy. I also know what it feels like to have everyone urge you to be over it already. I’ve reached out to friends who’ve been through similar experiences to find out how long it takes to be completely okay, and I’m not sure it ever is. While the pain does dull over time, it’s still always with me. I’m trying to be okay with NOT being pregnant and taking advantage of non-pregnant lady things. I hope you can find peace in your own way.

  6. I just read your post and it is basically my own story. With the exception of my two MCs spaced apart from December 2012 and December 2013, and not being laid off from my job. Yep. Same sad story. Your words hit me because I’ve felt every line you wrote. I’m wondering- what happened this past year? Did you get pregnant again? Either way, I hope you’ve found your happy place. Thanks for sharing your story. It is comforting to know I’m not alone.

  7. Hi Maria,

    Thanks for you comment. I’m so sorry to hear about your miscarriages and I’m glad my story could provide at least some comfort in knowing you’re not alone.

    I did get pregnant again this summer and we are expecting our first baby on Valentine’s Day. I was a wreck the first few weeks, expecting the pregnancy to end in another miscarriage.

    I wish you a happy and healthy pregnancy in your future.

  8. this sounds just like me. and this miscarriage i’m going through right now? is way worse than the first one. congratulations on your pregnancy. the hope, distant and impossible as it may seem, that we will get to have a baby one day is the only thing that wakes me up in the morning.

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Unspoken Grief is a non-profit website dedicated to creating awareness and resources for anyone touched directly or indirectly by miscarriage, stillbirth or neonatal death.

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