Pregnancy Loss in the Time of COVID

I love October. I typically celebrate it as the real beginning of Fall. It’s like the gateway month to the holiday season.

This year of all years, October has a new meaning for me personally: Pregnancy Loss Awareness Month.

Earlier this year, about a month into the pandemic, I found out I was pregnant with Baby #2. Learning I was pregnant just weeks into quarantine, in the middle of a move, my stress level was off the charts. We were surprised and worried about the novel virus, but overall, we were overjoyed to be welcoming another cheeky sweet babe into our lives. My due date was December 18.

After the shock and morning sickness wore off, I would daydream about who this baby would be. Was Seth going to have a baby sister or a baby brother? I was incredibly impatient to learn this time around. Would they look like me or Chris? I also couldn’t wait to have another baby bump and feel those wonderful kicks and squirms again.

One night in early June, Chris and I shopped for cribs together online — the girliest ones we could find (in case we were expecting a sister for Seth). I was going to have my first ultrasound and NIPT test in a matter of days. But that next afternoon at just over 12 weeks, we went for a walk and when we returned, I started bleeding. I knew in my soul that something was majorly wrong. I tried to hope for the best. But…I just knew. That was the beginning of 3.5 weeks of the emotional and physical hell of miscarriage.

It’s a club no woman wants to be in, but one in which a grievous amount of women painfully and silently join. Pregnancy loss is emotionally isolating, physically painful…and difficult to talk about, even when “the worst is over”. But that is why I’m sharing my experience now.

At the time, my way of coping was to tell people who knew about my news before they got a chance to ask me how I was feeling or how things were progressing. In doing so, I couldn’t believe how many women in my circle came forward and shared their own stories of pregnancy loss with me:

There was the ultrasound tech who touched my hand, unable to say much, “I’ve been in your shoes, too. I’m so sorry.”

The coworker who said “I know this pain,” and sent flowers.

The friend who quietly dropped off a gift basket of chocolate and bath salts and shared her own pregnancy loss story with me.

People showed up for me in all kinds of ways — even my guy friends. It made me realize I needed to share my experience one day — and remind everyone that this is happening to women in our lives more often than we even know or talk about.

It’s been five months now and I’ve had time to process and reflect. Even though my body has regulated and I’m physically whole, my heart just isn’t over it yet. I should have a bump right now. I never learned if we were having a boy or a girl.

If you were to ask me whether I regret sharing my pregnancy news with my close circle before the first ultrasound, my answer is no. I was aware of the unspoken “Keeping-It-Secret-Until-12-weeks-In Case-Something-Happens” Rule”.

These societal norms that ask us to keep happy news to ourselves is all about protecting others from potential uncomfortable news.

And you know what? Screw those rules. They don’t help women.

Rules like that don’t help her get through the unthinkable — they ask her to suffer alone.

I was happy to share the news of our baby when we were in the glow, and I was grateful later on for the support and understanding that my circle gave me when I needed it the most.

Some women can’t bring themselves to share this loss with even their closest friends. And that’s okay. I hesitated with this myself. My plan was to post this on the first day of October and we’re over halfway through the month now. I paused. I didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me. I also am not trying to speak for everyone.

And then I saw this quote on Insta today from @pregnancyafterlosssupport:

“One day you will tell your story of how you got through what you’re experiencing now, and it will become a part of someone else’s survival guide.”

So I’m sharing this. And I hope it helps someone feel less alone. You are not. So many of us are right there with you.