Recurrent Loss

 August 1st, 2024. 

I was one day shy of 10 weeks pregnant. We were almost out of the first trimester. I was excited. To see baby on the screen. To hear babies heartbeat. Drove the 1.5 hours to the hospital to meet with my care provider. To know that everything was okay. I peed in the cup. I stripped down. My body vulnerable. A thorough questionnaire and I was laid on the table. And she started looking for baby. 

I waited. 

And waited. 

And the silence told me everything I needed to know. 

The nurse wasn’t good at hiding. “Hm.” sounds were frequent. 

I squeezed T’s hand just waiting for the bad news. The screen showed measurement of 6weeks. Not right. Not right. Can’t be. 

She tried an abdominal. Nothing. 

Different transvaginal. And she froze on a screen. 

There is no baby. Blighted ovum (otherwise known as anembryonic pregnancy). The egg is fertilized but no baby grows. 

“I’m so sorry. I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.” 

They leave the room so I can get dressed and it hits me. I start to fall apart. 

Have to keep it together. I’ve got to get bloodwork done.

Hug T. Feel myself crumpling into him. See the absolute devastation and complete helplessness in his eyes. 

Walk numbly down to blood draw after I make a follow-up appointment to schedule a D&C. 

I get blood drawn. Say almost nothing to the phlebotomist. “You pregnant?” Me: “That’s a great question. Yes, testing hcG”

Leave the hospital. Trevor just keeps telling me it’ll be okay. I know it will. I know it will. 

I drive us down to Hailey. We need groceries. I lose it. Sobs are shaking my body. This isn’t fair. Why did I get my hopes up? This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. He asks if I need to pull over. No. I need to control something in my life right now. Driving this car is all I have in my control right now. I feel my soul shatter in two at the loss of something that never even really was. The loss of hope. The loss of dreams. The loss of a future that we were really starting to plan. 

We get groceries. And I go numb. Tears sneaking their way into the drive home. Trevor keeps looking over at me. I tell him I’m okay. I am. I am just shattered. Again. 

We get home. I have to get out of there. We off-road to the trailhead of Phyllis Lake. Never been there. It was a good distraction. Fun to push our 4Runner into some slightly technical trails. The lake was beautiful. Don’t think there was a single fish in that lake. 

We fish on the way home. I catch fish left and right. Healing almost to feel successful at something since growing a baby isn’t it. 

Now, two days before my procedure I just feel like I sit in a world of hurt. I’ve got a blood draw tomorrow, and appointment with a different doctor, an OBGYN. My mom gets to town tonight. I’ve been spotting a little. 

Life goes on. Everyone around us lives their life while we quietly deal this loss. 

My body was doing everything it could to sustain a pregnancy. Baby just didn’t grow. And there’s not a fucking thing that I can do about that.