My Entire Pregnancy Journey Was Marked by Miscarriage—But the End Result Was All Worth It

The relief that washed over me when my first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage was unexpected, but little did I know that a pattern would follow.

I lost it. 

I found myself completely drowned in my own tears, not to mention the complete shock that was setting in.

What the fuck just happened?

What did I do wrong?

Did I overdo it?

I’ve gone through these scenarios coupled by an array of emotions like a perfect storm. This was my third miscarriage, and it was very different from the reaction of my first one. 

Spoiler alert, it hurts no matter what.

Let’s go back to the beginning. I was 22, single and living life without a care in the world. I was fresh out of college, no stable career and was still living at home. Early that summer, my friend and I threw a small party at her lake house. Well, a few drinks later and a one night stand with a guy I barely knew and I was pregnant.

Roping my older sister Brooke into it, whose support I was so thankful to have, we delivered the news together. I was so scared about how my parents would react—and they reacted exactly as I suspected. They were upset, hurtful and told me to get an abortion, immediately

I made my appointment and Brooke kindly drove me an hour out of town to this clinic to have the procedure. My emotions were conflicted. I was just more frustrated with the fact that I wasn’t given any other options. 

Staring out the car window, I was fading in and out. It was quiet, Brooke was solemnly concentrating ahead of her. Next thing I knew, I could feel myself bleeding profusely. I tried not to panic too much, but I felt pretty sure I had started to miscarry. In the back of my mind, I was relieved. I knew I wasn’t ready for this, but I also really didn’t want to go through with an abortion. I’m not a religious person, but there was definitely some greater power looking after me that day.

When we got to the counter at the clinic, they asked me to sign in. “Sorry, I don’t think I need to be here anymore,” I told them. I scurried over to the bathroom to see what was going on. Brooke had gone back to the car, so when I got back in the vehicle, I commented “I need you to take me to the hospital back home.” She was worried, but instantly took me to our local hospital, where I felt more comfortable. 

I blocked a lot of what happened after this out of my mind. After my emergency room visit, I had a D&C procedure. While the doctors were great, it was a traumatic experience overall—very little support, and again, no choices. 

Marriage and a fresh start

A few years later, I met my husband Max and we were lucky that we had no trouble conceiving when we decided to try for a child at the young age of 24. I didn’t know much, if anything, about tracking my period, or when I was ovulating. I knew, have unprotected sex, get pregnant. And that’s exactly what we did. 

From start to finish it was a successful pregnancy and I welcomed our daughter Mckenna in 2011. In Kourtney Kardashian style, I was able to deliver her myself. I remember feeling elated and a deep sigh of relief. Yes, this is how it’s supposed to be. 

However, when we tried for our second (within a couple of months), I experienced another miscarriage. We went in for our first prenatal appointment and they couldn’t find the heartbeat. 

The first time was so difficult because I was young, it was painful, my options were taken away from me, and I wasn’t with the right guy. This was a whole different experience altogether—I had my husband, and we were trying to build our family. Now I must prepare myself emotionally, physically and mentally to have to expel all this from my body… how does anyone prepare to lose their child?

Aside from the two of us having to deal with the loss and grief of what we just went through together, all I kept thinking about was how my body had let me down. As a woman and as a mother, my body was designed to carry life and nurture it.  I couldn’t do what I was supposed to do as a wife and mother. I remember when my husband and I got home from the hospital, there were few words shared between us. We just sat down on the floor, dropping all our stuff from the hospital, and cried together.

Trying again after miscarriage

Time passed, and while the wounds never really healed, we felt ready to try again. We knew we wanted more children and ideally close in age, and we weren’t sure of how much time it might take to make that happen. 

The journey at this point almost felt like a chore. (No offense, Max!) I was now more in tune with my body and tracking my cycle and ovulation schedule on my phone. With now two miscarriages in my past, I wanted to document everything that was happening with me so I could feel as if I had some control of the situation.

We were blessed to experience a positive pregnancy with our son, Jack, a few months into trying and his birth was even easier than Mckenna’s, which surprised me. We started to try again as soon as the doctors told us it was safe to do so. 

We wanted to continue to build our family, but I was so nervous about this pattern that was building and wasn’t mentally prepared (are we ever?) for another miscarriage. 

Shortly thereafter I was pregnant with my third child, Charlie. At the end of the day, the pregnancy went well. But while I was pregnant with him, there was still this nagging voice in the back of my mind about something happening to him. Oh, this is going to be another miscarriage. 

I felt myself fearing it almost daily. Not the best manifestation to have, I’ll admit, but after this developing pattern, you can’t blame me, either. I lived in fear every day… Could our marriage survive another miscarriage? 

When it came to our marriage, the miscarriage played a physical, emotional and mental toll. Physically, I’m sure much more on my side, but I felt that my body had just gone through a very traumatic experience and wanting to have sex again was not something that was super appealing to me. It almost felt like a chore or task at this point. 

Emotionally, a miscarriage is a roller coaster. I started out in a stage of shock, followed by the ups and downs of anger, sadness, and pain. Mentally, losing a pregnancy is a mind fuck. I questioned why my body had failed me. I questioned what I did to cause this. I questioned why if I had done this perfectly and without complication before, was I not able to do this again. 

So many whys ran through my mind.

We had two young children, and lives to live… I had to keep telling myself to just keep going. So, when Charlie was born, I was finally able to let out that relief… our family was complete. 

Making meaning of my miscarriages

The losses experienced were unexplained. It didn’t make sense when the pregnancies with my living children went so well. I was so blessed to have such healthy and wonderful children. We know today that miscarriages are more common than we realize, especially in the first few weeks of pregnancy. There are even times where a woman has a miscarriage before she realizes she was even pregnant. 

Looking back at the whirlwind of what seemed to be never ending years and crazy rollercoaster of emotions, all of this happened in such a short amount of time. Mckenna was born in 2011, Jack in 2013 and Charlie in 2014. I pushed myself continuously to go again. Try again. Make up for what was lost. 

I think, as women, we are so hard on ourselves to maintain a certain standard that society has set for us. The thoughts of my body failing me, the disappointment in myself, the emotions, the second guessing, the dips in confidence, the hopes and bubble bursting—it all made me who I am today. Does it define me? Absolutely not. But it’s a chapter of my story that shows how I endured; how I persevered; how I fought; how I survived.

I survived as a mother. I survived as a wife. I survived as a woman.

If I could give some sprinkles of advice to someone who has suffered a loss like this one, remember this; YOU are so much more than this chapter. It’s not going to be easy. Tell someone. Get the help and resources you need or want. Drink the wine. Take the time to heal. Create some type of memorabilia to remember them. Try again when you’re ready. Fight! If not for anyone else, fight for yourself. Your life will be different, and you will see change. Live your life with arms wide open—this doesn’t define you.

Author

  • Emily Westerfield is a surrogacy expert, passionate surrogacy advocate, and a five-time gestational carrier. As one of the Co-Founders and Gestational Carrier program Director at Carrying Dreams, Emily has helped hundreds of intended parents and surrogates throughout their journeys.

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