“She lost the baby.”
“She had a miscarriage.”
“The baby died.”
“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat.”
These are all words no woman ever wants to hear. Simple phrases strung together that are every expectant parents’ worse nightmare. Nobody ever expects it to be them.
“That won’t happen to me.”
I thought that once myself. Until it happened to me – twice.
Nobody tells you what to expect when you find out your baby is dead inside your womb. That he/she has been for 2 ½ weeks without you knowing it.
Nobody tells you what to say to your husband when you have to call him at work to tell him your baby died.
Nobody tells you how much you’ll have wished the baby would have just come out on their own instead of you having to have a D&C.
Nobody tells you that you will cry in recovery and ask your doctor what they did with your baby.
Nobody tells you that you will never get your answer.
Nobody tells you about the large pieces of uterine lining that will fall out of your body in the days following.
Nobody tells you just how awful it is to see all of the pregnant moms in the waiting room at your post-op check up.
Nobody tells you that the world doesn’t stop just because your baby died.
Nobody tells you how quickly others move on from your loss.
Nobody tells you that some people that you thought would be there for you in your time of pain, won’t be.
Nobody tells you that you will obsess over every little thing you ate, drank, consumed, were exposed to, etc. while you were pregnant, trying to find an explanation for the loss.
Nobody tells you that although you know it’s not true, you will blame yourself for a very long time.
Nobody tells you that you will sink into a depression greater than you have ever known.
Nobody tells you that a part of your heart will always be broken and yearn for that baby.
Nobody tells you that you will constantly think about whom they would have been or what they would have looked like.
Nobody tells you that people will say things like, “It wasn’t meant to be,” or “It happened for a reason,” and you’ll secretly want to punch them.
Nobody tells you that you will feel guilty for being happy to get pregnant again after the loss.
Nobody tells you that it can happen to you again.
Nobody tells you that you will wake up one morning with uterine cramps and just know that your other baby is dying inside of you.
Nobody tells you that when you go to the bathroom in the early morning hours and wipe blood from yourself that you start to cry because you know it’s happening again.
Nobody knows that you will go back to bed and silently cry because you can’t go through this again.
Nobody tells you how long you will bleed in the days following.
Nobody tells you that each pad that you change is another layer of your soul being stripped away.
Nobody tells you about the intense pain you will be in not just mentally, but physically as well.
Nobody tells you that it will take you a long time to want to try again.
Nobody tells you about the strain the losses will put on your marriage.
Nobody tells you how scared you’ll be when you eventually do get pregnant again.
Nobody tells you that you will hold your breath at every appointment and anytime the baby doesn’t kick in a certain period of time.
Nobody tells you how genuinely surprised you will be to successfully enter your third trimester.
Nobody tells you that even when that new baby is born, you will still have a broken heart.
Nobody tells you that as much as you love your living children, a part of you will always want your others to be here on Earth too.
Nobody tells you that the pain never truly heals, but that time makes it a little softer.
Nobody tells you that some people will continue to be awkward when you bring up your babies in Heaven.
These are all things that I wish I had known before I had to walk the path of miscarriage. Something else I wish I had known was the amazing community of women that have also lost a baby to miscarriage or had a stillborn baby. Those women exist in all of our neighborhoods and online. They are like secret angels waiting on the outskirts of motherhood, to jump in and scoop up the next mom that has lost her baby into their arms. They are there to embrace them and comfort them. Then that mother becomes one of these angels herself. So when her best friend from childhood or her cousin is subjected to this awful pain, she is now the angel to swoop in and make that new momma feel safe, loved, and heard.
It’s a club I would never wish on any parent to join. But, it is a club that I’m now a part of and always will be. I will always advocate, educate and carry the mark of a mom to an angel baby. I am 1 in 4 and I want my voice to always be heard.
Originally published on Her View From Home