By Jenni Ford, guest blogger

November 24th. November 24th. November 24th.

Over and over the date pops in my head throughout the day: driving in the car, sitting at work, planning for vacation, snuggling my daughter.

The first time I heard the date it was such a joyous and unexpected surprise. Two years of waiting was rewarded with the words, “Your due date should be November 24th. Congratulations! I’m going to count this as one of my miracle babies.”

Great expectations

There is much expectation and planning when you are expecting a baby.

My husband and I were in a heated debate about which room we’d turned into a nursery, which name we’d agree on. We tried to figure out how many months we’d have to pay double daycare payments before our 4-year-old started Kindergarten.

Then we’d exchange that “look” of shared knowledge and a smile when someone mentioned plans we knew we’d have to pass on, because we expected an addition to our family. We had a week of excitement and expectation (that overused, pregnancy word).

Warning signs

It’s amazing how early they can tell your pregnancy is at risk.

A week later, my hormone levels weren’t doubling like they were supposed to.

The Internet is wonderful and powerful and terrifying. In a matter of seconds, I read all about the implications of low Human Chronic Gonadotropin (hCG) levels.

In case you’re curious, there are 3 reasons hCG levels don’t increase:
1. Ectopic pregnancy
2. Non-viable pregnancy
3. “Everyone is different and maybe your hCG increases haven’t kicked in yet”

The Internet is evil in its ability to give you any answer – any answer to hang your hopes on.

Obviously, I hoped for a positive outcome. But an ultrasound and two blood tests later determined beyond a doubt that the pregnancy wouldn’t continue. Now all I could hope for was that I’d miscarriage on my own and not need surgery. “Hope” can be a painful word.

The waiting

I was “lucky” in that I didn’t need surgery.

I only had to visit the doctor’s office about EIGHT TIMES for blood work. While they waited for my hCG levels to revert back to zero.

I only had to sit in the waiting room with the pregnant ladies and be stuck EIGHT TIMES. (NINE TIMES if you count the time they could no longer draw blood from my left arm and had to switch to my right arm.)

There’s something especially cruel about sitting there in a room full of pregnant women while you wait to hear if you are finally ZERO pregnant.

The only thing worse I can think of is having the term “spontaneous abortion” used in relation to this life you coveted.

Naively, I always associated the word “abortion” with the choice of aborting a baby. It turns out Dictionary.com defines miscarriage as: “The expulsion of a fetus before it is viable, especially between the third and seventh months of pregnancy; spontaneous abortion.”

How miscarriage happens

TRIGGER WARNING. Skip this paragraph if you don’t want to hear the details.

Miscarriage isn’t magical. It’s not like you’re pregnant one day and just “not” pregnant the next day.

If you’re “lucky,” you won’t need a D&C or a shot to induce the miscarriage.

If you’re “lucky,” you will only have a bright, ugly reminder several times a day for a week or more. Proof that you’re losing your baby. Piece. By. Piece.

It’s a constant state of sad.

This verse, Isaiah 59:9, sums it up: “We await a gleam of light, but walk about in gloom.”

Seriously, I can’t think of a word stronger than sad. I literally “walked about in gloom.”

And thought: Now what?

The grieving

We’d hardly gotten to share our joy with anyone. And were then suddenly plunged into a state of grief.

How could anyone understand what I was feeling when they hadn’t gotten to spend that beautiful week of joy and expectation with me?

It felt so strange to go back to work. To continue with business as usual. Especially with thoughts like these: We’d be having our ultrasound now… We’d know if we were having a girl or boy now… I’d be wearing maternity clothes now…

How long would I have thoughts like this? Forever, I suppose.

Or maybe until November 24th. When I’d start having different thoughts: I’d have a new baby right now… Our baby would be starting playschool now… Our baby would be walking now… Talking now… Laughing, crying, tantruming in the grocery store now…

It’s time to talk

People don’t talk very openly about miscarriage.

In fact, my cousin and I received news the same weekend that we would likely miscarry. She bravely posted on Facebook several days later. The support and number of people who responded that they, too, had experienced the loss of a baby was powerful.

Why is it such a private thing?

Certainly having a baby and being pregnant is one of the most public things you undertake. Strangers and friends alike don’t hesitate to ask all sorts of questions when you’re pregnant. About your weight gain, your habits, your parenting plans.

With this, though, there’s that little demon of self-doubt that rears its ugly head and says to me, “Don’t be so dramatic. The ‘baby’ was only 8 weeks old. People won’t think you should be grieving over this so much. Move on. People don’t want to hear about sad news.”

Perhaps it’s the intimacy of holding that unborn idea in your heart and not having it marred by others’ thoughts and opinions.

Perhaps it’s safer to avoid well-intentioned comments about how much easier one child is than two, about how old I would have been when that child graduated from high school.

So why write this and break the silence?

Battling the desire to keep the experience private and personal is my need to make our would-be baby real. It’s an effort to not forget. It’s a chance to recognize the potential of whom Baby Ford could have been on November 24th.

To those of whom I’ve shared my story, I cherish your words of comfort, your hugs of understanding. And to those of you reading this today, thank you for fulfilling my need for writing therapy. Because sometimes writing is the easiest way to speak of difficult things.

Share your own story of loss below or on Facebook at MothersRest.

About the guest blogger:
Jenni is a full-time mom to a sassy 10-year-old daughter and a 3.5-year-old, rainbow baby boy, a full-time wife, and a full-time professional in the leadership development industry. She enjoys reading, traveling, and spending time with family and friends.

Photo credit: Photo by Pexels from Pixabay