A Year of Grief
**Trigger Warning - Infertility/miscarriage
I normally don’t share this sort of thing because sometimes struggling alone is better than struggling publicly. I know this can sound silly to some and struggling publicly can bring so much support your way but… I never saw it like that. I always thought “no one cares what I’m going through, they want beautiful images and an upbeat smiling personality to escape their daily struggles” but after the past year I finally have felt ready to talk about this.
So, about a year ago, I was pregnant. My husband and I had been going through our infertility journey for about 3 years and I became so engulfed in it. All I could see was babies and moms and dads and pregnancy and joy and happiness and families. It’s something I wanted for myself and my husband to make us whole. Now, there is nothing wrong with my husband and I’s relationship. Yes, we have fights and yes, we don’t always see eye-to-eye but this fertility business was eating me alive and starting to affect our day-to-day lives. We were 4 IUI’s in and finally got our first positive pregnancy test. We were overjoyed but extremely worried. We knew that in the first trimester, there is always the highest risk for miscarriage but we also thought “we have a positive test, it worked and everything will be perfect”.
I was on top of the world… I don’t think I have ever felt this much purpose in my entire life. I was shopping for baby items and creating a list of things we needed to buy, planning our nursery, talking about names and how we would announce this to our family and friends. I was overjoyed and starting to show.
We went away for a weekend and when sitting in the dining room of a restaurant, our server walked up to our table to give us our cheque. He said “you guys look so happy, are we celebrating anything today?” and my husband and I looked at one another and my husband proudly said “my wife is expecting our first child” and in that moment I was hit with instant worry. Not worry about the server knowing our little secret but worried that what if this was something that could not happen at all for us and we told this complete stranger about it and how embarrassing it would be to not end up having this baby. Silly thoughts I know... that server wouldn’t know or be able to find out if we did or not but I was mortified at the thought. What I thought was embarrassment, was actually my fear and worry bubbling up and instead of addressing it, I quickly dismissed it because that’s what we do as humans, we don’t face our fears.
Fast forward 1 week, I am walking down the hallway to our 12-week ultrasound, showing a little belly proudly (although I’m sure everyone just thought I had a big lunch). I walk up to the desk, checked in alone (Covid restrictions does not allow husbands in ultrasound rooms). I finally get the call that my ultrasound tech is ready for me. I go into the room, sit on the bed, and she starting scanning my abdomen with the ultrasound machine. After about a minute I said “can I see?” She had the screen tilted away from me and as soon as I did that, I watched her expression change to extreme worry and to add to that, she urgently stood up and walked out of the room. I knew in that instant something was wrong… but she couldn’t tell me that (policy and procedures don’t allow ultrasound technicians to diagnose patients).
Instead of leaving the office with a little picture of our baby, I walked out to the parking lot in a haze of “holy fuck what is wrong?” Tears welling up in my eyes, I could barely see where I was going.
I don’t think hearing the doctor say “we couldn’t find a heartbeat” was part of my vision when having my 12-week ultrasound but reality hit me hard.
I was ruined. I was a mess. I came home and crawled into bed. My husband was so attentive to me and tried to console me but I was inconsolable. I still to this day feel guilty about not taking care of Steve when he was ultimately going through the same thing I was.
Grief is a crazy emotion. One minute you’re barely able to catch your breath from emotions welling up and the next you’re completely numb and going through the motions of life. Miscarriage is something no one wants to talk about. It’s like the black cloud overhead on the most perfect sunny day. This black cloud I felt hung over my head for over a year and it still does. Grief never goes away; life changes and feelings dissipate and things get better with time. It took me over a year to heal my wounds (figuratively speaking). To be able to talk about the subject and not have a mental breakdown was difficult. To say it’s one of the hardest things that have ever happened to me in my life is an understatement.
I’m not talking about this because I want pity or I want attention. I simply am talking about this because 1 in 8 pregnancies end in miscarriage. I was 1 in 8 women and although you may not know anyone who this has happened to... that could simply be because it’s such a taboo subject. Infertility is such a taboo subject. Grief is such a taboo subject. We need to normalize this in society. We need to talk more about this and be open about this. My grief almost consumed my everyday life and to be honest I felt like disappearing. This shouldn’t be how someone who is experiencing this situation should ever feel.
It took me a year to write this. It took me 365+ days to process my loss. If you are feeling lost and can relate to my story, please know you’re not alone. Therapy and counselling can work wonders (as someone who is involved in both). Talking to people who have gone through the same struggle is so helpful. To every woman who has helped me through this and talked me off that ledge, I see you and thank you.
If I can give you any advice from my loss I would say; take care of yourself and your mental health. It’s okay to not be everything to everyone else and instead just be there for yourself.
If you are ever experiencing mental distress or crisis please don’t hesitate to reach out to these appropriate resources (link below)
https://ontario.cmha.ca/provincial-mental-health-supports/
Thank-you for reading/listening to my story. Things always have a way of working out and we will get through whatever ails us. I’m always here for you whether that be lending an ear to listen or offering advice (if needed of course).
Markie.