Recurrent First Trimester Loss – Amber’s Story

March 2, 2023

In August of 2020, my husband Aaron and I began talking about when we would want to start trying to grow our family. We had been married for almost a year at this time. It was such an exciting time, setting out on this journey we had both been wanting for most of our lives! Within a few months, I was diligently trying to track my irregular cycles and researching tips, tricks, or supplements I could find to give us our best chance of conceiving. 

After one year of trying, we had been unable to conceive and my doctor finally agreed to get some basic testing done for us and referred me to a gynaecologist. Without finding anything of specific concern in any of our tests, we started a treatment to help regulate my cycle in hopes that it would make it easier to time conception. For 5 months we were told the medication wasn’t working for me and that I would need to move on to a fertility clinic to have further testing done and explore other options for treatment. Each step along the way, whether it was meeting with a new doctor or trying a new treatment, we had family and friends congratulating us and expressing their excitement for us. In reality, it felt like we were just getting closer and closer to being told we would never have biological children. It felt so isolating and exhausting. 

In January of 2022, two months before we were expecting a call from the fertility clinic, the medication I was taking seemed to be working and we were flabbergasted by our first ever positive pregnancy test! We were so excited that we told both sets of our parents that weekend.

Sadly, a week later I started bleeding. I was home alone all day, bleeding and wondering if there was any chance that I would be able to keep this baby inside of me. Within a couple of days, we confirmed with blood tests that I was miscarrying. It all felt so unfair. Not only did we represent the 1 in 8 couples who struggle with infertility, now, after finally seeing those two pink lines I had been so desperate to see for the last year and a half, I became a statistic for pregnancy loss.

The next couple of months were some of the hardest of my life. Every pregnancy announcement, kids’ birthday party, baby shower invite, or newborn to meet, was immensely harder to accept than it had already been for the past year.

Then… another positive test. April of 2022, only a couple of months after my last pregnancy. I suddenly realized how much trauma I was holding onto from infertility and the miscarriage. I fell apart. Every strange twinge, every speck of pink on the toilet paper, every thought of dread for no reason, sent me into a tailspin. I started a prescription for anxiety medication to try and cope with what I was hoping would be the next 9 months of pregnancy.

Despite all the grief and fear I was processing, I was somehow still hopeful that this was our chance at a rainbow baby. We made a conscious effort to try to be optimistic. We shared the news with our close family and friends and had some wonderful moments together celebrating this new life. 

A month after finding out we were expecting, I went in for an early ultrasound to figure out how far along I was. My midwife said that this would also be a good chance to get some reassurance for the anxiety after my miscarriage. The ultrasound was hard for me, I was imagining all the bad things they might find once they actually looked into my womb. But I kept reassuring myself that my symptoms had been getting stronger and stronger and everything seemed to be going well so I had nothing to worry about. Less than an hour after getting home from my appointment, I got a call from my midwife.

 “Hi Amber, I’m calling you about the results of your ultrasound. I’m sorry to say I don’t have good news.”

What? Did I hear that wrong? Everything had been going well. Everyone had told me that my anxieties were unwarranted. This ultrasound was supposed to help reassure me!

“Your baby is measuring 7 weeks and 6 days…But there was no heartbeat. Your baby passed away.” She continued to try and explain my options moving forward (because my body had not yet realized my baby was gone) but I couldn’t hear her. All that kept running through my head was “It was supposed to be good news!” My ears were ringing, I don’t even know if I said goodbye, hung up my phone, or just put it down somewhere. Minutes after, my parents came to sit with me. I wailed in pain thinking of the dead child inside of me. How could it have been bad news again? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Aaron got home a couple of hours later and telling him was probably the most painful moment of my life. It felt like time had frozen and I didn’t know what to do next.

Over the next couple of days, we talked through our options to get my body to let go of the baby it was still trying to grow. I wanted surgery. The idea of bleeding in my bathroom alone again was too much for me. But we were told that surgeries were backed up so I might have to wait up to two weeks to go that route. So instead, we were given a medication to take at home to induce the miscarriage. 

On May 25, 2022, Aaron took the day off to be with me. Within an hour of taking the medication, I was in full on labour pains and felt like I might pass out. After about an hour of the most intense physical pain I had ever felt, I went to the bathroom and spotted the first bits of blood. Suddenly I felt something larger making its way out. I reached down and caught my baby in my hands. It was still in its gestational sac about the size of a plum. I could see my baby, no bigger than a cashew perfectly curled up inside. Aaron and I studied our baby for awhile in awe that in just over a month, God had created this little human, already formed with eyes and a nose, tiny arms, and legs. It was absolutely perfect. I made a little box out of paper, wrapped my baby up in tissues and placed baby in the box. We buried our baby that same day, beneath a lilac bush in our backyard. 

I hardly cried at all that day or the next. I was in shock, and also in awe at what my body had accomplished even though we didn’t get to hold our living baby in our arms. Within a few days, my hormones began to crash, and the tears flowed almost every morning and night. Whenever there was a quiet moment all I could feel was this intense longing to be with my baby. One night, I heard it start to rain and remember going through the checklist in my head—making sure I hadn’t left anything outside to get wet. I suddenly remembered that my baby was outside, in the ground. The thought of my baby, out there in the rain, overwhelmed me with sadness. The fact that I couldn’t keep my baby safe and warm in my womb or my arms suddenly felt so real and so gut wrenching. 

Over the summer we took some time to get more testing done through our fertility clinic and took a break from trying to get pregnant. I used this time to learn how to paint with water colour and sculpt and try all kinds of art projects. It helped keep my hands and mind busy. It also gave me the opportunity to express my grief. 

In September of 2022, we got a positive pregnancy test again, but sadly within a few days, the lines on my daily tests began fading and I started bleeding not long after. When we told our friends and family that we had miscarried again, their grief made me realize how numb I was. I had hardly even become excited. When I saw that positive test it changed nothing in how I viewed the future. All I knew was that God had placed another life inside of me. But when it was taken away, I hardly even felt sad. It just felt inevitable.

The next month we thought we were pregnant again. When that test was negative, relief washed over me. I realized how afraid I was to be pregnant again. I wondered if I even wanted to try anymore. What had started out as an exciting investment in our future just over two years earlier, had become the largest source of pain and trauma in my life.

 Since October 2022, I have been focused on honouring my babies in heaven. We had names for each of them while we were pregnant and decided to keep those as their forever names. Poppy, Button, and Junior. I’ve chosen a flower that I believe represents each of their little lives here on earth and have included those flowers some of my art projects. At Christmas, I bought each of them a children’s book that have their names in the title.

In January 2023, I had the anniversary of my first miscarriage and what I’ve decided is Poppy’s first birthday. It’s the day I birthed my first baby. The day my baby left my womb. So, I read Poppy’s book, lit their candle and sang some songs. It helps me to know I have things to help me remember and feel connected to my babies in heaven.

I know when I seek out other people’s stories of infertility and miscarriage, I’m often looking for advice. How in the world am I meant to survive this? What do others do? Will people think I’m weird or am I doing grief wrong? So, I guess all I want to say is, your grief journey is yours, do what you need to do to survive. 

Here are some of the (sometimes strange) things that have helped me survive.

• Setting BOUNDARIES (especially with family) ie. asking family not to surprise us with pregnancy announcements in person, or saying no to baby shower invites.
• Finding moments where I can hold my friend’s babies in a setting where I feel safe to cry.
• Making candles and ornaments to represent my babies during our family Christmas gatherings. Expressing myself through different kinds of art and sharing it with others.
• Unfollowing pregnant friends or new moms on social media (if I want to check on them, I can do so when I am ready).
• Finding other loss moms and infertility friends to commiserate with.
• Writing letters (sometimes angry ones) to my body, my friends and family, God, and even my babies when the anger gets too overwhelming (never sent of course).
• Talking about my babies openly and often.
• Getting outside and letting the sun hit my face.
• Different types of yoga and trauma release exercises.
• Made a labyrinth to walk in my backyard.
• Bought a weighted teddy bear that I can hold when my arms feel empty.

Most importantly, I try to take time to quiet my mind and sit with Jesus every morning. I need him to remind me of my worth. Some mornings I just tell him how angry I am with him that he has my babies, and I don’t. But he’s always there to welcome me no matter where I’m at.

Some things have helped more than others, and many are things I thought I would never do in my life. This is far from a prescription on how to process your own grief. I’m merely trying to help you give yourself permission to do what you need to do to let this grief pass through you as it comes up no matter how strange or misunderstood it may be. Do what you need to do to make your life worth living, even if it will never be the same as before. I promise you this, your loved ones would rather you live your life in a way they don’t quite understand, than you not being alive and here with them.  And if someone who has not gone through miscarriage is reading this and thinking they don’t understand, just be thankful you don’t have to.

“The Lord is near the broken hearted. He saves those crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

-Amber

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