Winstead Wandering

Prone to Wander

Unexpected Truths of Pregnancy After Miscarriage

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The redemption and hope of pregnancy after miscarriage is a beautiful thing, but it brings with it unexpected truths and anxieties. 

The redemption and hope of pregnancy after miscarriage is a beautiful thing, but it brings with it unexpected truths and anxieties.

I took my first two pregnancies for granted. I didn’t experience a single complication with either one, and since my mom had five healthy, mostly uneventful pregnancies, I naïvely expected mine would be the same. I took my third pregnancy for granted, too, until we lost the baby at 12 weeks.

Now, in my fourth pregnancy, I’m learning a lot about how different it is to carry a child after losing one.

Unexpected Truths of Pregnancy After Miscarriage

The anxiety doesn’t go away

I thought- and hoped- that the constant anxiety I felt would subside somewhat when my pregnancy progressed past the point I miscarried. In a lot of ways, it did. But in several other ways, it continues even though I’m more than halfway through my second trimester.

Part of the reason is that, in the nearly 12 months between the loss of our third pregnancy and the beginning of our fourth, I read a lot of blog posts and articles about pregnancy and infant loss. I sought out stories from women who could relate to my grief and, in doing so, I learned more than I ever wanted to know about miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss.

I came to realize what I’d always known, but had never quite internalized: loss can come to anyone, at anytime. Reaching an arbitrary milestone doesn’t make me immune to that loss. I’ve learned I won’t truly feel this baby is “safe” until I hold her in my arms.

Signs of pregnancy are welcome

I would love to have sickness-free pregnancies. But I didn’t with my first three, so the morning sickness that occurred so frequently during the first dozen weeks of this pregnancy was welcome. While unpleasant, the nausea was a sign that pregnancy hormones were still running through my blood. I was still thankful when the morning sickness passed, but I appreciated it while it was around.

The big stuff becomes smaller

With my other pregnancies, we discussed possible names long before we found out the gender. The “big” ultrasound, the one with the gender reveal, was much-anticipated. This time around, our 20-week appointment, when we found out we’re having a girl, wasn’t the big to-do it’d been before, and we’ve only just begun discussing possible names.

Part of this, I’m sure, is due to the fact that we already have a boy and a girl. Maybe so many things about this pregnancy would be routine even if we hadn’t experienced miscarriage. I feel certain, though, that most of it’s because our main focus is the health of the baby. As long as we know she’s safe, everything else is secondary. Of course, that was the biggest priority for us before, too, but miscarriage brought it to the forefront.

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The Significance of a Box of Diapers

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The hope and anxiety of pregnancy after miscarriage.

The hope and anxiety of pregnancy after miscarriage.

I bought a box of diapers the other day.

They’re size ones, much too small for our all-but-potty-trained three year old. They’re for our baby that’s due in July and I’m not sure I can fully explain what they represent.

With my three previous pregnancies, I began stocking up on diapers nearly from the beginning. I’d grab a package just about every trip to the grocery store. I’d buy other odds and ends here and there, as they were on sale and as I thought about what we’d need.

I bought a package of diapers several weeks into my third pregnancy. Luvs brand. I bought a few other things, too: an Ergo carrier that was an irresistible price on Amazon, and several maternity pants and shirts for the belly I knew would soon be expanding.

And then we lost the baby.

The diapers sat there on the shelf in my closet. The maternity clothes hung from the rod, washed and ready to be worn. When we moved into our new home five months after the miscarriage, the clothes moved right along with us; they’re now hanging among my cardigans and dress pants in my new closet.

The diapers came, too, though I’m not sure where they ended up. I don’t where the Ergo is, either. I didn’t ask because we didn’t need it.

But now we’re pregnant again and I just bought a box of diapers.

Like I said, it’s hard to really explain what these diapers mean. I lived in fear for the first several weeks of this pregnancy. Every twinge and ache had me anxious. I was certain every trip to the bathroom would be the one where I saw blood.

I was out shopping the week before Thanksgiving and I came across the most adorable maroon onesie with a bulldog applique (for Mississippi State University). It was perfectly gender neutral and I carried it around the store as I shopped. At the last minute I put it back; I couldn’t bring myself to make the purchase yet. I couldn’t let myself buy something for a baby I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to meet.

I’m only twelve weeks along now, the same gestation I was when I miscarried. J and I got to see our wiggly little 12-week-old on ultrasound the other day, something we didn’t get last time.

There’s still so much that can go wrong; I’m not sure I’ll ever get a full breath until the baby is here and in my arms. But in the last few weeks, I’ve managed to move from a place of fear to a place of hope. Instead of the dread that seemed to have made a permanent home in the pit of my stomach, I’m beginning to picture What’s Next: learning the gender, decorating a space for the little one, and becoming a family of five. All the things I didn’t realize I wouldn’t let myself think about.

I’m hopeful that we’ll get to meet and raise this baby, hopeful my kids will know the sibling they’ve already grown to love. I can’t pinpoint exactly when that transition happened, when I stopped holding my breath every time I used the bathroom, when I began to envision What’s Next.

But at some point it happened, that slow shift, and now I feel ready to embrace the anticipation of welcoming a baby.

So I bought a box of diapers.

The hope and anxiety of pregnancy after miscarriage.

Why We Shared Our Pregnancy-After-Miscarriage News Early

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The reasons why, despite everything convention tells us, we decided to share our pregnancy-after-miscarriage news early.

The reasons why, despite everything convention tells us, we decided to share our pregnancy-after-miscarriage news early.

When J and I first began discussing trying to get pregnant again after the miscarriage of our third baby, one of the things we talked about was how we’d handle announcing the news.

With our first baby, G, we shared our pregnancy as soon as we found out- at 6 weeks. We were excited and we didn’t want to wait to celebrate with our friends and family. Plus, my brother and his wife were already expecting a baby. We wanted to share that there’d soon be baby cousins.

When we got pregnant with B, we kept it a secret from everyone until we were 10 or 12 weeks along. To be honest, looking back, I don’t recall why we decided to wait. We knew the statistics about miscarriage, but I don’t think that was the only motivating factor in saving our news.

We were trying to get pregnant with our third, so we knew right away, at four weeks. We told our families and a few close friends, but for the most part we guarded our secret, waiting to make the news official until we were safely out of the first trimester. At the end of the twelfth week of pregnancy, we made the news Facebook official and shared it with the world.

Three days later, I miscarried.

My first instinct regarding a fourth pregnancy was to hold tightly to the news. The more I thought about it, though, the more firmly I came to realize this truth: the pain we experienced when we lost the baby was not magnified because of how many people knew about our pregnancy. The loss hurt because our baby died; it didn’t hurt because we had to tell people.

In fact, as I mentioned in my post about helping a friend through her miscarriage, the comments from friends- especially those who have experienced miscarriage themselves- were comforting.

Ultimately, we decided not to wait until we made it to the second trimester to share our happy news.

Why We Shared Our Pregnancy-After-Miscarriage News Early

We want to celebrate this baby

We are so happy about this pregnancy. This baby was planned for and wanted and loved long before we saw two lines on a pregnancy test. It is our desire to celebrate this little life; we hope and pray that we’ll get to keep celebrating for decades to come, but if that isn’t the case, we want to rejoice for the eight or ten or twenty weeks we have.

What we don’t want is to share our pregnancy news with people in the same breath we share our miscarriage news.

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8 ways to help a friend through her miscarriage

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8 practical ways to help a friend through her miscarriage | winstead wandering

Plenty of articles have circulated the internet with lists of things you should and shouldn’t say to a woman who has recently miscarried. Because I have my own perspective on pregnancy loss, I thought I’d offer up my own suggestions.

1. let her talk about it

In many ways, losing a pregnancy is like having a baby (except, of course, in all of the ways it isn’t). One of the similarities is that every women comes out the other side with a unique battle story. While miscarriage is heartbreakingly common, the experience itself is as individual as the woman experiencing it.

That’s why women want to share their stories. It isn’t something I’d ever discuss during one of those “when my child was born…” conversations that inevitably develops from time to time when moms get together. But in the first couple of weeks after we lost our baby, it was cathartic to talk things through (I suppose it still is, which is why I choose to write about it).

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loss & longing part III: the weeks after

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loss & longing: thoughts on the aftermath of miscarriage

This is part III, the final part of the three part story of the miscarriage of our third baby. The story begins with part I and continues with part II.

On Tuesday, the day after we found out we lost the baby, we had to return to the doctor’s office for pre-surgery blood work and registration. I think I was mostly numb at that point, because I was able to keep my tears in check most of the time.

That evening we went to school (J. and I both teach high school; he teaches upper-level sciences and I teach business and technology). Because my surgery was scheduled for the next morning, Wednesday, we both had sub plans to make (I had to make mine for the rest of the week, but J. planned to return to work on Thursday). I was calm and collected during those couple hours working in my classroom; I’m pretty good at dealing with stress if I have tasks to complete. I methodically made my plans and left detailed notes and instructions for my sub(s).

We had to leave early Wednesday morning for the hospital. Because of the nature of my surgery, I didn’t have a set appointment time; they just fit me in where they could. We sat in the waiting room, waiting to be called back, for nearly two hours. I killed time messing around on my phone and watching The Today Show, not shedding a tear. [Read more…]

loss & longing part II: immediately after

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loss & longing: thoughts on the aftermath of miscarriage

This is part two in the three part story of the loss our third pregnancy. To read the story from the beginning, here’s part I. The story concludes with part III.

The ultrasound tech came back just a few moments later with my doctor. He was so kind as he explained that the baby had died. He wanted me to call someone to come get me, but I insisted that I was okay to make the 30 minute drive home. He asked that I call the office later in the evening to discuss what we needed to do next, but I asked him to describe things to me there.

He explained that, because the pregnancy was 12 weeks along, I would have to have a D & C procedure: a surgery, performed under general anesthesia, in which the cervix is dilated and the contents of the uterus are removed. After we talked briefly, he walked me to my car.

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loss & longing part I: finding out

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loss & longing: thoughts on the aftermath of miscarriage | winstead wandering

The first and only ultrasound photo we have of Baby Winstead #3. This was taken at my eight week appointment, where everything looked healthy and normal.

This is part I in the three part story of the miscarriage of our third baby; here is part II.

When I was younger, I didn’t understand the concept of miscarriage. How can you miss and mourn something that you’ve never held? As someone who believes that life begins at conception, it wasn’t that I didn’t believe those pregnancies were people. It was that I didn’t see how the loss of something so small could cause such huge pain.

Fast forward a decade to March of 2010. J. and I had just bought our first home, in Oregon, and he was back in Mississippi visiting family. It had occurred to me while at work that I was two weeks late. I was never late. So, after work, I stopped by the grocery store to buy a pregnancy test. I was so sure the test would be negative that I even bought tampons, too.

I went straight home and took the test. I hoped I was pregnant. J. and I had been trying for a couple of months. In those two minutes, as I paced the hallway outside the bathroom with our pony-sized black lab following anxiously behind, I dreamed. I imagined calling J. to share the news. I thought about my body growing and changing and the joy and anticipation of preparing for the baby. I pictured us as a family of three, with me falling in love with J. all over again while watching him be a dad.

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