The Way Life Teaches Us What We Need to Know: My Story About Love and Loss

Looking back, I think I knew the whole time. But it’s one of those things that seemed intangible, almost impossible. It’s something that no one could comprehend without being forced to, but we offer our  sympathies when it comes to our attention.

That was me.  The ultimate sympathizer.  If you fell and scraped your knee while out for a run with me, I would  feel bad about it for days; I offered to carry you on my back, and continued to check in on you until you were healed.  And so, when learned my friend lost her baby to a miscarriage a year ago, that was what I did.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” I said, because what else COULD you say? She didn’t tell anyone.  She waited months to tell me, and even then it was only because the topic came up. “It will happen when the time is right,” I told her. “You know it’s not your fault, right?” My sympathy came from feeling bad for the time lost. Knowing the excitement that must have come from finding out after over a year of trying; knowing how great the disappointment and frustration must have been finding out it ‘didn’t stick.’ Because, though I was a mother myself, I had forgotten how deeply you fall for the little life inside of you so quickly.

It’s funny the way life teaches us what we need to know.

On a fall Saturday morning I woke up at the crack of dawn with my toddler, quietly snuck out of the bedroom and shut the door so my husband could catch a few extra Z’s. I sat down to sip on my tea and wake up a little when my phone buzzed to remind me that “aunt flo” would be paying me a visit yesterday or today. WHAT?! How had I forgetten that–my body never lets me forget! I already had my suspicions, so I snuck back into my bedroom. Two tests later, I confirmed what I suspected.

We had been trying for nearly a year to add to our family. Which, by grace, we knew in perspective was not really that long. However, the decision to finally take the leap again was arduous. My pregnancy and birth experience with my daughter was nothing short of awful.  She was born 9 ½ weeks early at just 2lb7oz after I suffered complications of severe pre-eclampsia (you can read more about her story here).  The recovery process was long and hard. Coupled with other health problems, deciding to try for another baby terrified me. But as soon as I saw those double lines, heard my daughter say ‘big sister, yay!’, and told my husband the news, all of the fear was replaced with hope, love and excitement.

By the end of that day, we had already done the math enough to discover we would be in Florida visiting my family for Christmas; just three weeks short of the start of the second trimester. It would be Christmas Day that we announced our second pregnancy and we were SO excited.

After a whirlwind holiday season, we came home from our travels, and things seemed a little off. After a series of events including minimal spotting, cramping, and just feeling overall crappy, I called my doctor. They advised me to come in for a second ultrasound. I called my husband at work and prepared him for the worst, letting him know I’d be there to pick him up in a half hour.

As we walked back to the ultrasound room, I reassured myself that this was ‘routine’ at least 20 times. I layed down on the table, and grabbed my husband’s hand, hoping that the harder we might squeeze the more positive the results. But after a few minutes of silence our fears were realized. There was no more heartbeat, and our little person would grow no more.

I didn’t know how much I had loved and how much I had already planned for the child I was growing until I laid through the deafening silence while the tech frantically searched for that little glimmering heart.

The next thing I remember, I was on my knees in the bathroom, completely numb with sadness, and with what-could’ve-beens. We already had a beautiful daughter and I remembered seeing her for the very first time via ultrasound when I was only about five weeks pregnant with her. That little egg sac is now a beautiful, energetic and fun toddler. I now I wondered who was this person that I had just lost. Was it a boy or girl? Which name would we have given it?

I didn’t care how normal the nurse thought this may be for women; it didn’t feel normal to me at all. We had just told our entire family; we had just discussed plans for the months ahead; we had promised our daughter a baby brother or sister (try explaining this to a two-year-old!). And now, nothing.

They will tell you it’s nothing you did, but that seemed impossible. I could count *at least* 20 things I did ‘wrong’ that I should have done better or differently. No one told me this could happen or that I’d feel this way; and why was the baby still in me making me feel so freaking pregnant? Oh, and there was just simply nothing ‘normal’ about laying on an operating table, unaware, while the baby you have loved impossibly, and so quickly, gets removed and is truly no more.

After the surgery, as we pulled out of the parking lot, my heart began to ache and suddenly I felt something I was all too familiar with. It hit me quick and hard. Suddenly I felt like the broken self I was two years ago when as we drove away from the hospital without my first born. Two times now, I have gone into that hospital pregnant, and two times I have left without my baby.

As people began to hear, slowly they confide their own stories of loss and love. And so yes, it did seem more ‘normal’. But it was a little unnerving how ‘quiet’ people kept it. . . the shame and fault women feel. I realized much of it is social stigma; I now knew an even bigger part is grief and the grieving process. My own perception has changed drastically. I know now, the sadness of a miscarriage for many people is truly the sadness of the life lost.

Until you have lived a few days feeling as pregnant as ever, with the baby you have loved endlessly since day 1, knowing it was not growing or living, you can not imagine the loss. I never thought this would happen to me, but if I ever had to imagine it happening I wouldn’t have ever expected to feel so impossibly lost. I really never thought of the first few months as sustainable life or life in general, if I’m being honest. So yeah, I expected to be sad about the disappointment…the let down and the embarrassment, the guilt and anger. I expected that.  But not the sadness of a life lost.

I’m typically a silent sufferer. I mend and heal alone, I want to be alone, I don’t want to talk. But in this instance, it was hard to do that. All the people closest to us knew. And as others inquired, I made myself promise not to keep this a secret. Because, why? Women should know they aren’t alone. That no one can understand what they felt or feel when they go through an early loss the way others that have gone through it can.

I still get sad and unreasonable at times. And I’m sure I will always revisit that feeling when I think of it, or revisit this chapter in my life; but it’s just another step in my journey to grow from and learn from. I will be grateful for that,  and try to use it in a way that it will make a difference in another person’s life. What better way to honor that little life lost by lifting others, supporting others, and spreading awareness and validation to the women who are silently suffering?

There is a misconception that miscarriages are rare, when the reality is that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. That number is astounding! Please don’t suffer alone. While your experience may be different than anyone else’s, your feelings are valid and okay. And I’ve now learned that really, the most comforting thing was having women in my circle reach out and just simply say, as cliche’ as it might be, “you are not alone.”

It’s funny the way life teaches us what we need to know.

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Kaitlin Hansen

Kaitlin is first time momma to a very active 2 year old little girl.  Having moved around through several states throughout her life, she now calls Sun Prairie Wisconsin ‘home’ and enjoys getting involved her community and organizing playgroups for local momma’s.  When she isn’t balancing her full-time photography business (KaitlinSheran Photography) and staying home with her daughter, she enjoys volunteering, crafting, creating, outdoor activities and spending time with her family.  Kaitlin holds a degree in Human Development and Family studies from the UW-Madison where she specialized in Child Development.  While her need to create is fulfilled through her work, her heart and passion lies in the betterment of child welfare.