The "M"-word

I'm doing it...I'm going there. We are going to talk about miscarriages. I, myself, have not experienced one, but have many friends and family members who have. It's a traumatic experience, and one that has varying levels.

What I particularly don't understand is why it is so "taboo" to talk about. Recent statistics suggest that 10-15% of known pregnancies (you already know you are pregnant) and upwards of 20-30% of total pregnancies end in miscarriage. This number varies and is difficult to pinpoint due to many of them occurring before a woman knows she is pregnant. So, if it's so common, why do so few people talk about it?

I want to take the focus off of me for a few weeks while I am going through IVF (which I will be sure to update everyone about afterwards!). Because I personally have not had a miscarriage (that I know of), over the next few weeks I am going to be posting other's stories about what they went through. These brave woman are willing to put themselves out there (some anonymously) to show the public that everyone's experience with miscarriage is different, but all are heartbreaking. I am astounded by their courage and strength, and am proud to know them all!

Our first story comes from a friend of mine who I had lost touch with until we randomly ran into each other at the fertility doctor's office in the Spring.

Here is her story:

"A rainbow baby is a baby that comes after a miscarriage (or consecutive miscarriages). The rainbow being a metaphor for brighter days ahead after grey skies. While I sit writing this with 5 weeks until my due date I am so incredibly grateful to be in this position and start the journey as a mother. However, this rainbow has arrived after a period of time of my own dark cloud, almost a year ago. When I look back, the pain from having a miscarriage never really goes away, nor can it be replaced if a rainbow baby does make an appearance. To me, a miscarriage is it’s own entity, in the same manner the baby I have growing inside me is. Both are isolated experiences and I don’t associate the two to be anything alike. Suffering a miscarriage is devastating, desolate and deserting. It’s defeating, and painful, an experience I would never wish upon another; however, as incredibly sad it is as a memory, I know there are many other women who understand that pain. For a while, I tried to allow myself to really believe what others said: that it was Gods way of protecting me. In reality, many miscarriages happen before a woman has time to make a emotional connection or even see a second line - but my experience was a missed miscarriage. An incredibly cruel, harsh and wicked way to tease a woman. One who wants nothing else then to have a baby growing and thriving inside of her, just to find out at a 8 week or 12 week appointment that the pregnancy was not “vital”. It wasn’t until my dating scan that I found out, as the common thread with a missed miscarriage. It’s like carbon monoxide poising, you have no clue it’s happening, can’t feel it, there are no signs that it has happened and there are no symptoms, it catches you completely off guard and flips every belief you had upside down. I bought my husband with me into the ultrasound room with incredible excitement; THIS was it, I was going to hear my babies heartbeat for the first time. Unfortunately, on that December afternoon, there was not a heartbeat to be heard. I left that appointment so confused, resulting in an emotional breakdown in the parking lot of the OB office. My husband looked at me with the eyes of a stranger. “You heard what the doctor said, sometimes it isn't meant to be, sometimes this happens to protect us.” What? Protect me? I’ve never been more alone and exposed in my entire life. Looking back at this I understand now his intent and what his words meant, but in the moment, hunched over, heaving with heavy tears, raging with anger, how could I expect anyone to ever understand how I felt? How could he be so heartless? I believed was the only person in the world that this has ever happened to. The loneliness that proceeds a missed miscarriage is stifling. My dating scan was on 12/14 but it wasn’t until a week later that my body recognized the loss, days before Christmas. My doctor told me that it can take the body weeks have levels come back down and to recognize what is actually happening, so with a missed miscarriage, not only does a woman have to endure the pain, she literally may need to wait weeks to pass the hope she once carried in her belly if she opts to go down that road naturally. It wasn’t until the loss consumed my every thought that I could not harbor this pain and isolation anymore. I slowly opened up to friends and family and quickly learned recognized how common a miscarriage is. I had no clue that the support system I needed when I was silently dying inside for the weeks after was around me the entire time. Months later, I became pregnant with my rainbow baby that I carry today. He’s stretching his arm, or his leg, or something right now as I type this - and there is not a day that goes by that I don’t thank God for the opportunity to one day have him look up at me and say “pick me up mommy.” However, with the overwhelming gratitude that I feel, that fear of having the rug swept out from under my feet has never gone away. I don’t think the worry will ever stop. I just think it gets replaced, because now my mind wanders into the next realm of “what-it’s” and possibilities. I guess this is what comes with the territory as a woman. I don’t know how I feel when people say “oh I would never change a thing from my past,” but what I do know is that the past I have experienced has shaped me, and as I move forward in my life, I will never forget those gray steps that I leave behind."

Peace. Love. Rainbows.