Thoughts on Pregnancy Loss

My friend Daisha Johnson is starting a foundation to help families deal with miscarriage and infant loss. She asked me to share my story, so I share it with you here in the hopes that it will help someone who has gone or is going through a similar situation. I believe that things like this should be talked about more openly and that doing so brings us closer together and better able to support one another.

It's always your deepest fear, from the moment that the second line appears on the pregnancy test, but at the same time it isn't real, it wouldn't, couldn't happen to you. It happens to other people, but this is different. This baby will grow and develop, and in nine months you will count fingers and toes, and kiss a perfect button nose. Everything is perfect until it isn't, and nothing is ever the same again.

I had three little boys, each about two years apart. While I have miserable, difficult pregnancies it had been relatively easy for me to get pregnant and stay pregnant. I had a few chemical pregnancies (early, early miscarriages) before my last son, but I was only about 5 weeks along, and wouldn't have even known had I not been testing and if my period didn't always come like clockwork. After our third son, we needed a break and we weren't sure if we would ever try for a fourth and last child. Three kids is a lot economically and logistically, but my heart ached for a daughter. When our youngest was 4, we decided to give it one last try. A few months later, I started feeling queasy and took a test to confirm. We were so happy.

Around 8 weeks I scheduled an appointment with my obstetrician, who sent me for some labs and an ultrasound to confirm when my estimated due date would be. I wasn't particularly nervous, having been through a process three other times. Ten minutes or so into the procedure the ultrasound technician sighed and said something like, "well there's something I need to tell you, but I wanted to be sure before I said anything." Immediately my heart sank and I feared the worst, but then she quickly said, "it's twins."

I spent the next moments in complete shock. I just kept repeating, "oh my gosh" over and over. I never expected to carry twins, and the thought was completely overwhelming. She mentioned that it looked like they shared an amniotic sac, so she took a bunch more images to send to the doctor. I was then referred to a perinatologist who would assess my high-risk pregnancy.

The weeks that followed were a crash course in twin education. We were carrying extremely rare, extremely high-risk twins. They were identical twins that split at the last possible moment before they would have developed as conjoined, and as such shared an amniotic sac and a placenta. This happens in about 1 in 60,000 twin pregnancies. They are called mono-mono twins (monoamniotic, monochorionic) and I would be monitored closely and then admitted to the hospital for around the clock observation at 24 weeks. There was a huge list of complications we were at risk for, and the perinatologist told me in frank terms that I should probably start seeing a therapist because I could lose my babies at any moment.

This was all very emotional and overwhelming, but at no point did I really believe that I would lose my babies. It was a horrible fear I carried with me at every waking moment, but one that somehow didn't seem real.

My oldest son has asthma, and we ended up in the ER one night when I was about sixteen weeks along so that he could receive a breathing treatment. The next morning after he was discharged I had an appointment at the same hospital for another ultrasound to check the babies. My husband was there to pick up my son, so we all walked over together to the appointment, excited to get more cute ultrasound photos of these little miracle babies.

As soon as the ultrasound tech placed the wand on my abdomen, I knew something was wrong. I could see there was no heartbeat, no blood flow from the placenta. But I thought to myself, I'm sure the other baby is okay, they both can't be gone. Then she moved the wand and everything was silent. She took a few measurements and then escorted me to a waiting room where a doctor would explain to me the next steps that would happen.

I have never experienced such acute emotional pain in the whole of my life. I felt like the wind was knocked out of my very soul, and it felt like I'd never be able to breathe again. The hopes, the dreams, the Pinterest boards, the plans I had made crumbled into a cruel, mocking alternate reality that laughed at my pain. I had my husband call our families to break the news to them, and I clung to him. I couldn't talk to anyone but my immediate family for a little over a week, it was just too hard. I had to get through delivering the babies, picking up their ashes at the funeral home, and trying to recover physically from everything that was happening.

Day after day, I learned to breathe again. I discovered meditation, and together with my faith, I began to find a way to process everything I was feeling. It was a long road, but I knew from the outset that my family needed me, and I needed to find a way back to okay. I gave myself the grace to heal and was blessed with supportive friends and family who gave me space and the love I needed to find my way back.