Sharing my tragic story of how I lost my two babies and what I’m doing to heal, both physically and emotionally.
Content warning: baby loss
Ah, where do I even begin? Because, fuck, no one prepared me for this. Just a few months ago, I didn’t know what a stillbirth was. And a miscarriage? That could never happen to me. I mean, how could it? I work out. I eat healthy. I sleep eight hours a night. I don’t smoke or do drugs.
But life showed me different.
Did you know a stillborn baby is delivered every 16 seconds? That’s about 2 million babies stillborn every year. And did you know one in four women will experience a miscarriage in their lifetime? Because I didn’t. No one defined those terms for me. No one told me about those horrific statistics. No one. Not my family. Not my sex ed classes. Not my obstetrician. But why? Why are these things not talked about?
All my life, I thought a positive pregnancy test meant a baby in your arms. When I first found out I was pregnant with Luna (my first child and my only living child), in my head it was like, “I’m going to be pregnant for nine months. I’ll probably be a little sick at the beginning, but that won’t last too too long. And then I’ll give birth to a healthy baby. Happy ending.” Fortunately, for me, it went exactly like that. So when I became pregnant for the second time, it never occurred to me, not even for a second, that something could possibly go wrong.
My second pregnancy went NOTHING like I had imagined it would. At my anatomy scan at 20 weeks pregnant, I learned that my baby boy had severe heart abnormalities, specifically an AVSD and a vascular ring. I also learned that his liver was misplaced and his foot was most likely crooked. I was devastated, absolutely devastated. I remember coming home after the scan and just crying and crying. I couldn’t stop. My heart was aching. And then a few weeks later, at almost 24 weeks, my baby boy was born sleeping. I delivered him vaginally with my husband by my side. It was the absolute worst experience of my entire life.
Three months after the loss of my baby boy, I became pregnant for the third time. Was I excited? I wasn’t. Anyone who’s become pregnant after a loss knows how incredibly difficult it is. You live in a constant state of fear that something is going to happen to your baby. You can’t help it no matter how hard you try. So no, I wasn’t excited, but I did try to convince myself that this baby was going to make it. Sadly, he or she didn’t. I lost him or her at 7 weeks pregnant. He or she fell into the toilet at the hospital and got automatically flushed away. It sounds horrific, right? Well, that’s miscarriage. That’s the stark reality of miscarriage.
So how am I doing after experiencing two baby losses back to back? I’m better now, much better. For the past couple of months, I’ve been learning how to fall in love with myself again and how to properly take care of myself, both physically and mentally. I’ve been working out four times a week because it makes me feel good and strong. I’ve been going on daily walks because it gives me the opportunity to stock up on some vitamin D and listen to a motivational/educational podcast. I’ve been meditating because it helps me feel calm and balanced. I’ve been journaling because it allows me to engage in positive self-talk. I’ve been getting acupuncture treatments because it’s great at restoring the flow of positive energy throughout your body. And I’ve been sleeping 8 hours a night, because, well, sleep is healthy. But having said all that, it’s important to mention that my journey to self-love and my desire to look after myself and be kind to myself is still constantly evolving.
If you’ve come this far, I, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading. Thank you for being a support throughout my journey.