- I've had four pregnancy losses. I also have two beautiful children.
- I found out that what would've been our third baby didn't have a heartbeat at 10 weeks.
"Sit down," the stylist said to me as I plopped myself in the chair at Drybar. "What's the special occasion?"
My mind went blank. I hadn't thought about what I would say if I were asked that question. And honestly, the answer to this innocent inquiry would have made things wildly uncomfortable.
I was having a miscarriage.
I had suffered losses before
Before we got pregnant with my first child, Leo, we experienced three losses. With each loss I felt more and more pain, anxiety, and depression. There were no reasons for our difficulty — and no answers.
We dealt with our loss alone. To everyone other than our immediate family, we hoped our brave faces would make up for our shattered hearts.
When we got pregnant with our second son, Nico, just 10 months later, I thought that our issues had disappeared, that life had sorted itself out, and that our infertility problems were behind us. I thought loss wouldn't happen to us again — we were over that hump, and I was the poster child for a happy ending.
When I unexpectedly started to feel abdominal pain at Christmas this past year, I immediately knew I was pregnant again. I could feel that tiny little baby burying itself down in my body and knew we would bring this baby home. I didn't need a test — I had been through this before, five times. This was the third baby we desperately wanted but hadn't had time to schedule into our busy lives.
Everything was OK until it wasn't
I went to my first appointment at six weeks, alone. I started telling some friends I couldn't hide my nonalcoholic drinks from, and I organized a nanny-share with my neighbor who was a few weeks ahead of me. I mentally reorganized our house to envision space for our new addition.
Because of our history, I scheduled another ultrasound at 10 weeks, and I went alone. After all, it would simply confirm what I already knew.
But when the ultrasound tech got quiet, I immediately knew. I had been here before.
The doctor confirmed there was no heartbeat anymore. It was quiet in the room for a few seconds before I burst into tears. They shuffled me through a few offices and handed me off to nurses who awkwardly tried to comfort me.
This time I was prepared for what came next
They scheduled a dilatation and evacuation, or D&E, a few days later, on a Friday afternoon.
At my first D&E, I'd been wildly unprepared. I had no idea that it would take place on the labor-and-delivery floor of the hospital. I had no idea that while my baby was cut out of my body, my worried parents would sit in the waiting room next to smiling grandparents eagerly waiting for their happy news.
I'd had no idea they would use the word "abortion" to describe the process I was about to have on a baby that was so, so wanted.
This time, I knew. And if I couldn't control the process, I was at least going to look good while it happened. So I scheduled a blowout.
Getting my hair done before this baby was ripped from our lives was the one way I could celebrate its little life, as silly as that may sound. So we went together — my baby and me — to get my hair done, and we sat together for the last time.
Sharing this story, like scheduling that blowout, gives me a little bit of control back in my life. It allows me to drive rather than be driven. I've been much more open about talking about my five losses in addition to the two beautiful children I've been blessed with. And in doing so, I've tried to help others heal from similar experiences.
In many ways, I'm not alone. And you're not alone.