The remarkable thread continues:
I have had four miscarriages and, at the age of 40, have finally accepted that I will never have my own biological children. Your reader with the PhD in genetics wrote, “When something is very wrong with the genetic makeup of the embryo, it doesn’t develop properly and the body rejects it, as it should. … I wish there was more education about this; I think people would have an easier time accepting this outcome if they understood.”
This reader has obviously never experienced a miscarriage. I guarantee you that when a woman has a miscarriage, the first question she asks is, “What went wrong?” And unless a specific medical cause can be identified, she hears the above explanation. For most people, this in no way will lessen the grief. The loss of the pregnancy means the loss of not just a future baby, but all your hopes and dreams for that baby and your family. It sounds corny, but unless you have experienced the loss of a very wanted pregnancy, it is difficult to express the depth of grief and loss.
And yes, an early miscarriage is very different than a late term miscarriage, a stillbirth, or the death of child. But, to basically tell parents who miscarried early that they should get over it more easily because the baby was just not “meant to be,” biologically speaking, is highly insensitive at best.
By the way, I had an abortion in my early 20s. I have never regretted it, even now. Having a child at that age would have destroyed my sanity and life. My parents are very strict Catholics and I would probably have dropped out of college due to the shame it would have brought on my family. Why should I have destroyed my life just because our contraception of choice failed? Despite my four miscarriages later in life, I have always been, and remain, pro-choice. It’s so very personal.
Several other readers sound off:
I am a childless older gay male, and I have been really interested in reading your posts on the impact of miscarriages on couples. Thank you for bringing this to public conversation. The most important factor to me is how society treats this particular loss – by ignoring it, essentially. I have been guilty of the same ignorance – with my sister and niece, who both miscarried but subsequently had great kids. I was also struck by juxtaposing these comments to an earlier post on your site, “When Children Weren’t Cherished,” which tells the story of how losing young children before the 19th century, not to mention early miscarriages, was treated with as little emotion as the loss of a pet. Of course, many children died early then, so maybe it was so common that it wasn’t as sad as it might be today. However, there’s also the possibility that those older mothers grieved much as we do today, but it wasn’t noted because they were women and women had considerably fewer modes of communication then.
Another male reader:
Thank you for the thread on miscarriages. Because my wife was high risk, we knew we would have difficulty with her getting pregnant. We tried for years and then decided to try IVF. IVF was successful in getting her pregnant, but she suffered five miscarriages (all early on in the pregnancy). They were extremely emotionally painful. She viewed the miscarriages as her weakness (or maybe her fault). That, of course, is understandable, but, as a result, she didn’t want me to talk to anyone about them. She could talk to her trusted friends to help her process the pain, but I was kind of left to suffer in silence. I could, of course, talk to my wife about it, but I didn’t want to burden her with my pain. She was dealing with hers. It sucked.
Well, after the five miscarriages, she got pregnant again (via IVF). All was going well and about four weeks in she went for a routine sonogram. I usually went to all the appoinments, but couldn’t make this one. Our regular doctor was not there and one of the other doctors did the sonogram. He told my wife that the fetus was not viable and that a DNC will be scheduled. Of course, she was devastated and called me very upset. She then said that something did not feel right about the whole thing and she called our regular doctor. He said come in again the next day and he will re-do the sonogram. Of course, I went.
Well, he found the pulsating of a viable fetus. It was a miracle. Well, that little bundle of pulsating cells is now a beautiful six-year-old girl who is the light of our life. To this day, I can’t tell this story (or type it) without tearing up. To know we came so close to ending her life based on a faulty sonogram. Thank God my wife felt something was not right. Thank God!
Another happy ending from a reader:
I am sure that you’ve been inundated with stories in response to this thread. I was a bit reluctant to share, but others’ tales have deeply touched me … as so many of your threads have over the years. My husband and I had been happily married for over 13 years when we mutually decided that we would like to share our lives with a child. At 37, I was older to be trying for the first time. But for some reason, it never really crossed my mind that we might have a tough time getting (and staying) pregnant … even when the doctors warned that it might be.
After trying for several months, we were ecstatic when an early test came back positive. My husband was away on a business trip and I snapped a selfie (before everyone was calling them that) and texted him the great news with a subject line of “congratulations, Papa!” We told everyone, blithely. I went to the first OB visit on my own, figuring there would be many more visits when my husband could join me. The OB performed what we both expected to be a routine scan, but they couldn’t find a heartbeat. He told me not to be overly worried, as it was early on. I cried all throughout a blood draw, as a nurse told me to stop because my tears were “bad for the baby.” The tests indicated that I was still pregnant, but the scare left me shaken and I cried all the way home. I continued to feel pregnant and looked forward to the next visit, but they were never able to locate a heartbeat and eventually I stopped feeling pregnant and began to bleed.
Flash forward a few months and we were again elated when an at-home test came back affirmative. We were far more circumspect this time around and waited to tell even our families until I had a positive test at the OB and we saw a heartbeat on the monitor. We allowed ourselves to get excited and shared our good news. I was told that the signs looked good for us and started working out again. At just over 12 weeks, I was resting at home on a beautiful winter’s day after a workout when I felt a strange pull. I went to the bathroom and to my horror, was bleeding profusely. I called the doctor, asking if I could go to the emergency room. He said there was nothing they could do. He said he was very sorry that I’d miscarried again and that he would see me on Monday and we could talk about next steps. Distraught, my husband asked me what I felt like doing. I replied honestly, “I feel like getting drunk.” We cried over beers at the now-closed Brickskellar and decided that we still wanted to try again. That we truly wanted to be parents. I bled all weekend.
My husband took me to the hospital on Monday, but didn’t come in as we had our beloved dog with us. I cried as I recounted what had happened with the doctor. He sympathized and said that he would still need to do an ultrasound to let him know what we should do next and whether I would need a D&C. He began and then pulled back in surprise. I’ll never forget what he said next, “I don’t know what to tell you, but you have a completely healthy baby here.” He showed me my lovely and lively girl on the screen, with the strongest heart beat clearly visible. Through laughter and tears, I told him I’d gone drinking the night that I thought I had miscarried. He laughed and said not to do that again … but also not to worry. Everything was fine. I ran to the car to share the unbelievable good news with my husband. I burst out laughing again as I said that I had a feeling this was going to be one tough girl.
And she has been. She’s the strongest, funniest, most quixotic child and we know that we are unaccountably lucky and blessed to have her in our lives. Since all of this, I’ve comforted a number of my friends as they’ve dealt with their own miscarriages or pregnancy scares. It amazes me how no one talks of this … until we do. I now know that my own mother miscarried shortly after I was born. Thank you for making the space for this important conversation. It’s been cathartic to write out my own story.
The Dish 