Miscarriage after infant loss is so hard. It’s messy, and the mixed emotions are endless.
When I first found out my hormone levels weren’t where they should be at the start of my second pregnancy, I was instantly worried this was a sign that something was very wrong with our baby. I wasn’t really thinking that this meant I would miscarry. I was afraid of a congenital defect, and going through what we experienced with Aria all over again.
Honestly, I never really thought this baby would die. I guess a part of me still assumed that this world wouldn’t be that cruel, and yet it was.
However, this loss feels very different. In some ways, it hurts less and in others it hurts more. It’s hard to compare the two losses.
After Aria, I didn’t return to work for 19 months. I just couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. When I miscarried, my loss was confirmed on a Saturday and I was back at work on Tuesday morning. (Thankfully, it was a holiday weekend.) I wasn’t really ready to come back to work then, but I also wasn’t ready to tell my coworkers about it so it felt easier to just resume as normal. Looking back, I should have taken time to process, grieve, and physically complete the miscarriage process before going back to work. It would have saved me some trauma.
My miscarriage also felt very isolating. During and immediately after Aria’s birth, I was surrounded by people who showered me with love and support. The staff at CHOP were absolutely wonderful. But when I miscarried at home, I had only my husband present, and my family who comforted from afar. They all did such a wonderful job supporting me, but it was vastly different from what I experienced with my first loss, and I wished multiple times that the support could have been more like my first.
Overall, I think one of the biggest hurdles for me post miscarriage is feeling like I can’t grieve. So many of the staff members at the hospital were shrugging me off as “just another miscarriage,” and acted like they were treating me for a common medical condition instead of the loss of my second child.
I think that after Aria, I felt like my grief was more socially acceptable. I held a child as she lived and breathed. I held her as her heart beat one final time. Then I had to let her body go. I picked a casket, funeral flowers, and a burial plot. I came home to an empty crib, unworn onesies, and toys that would never be needed. So of course, I was devastated. Anyone who heard my story could completely understand that I was absolutely broken by this. They expected that.
I didn’t feel like I was given that kind of space to grieve after my miscarriage. People just said they were sorry one time, told me miscarriage was common, then asked if we were going to try again.
But I’m devastated. The one thing I clung to after Aria was the hope of having another child. Not to replace Aria, but to fulfill the desire to parent a child on this earth. I don’t feel like I have that anymore. The doubt is so real this time around. Even after being told both losses were random and not expected to happen again, I don’t feel like I’ll ever get to bring a baby home. It’s hard to see the point in ever trying again. It almost feels easier to stop trying, and stop opening my heart, so it won’t keep breaking over and over again.
Going forward from here is very confusing. I don’t have a single idea of what my life is going to look like in the coming years. It’s scary. But I’m trying very hard to believe there is still so much good left for me to uncover.