Two years ago, our lives took an unexpected turn, plunging us into a whirlwind of emotions. I discovered I was pregnant once again, just under a year after welcoming our daughter, Lily. We were still adjusting to the idea of managing two little ones when I went to see my OB in early July to confirm the positive test. To my surprise, she suspected I might be further along than we thought and scheduled an ultrasound for the following day to establish an accurate due date.
At the time, my partner, Jake, was away on a work trip in Texas. When I called to share the news about the ultrasound, he offered to cut his trip short. After discussing it, we decided it made more sense for him to stay. My friend was coming over to watch Lily, and this was just the initial dating ultrasound. So, I went alone, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” the ultrasound technician asked as I lay there, feeling vulnerable.
“Why? Is there something wrong? There’s no heartbeat, is there?” My heart raced.
The technician gestured to the screen. “I see two.”
“Wait, two what?” And then it hit me—two heartbeats, two sacs, two babies.
After the appointment, which felt like a blur of information about fraternal twins and my new “high-risk” status, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I texted Jake urgently, asking him to call me as soon as possible.
“What’s going on?” he replied.
“You tell me…”
When I got home, I vented to my best friend, surrounded by our combined trio of toddlers. Just when she had calmed my nerves about having two under two, I was now looking at the prospect of three children under 18 months! Our heads spun with thoughts of cribs, car seats, and how this would impact Lily.
In the following days, we shared the news with family and a few close friends. Their enthusiasm lifted our spirits, and we began to formulate a plan. Although the adjustment felt overwhelming, we started to believe we could handle it.
Then, the day before Lily’s first birthday, everything changed. I woke up bleeding. I had been warned that bleeding is common in twin pregnancies, but when I called the clinic, the midwife insisted I come in immediately for an examination.
Jake was home this time, but Lily was napping, leaving us with a tough choice: wake her up and bring her along or let me go alone. Time was of the essence, and once again, I found myself alone with the technician. The ride home was heavy with emotion—I had lost one baby and was left with only one living child.
The doctors were compassionate, explaining that this is a common occurrence with twin pregnancies—many start with two and end with one. They assured me that I could still carry Baby A to full term. Yet, how do you process that? I felt a deep sadness over the loss, even as I remained pregnant. It was a conflicting experience I still grapple with.
I now think of the baby we lost as a twin—a twin that never had the chance to be. I often wonder how life would be different if that sibling was here. Would Lily have a playmate her age? Would Reagan, the name we chose for our surviving baby, be different in personality if she had her twin beside her?
Reagan’s twin is forever part of my memories from that pregnancy. Each ultrasound, Baby B was measured until there was nothing left. After my first miscarriage, I felt a definitive end—an emptiness. But losing Baby B left a lingering presence; I didn’t realize that the baby without a heartbeat would remain a part of me, a part of Reagan, and a part of our journey.
Finding others who shared similar experiences proved challenging. I knew individuals who had lost twin pregnancies altogether, but my situation—losing one twin while still pregnant with the other—seemed rare. When I shared my story in an online community, one woman reached out. Her twin pregnancy also ended in the first trimester, and we connected over our shared experience. Even after she went on to have twins, she admitted that the feelings of loss didn’t fully dissipate.
As Reagan grows, we plan to share her origin story. It’s an integral piece of who she is—her missing piece.
We’re grateful for our family of four, perfectly cohesive as we are. The thought of expanding to a family of five no longer occupies our minds. Yet, even two years later, the loss lingers. It’s something I suspect will always be a part of me.
For anyone looking for support in navigating similar experiences, resources like Johns Hopkins Fertility Center offer valuable information. If you’re interested in learning more about fertility options, check out this post for tips on enhancing male fertility or explore this one for home insemination kits.
Summary
This article recounts the emotional journey of navigating a twin pregnancy that ended in the loss of one baby. It explores the complexities of grief while still being pregnant, reflecting on the impact this loss has had on the family dynamic, and considers how this experience shapes the identity of the surviving twin. The author highlights the importance of sharing stories and finding support in similar experiences.
Keyphrase: loss of a twin pregnancy
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