Parenting
By Mia Adams
Updated: November 19, 2020
Originally Published: May 10, 2019
Trigger warning: miscarriage, stillbirth, pregnancy loss
I have experienced six miscarriages. For me, the most painful aspect of miscarriage is the unseen nature of the suffering. When someone breaks a bone, it’s evident to those around them. A cashier at the store can see that assistance might be needed, colleagues may offer to take on heavier tasks, and teachers might inquire about what happened, ready to lend a hand. Society allows a person with a visible injury to grieve openly.
Conversely, after a miscarriage, you endure profound sorrow yet are expected to carry on as if everything is normal because your grief is hidden from view. Nobody at the grocery store can see the heartache that makes it an uphill battle just to pay for your items without breaking down. Friends and family might ask trivial questions like, “What are you wearing for brunch?” while brunch is the last thing on your mind. You pick up your children from school, discussing the weather and playground activities, all the while trying to hold back tears as you make your way to the car. Women perform daily tasks while concealing this invisible trauma, a superhuman feat for anyone to manage.
My latest miscarriage was a “missed miscarriage.” At nine weeks, during an ultrasound, we learned that the baby had stopped developing a week and a half prior, and the heartbeat was no longer present. My body refused to let go, so I awaited a D&C scheduled for Friday. For five agonizing days, I went about my life, unknowingly carrying my deceased baby. I took public transportation, navigated crowded trains, attended work meetings, defended clients in court, and helped my son with school projects—all while no one had any inkling of the profound grief I was carrying. It felt maddening to project an image of normalcy while cloaked in pain.
My second loss was different. At 18 weeks, we discovered that our long-awaited baby had chromosomal abnormalities incompatible with life. We faced a heartbreaking decision: terminate the pregnancy now or risk delivering a stillborn child. We chose to terminate. On December 23, we said goodbye to our baby, and my family insisted we still celebrate Christmas, believing it would help distract me. But nothing could take away the aching loss of my child, especially when I still felt pregnant. We went through the motions of holiday traditions, but my pain remained hidden, unnoticed by those around me. I had no visible signs of injury—no bleeding or casts. Just the internal agony of carrying my deceased child through the holidays.
My third miscarriage felt surreal. At 11 weeks, I began spotting and rushed to the doctor, only to learn that there was no heartbeat. I was told to expect a miscarriage soon, though I had no idea what that truly entailed. The next day brought severe contractions, and I delivered my tiny baby in my bathroom. Moments later, I had a conference call I felt compelled to attend. No one on the call could comprehend the shock and despair I was experiencing. I wrapped my baby and went to the doctor, where tests revealed chromosomal issues. That experience still feels detached, like a scene from a movie I watched rather than my own reality. The post-traumatic stress is invisible, as no one discusses the implications of miscarriage. When my doctor mentioned I would miscarry, I never imagined the reality of what was to come.
The anxiety surrounding each new pregnancy is also hidden. The thought of something going wrong again looms large, creating a fragile existence where every day feels precarious. Each trip to the bathroom becomes a moment of dread. The desire to reach the 13-week mark consumes my thoughts, yet no one outside knows the turmoil I’m facing.
So, what have I learned? The pain only remains invisible if we keep it inside. It’s crucial to process our feelings, share our struggles, and seek support. Communicate with friends why you might need to cancel plans or need a day off work. If you’re feeling unwell, let your partner know. Superheroes wear capes or armor to show their powers. Unless I wanted to wear a sign that read, “Hello, I experienced a miscarriage this week,” I had to ask for the support I needed. Sharing your grief can help lift the burden, and your support system will be ready to hold you up.
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Summary
The journey through miscarriage is marked by invisible pain and anxiety. The struggle to maintain a facade of normalcy can be overwhelming, as those around often cannot see the internal turmoil. It’s essential to communicate feelings and seek support during these challenging times. Sharing one’s grief allows for a connection that can provide comfort and understanding.
Keyphrase: miscarriage pain
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