Told by: Karin

At 32 years old I had had two normal births and pregnancy has never been an issue. I was in a new marriage and we both wanted a baby, so when we found out that I was pregnant the joy was amazing.

I knew exactly when I got pregnant so I know that exactly at 12 weeks I started spotting. It started while I was at a friends house, and I knew. I just knew. I had been working as a Doula for 6 years and I was seriously considering becoming a midwife, so I knew.

So I just sat quietly for a couple more hours at my friends till my husband came and picked me up and I asked him to take me to the hospital. They did an ultrasound and it said that my baby was only 6 weeks, when they said that I knew. They tried to comfort me saying that maybe I had my dates wrong, but I knew.

The (because I am Rh-) they told me I would need a Rogam shot, I broke down. My husband didn’t understand why a shot was so upsetting to me. He couldn’t understand that the only time the give those shots is after birth and during a miscarriage. I hated the nurses and the doctors because they wouldn’t just say the “m” word. I hated them because they treated me like a child. They kept saying “if this is happening” I knew it was and they continued to discount what I knew. The offered to let me stay and have a procedure, I declined and told them I would just go home. I just wanted to be alone with my baby when it was born. I didn’t want those lying, overly nice doctors to touch my child.

So I went home, and my baby was born in the middle of the night in my bathroom. Because she had died at six weeks there wasn’t really anything to see, but oh the pain it took to bring her into the world. Truly while I was heart broken, I was okay. Until “friends” began to question weather I was ever pregnant in the first place. Asking weather I lied for attention, all because the couldn’t understand my decision not to have a D&C. They couldn’t understand why I couldn’t let doctors rip my baby out. I was alone with my pain, because as much as my husband loves me he was consumed in his own pain and loss. Miraculously three weeks after I lost the baby I ended up pregnant again. I didn’t find out until I was almost 18 weeks because I assumed my lack of a period was due to my loss.

The thing is, 5 years later, that I struggle to share because of guilt or shame or whatever, is I still miss my other child, I still cry because I never got to feel her move inside me or hold her in my arms. I never go to celebrate or grieve her 6 weeks of life. I was made to feel guilty because of my choice to go home, I was shamed because I was pregnant but still sad about my loss. I feel like my pain is worth less, because I wasn’t as far along as others, I am trying to heal those wounds today and I am trying to mother my own grief.

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