Why Hide Miscarriage?
When we lost the baby, I was glad everyone knew.
Our waitress was all smiles as she came over to our table, tottering along with her bulging belly and overflowing bosom. She radiated the kind of glow that every skin moisturizer promises, but only pregnancy can deliver.
“How far along are you?” my husband Vijay asked.
“Six months,” she replied, beaming.
Vijay went on to share that I was also pregnant and I felt myself blush as her eyes focused on my flat stomach. I quickly let her know that I was only six weeks along and as a reply she launched into a story about baby names, and how she’d had the hardest time choosing. I felt a thrill as we shared this “pregnancy moment” and I couldn’t stop grinning all through breakfast, although I was feeling the slightest case of belly envy. I had no doubt, however, that my own pregnancy glow and baby bump were only weeks away.
My husband and I were only two weeks pregnant when we decided to start spreading the news. We were like third graders who had just been told a playground secret; we were giddy with our need to share.
“Let’s start with close family and friends,” Vijay suggested.
And so I did, first telling my mom, dad, aunts, grandparents and cousins, followed by friends from college, work and the neighborhood. By the end of that first day, our pregnancy seemed to be making national headlines. Sure, we had heard the warnings, “Don’t tell anyone until the start of your second trimester, just to be on the safe side.” But we were two young, healthy, newlyweds; what was there to be afraid of?
Six weeks later, I miscarried. Over the course of one heart-wrenching week of cramping and bleeding, we started to accept what was happening. Our tears were endless. We felt helpless and hopeless.
At the end of the week, I had to go in for my D&C, dilation and curettage (or the painful scraping of your uterine lining, to get technical). The surgery went as well as could be expected, but as they brought me out of my anesthesia-induced haze, I cried for a half-hour straight, asking the doctor repeatedly if I’d ever be able to get pregnant again. He held my hand the entire time, until he decided to put me back under with a strong sedative and try the whole wake-up process again later. I remember none of this, and I’m shocked that the sadness so quickly sunk into my subconscious.
My first recollection following surgery was the groggy realization that my miscarriage was official and that people would start finding out. I thought about how embarrassing it would be to tell people about our loss, and I felt a burning sense of shame. My body’s failure would be public knowledge. Slowly, though, it occurred to me that this was no more my fault than it is someone’s fault for getting breast cancer or Alzheimer’s. I couldn’t understand society’s pressure to keep this thing under wraps.
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It is eerie how this article was just posted because I suffered a miscarraige less than a week ago. I too am feeling that sense of embarressment and shame the author describes when having to tell someone. But why am I feeling that?! When I have to tell someone the news, the immediate reaction is either, “I had one too” or “My best friend is going through that” or “My Mom had two before she had me” and so on and so forth.
I wish we wouldn’t be so secretive about it. It makes the whole process worse than it already is.
Thank you so much for this. I had 2 miscarriages, and both times I did not tell many people, which I think was a big mistake. I was so depressed that I had to miss a few days of work. I told my boss that I had a miscarriage, but nobody else knew, and expected me to work through my sudden “days off”. If I told them I’m sure it would have been easier.I also agree with RLF – when you tell people you have had a miscarriage, it is amazing how many people tell you they (or their wife) had one too. It is like this secret nobody wants to talk about. btw, I now have a beautiful son, so yes, it is possible to have a child after miscarriages. (Actually, my OB told me that most women have healthy children after having miscarriages. The fact that you are getting pregnant is a good sign.)Oh, and I have to say I only had local anesthesia for my 2 D&C’s. If I knew I could have been sedated, I would have asked for that. There was no physical pain, but the emotional pain was too great, and it was not like I was going to go do something productive later in the day.
Beautifully written! We told everyone as soon as we were pregnant. My partner was very concerned, but I knew that if something did go wrong with the pregnancy I would need support from the people I love.I am so sorry for your loss…
I never realized how common miscarriage is until I had one myself. I, like you, was so glad we had told everyone that I was pregnant, because then they all knew of the loss as well. I found support and solace in some unexpected places. I don’t think I’ll ever wait to tell, especially since our first pregnancy miscarried in the second trimester so the whole “12 weeks” thing is not steadfast. Our second pregnancy (a LONG 16 months of waiting later) created a strong, vibrant boy who, at seven months, is pure light. Best wishes on your next go round.
I, too, offer my sincere condolences to the writer for her loss and thank her for this breath of fresh air. I am in my second pregnancy and neither time have we waited to tell people our happy news. I feel very grateful never to have experienced a miscarriage, but I have always thought that if I did, I would need and want the support of my family and friends around me. I hate the expression, “we’re keeping the pregnancy under wraps so that if something goes wrong we won’t have to un-tell everyone.” Un-tell? While I recognize that loss brings about a complex set of emotions and everyone needs to handle it in their own way, to me, the concept of “un-telling” people implies that the woman wasn’t really pregnant or that her child didn’t actually exist. Life doesn’t come with any guarantees: we can lose children in the first, second and third trimesters, when they’re infants, small children, teenagers and adults. Let’s celebrate life while we have it and rid ourselves of the “culture of shame” that surrounds miscarriage.
We didn’t tell anyone except parents and siblings until after 13 weeks for our first pregnancy, at my insistence, because, if something happened, I didn’t want to deal with re-visiting the pain of a miscarriage. I’ve definitely changed my mind since then, though, and now tell people as soon as we’ve mentally digested it ourselves. (We’re on our 3rd pregnancy, with two healthy ones behind us.) So many women have miscarriages, I don’t know why it’s so hidden.
I’m reading the book “Naming the Child” by Jenny Schroedel right now, which deals with miscarriage, stillbirth and infant death. (Full disclosure: The author is a friend of mine.) It is a great resource, I think, for anyone who has suffered any of these tragedies or has had someone close to them suffer one. Jenny is also a fantastic writer. The book gives me insight in how to respond if any of my friends ever has a miscarriage, and it gives me hope that if, God forbid, I ever suffer one, I’m not alone and one never knows what might come from it. (For example, one woman who had a child born terminally ill started an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, in which professional photographers will, for free, take portraits of families and babies born after 25 weeks so that the parents have something by which to remember their children.) It’s a really beautiful book (and available on amazon.com and inexpensive). I hope this doesn’t seem too much like I’m pimping her book, but it’s really great.
I wholeheartedly agree and wish people could talk as openly about ART, family planning of all kinds including abortion and all of the fertility, reproductive choices and fateful occurrences we are all subject to. Understanding and empathy need to be practiced in order to thrive. Thank you very much for this article
I think you hit on a point there – miscarriage isn’t your fault. Neither are illnesses – as the author points out. But in our society, many people are treated as through illnesses are their fault. You have diabetes? Well, that’s because you overate. You have carpal tunnel? Didn’t keep your hands properly positioned on the keyboard. Cancer? Must not have bought organic. Some illnesses seem to get a pass from most people; some are more prone to criticism. But I don’t think we can seriously learn to live to our fullest with illness and disability nor can we empower folks who have these things to live well and in an integrated fashion until we shed this culture of blaming the person with the condition. And the burden on those who have lost children or who have children with medical issues or those who have fertility trouble or suffer miscarriages seems even higher – and these people generally already feel and struggle with guilt and self-doubt.
If you have an illness, if you have suffered a miscarriage or are infertile – and even if you’ve just broken your foot – you are not at fault. You are not a bad person. I would love it if the world could start to act as though we believed it.
I knew a couple who had a healthy child and had waited until after 12w
to announce. I thought it was sad to be so full of fear. Yet I
understand this fear. I have 2 healthy children and have had 5
pregnancy losses. When I have found out I was pregnant I immediately
felt like a mother, felt love for the child and profound joy. I have
had both good and bad reactions from both close family and friends.
I’m sure it must be hard to know the right thing to say, especially for
someone who has not experienced this kind of loss. I know most people
are
well meaning. Unfortunately, I did loose one “friend” who was critical
of my “stubbornness” to keep trying. Fair weather friends become easy
to identify; that’s for sure. I was surprised at exactly who handled
it well and who did not. I suspect some people are frustrated we have
kept trying, and their ability to be supportive has limits. I think
there are many people who are the type that would rather not be put
through another person’s personal tragedy. If we try again, I will
want to keep a future pregnancy a secret until at least 12 weeks, maybe
longer. It seems waiting to announce (like the couple I mentioned) is
prideful and shame based. But now I would be reluctant to tell because
I have been hurt………..I think pregnancy loss will remain taboo
because that’s the kind of society we live in – superficially kind.
I’d like to add to what leahsmom and somewhat bitter said. It is true that people can be blamed for having a miscarriage. In the movies, miscarriages happen because of car accidents, falls, etc. This is very rarely the case in real life. Almost always it is because of a genetic problem in the embryo, which you can do nothing about. I think keeping miscarriages so secret only adds to this myth. For my first pregnancy (which ended in miscarriage), I decided to tell one (now ex-) friend when I found out I was pregnant. She immediately told me I should not tell anyone because of all the bad thing that can happen in the first trimester, and started telling me stories of other people she knew who had miscarriages. After I had my miscarriage, she was proud of herself for “preparing” me for this. Trust me, being mean does not prepare you. Nothing does. I think it is better to go into it with a good attitude, and if something goes wrong deal with it then.To somewhat bitter, it is interesting that you were criticized because you wanted to keep trying. After my 2nd miscarriage, we decided to try one more time, and if that did not work out we would start looking into adoption. You wouldn’t believe how critical some people were of this. It just goes to show you need to do what is best for your family, and disregard what others say.
I am so sorry for your loss, and add my thanks for sharing this, which echoes what I’ve often thought.
I’m eleven weeks into my third pregnancy, and while I’ve never personally experienced pregnancy loss, we did hesitate to tell until just a bit ago. I can see where it might be stressful to have to tell everyone about the loss when they inevitably ask about the pregnancy, I guess I feel like we should try to share these parts of our lives with the people close to us…that having their support would be a comfort, not a burden. I’ve been sick, sick, sick over the last several weeks, and it would have been nice to not have to make up malady after malady to explain away morning sickness.
And while some well-meaning people may make comments that are insensitive, I think the more that people are confronted with this type of news, the more they’ll learn the “right” and “wrong” things to say. Because it does happen much more often than I think most people realize.
I also agree with been through it all re: ART. We had “help” with our first two pregnancies (but got pregnant the third time on our own…quite unexpectedly), and while I have no qualms in sharing this information, my husband prefers to be very secretive about the whole thing. Fair enough, but I was helped so immensely through the process knowing that a colleague of mine had gone through the same thing that I hope I can do that for someone else.
I think that advice to “not tell” until you are further along is given not because our society is superficial but because that preserves your option to grieve publicly or privately if you do miscarry. How to grieve is a very personal choice, and we each handle it in our own way. It is hard to know how you will react, and hard to know what you will need or want in terms of support, until you face the experience of miscarriage personally. Some of us are more private than others, and that’s ok too!
Thanks Shy Mama,
Not all of us would want to have that discussion for months on end with everyone we know from co-workers to our hair stylists.
I’d also like to add that someone who says the wrong thing or says nothing is not necessarily blaming the woman. Our society deals badly with death and pain in general. It’s not just with the loss of a pregnancy or a baby. Most people shy away from you when you are grieving.
I’m sorry to say I’ve done it and experienced it. I can’t undo what I did, so I try to do better with others.
When people say things like “you’ll get pregnant again” or “your mother is watching you from heaven” or even when they stop calling, it’s often not meant to hurt. They are either trying to cheer you up or simply don’t know what to say.
I am currently on maternity leave with my second child and I have experienced four miscarriages. I teach high school Biology and I let my students know that I miscarried even when I had not told them I was pregnant in the first place. I found that when I miscarried the first time that it was comforting to me to remember that two of my aunts had lost children and went on to have many healthy babies. Unfortunately, many of my students will experience a loss of a child in their lives and I want them to remember that I had two beautiful babies despite so many losses myself. I hope that sharing my experience will comfort them in the future.
Sometimes I have faced people who make unthinking comments about children and I am very upfront about my losses. When asked, “Don’t you want a second one?” I’ve replied, “Yes, but I have lost four babies trying.” I am comfortable sharing my miscarriages and I hope that the people who ask things like that might think next time so that someone who will cry as a result will not have to face those questions.
I am grateful to Christine for writing this article. She is correct that miscarriage is not a shameful event but simply a result of the incredible complicated process of creating life.
Thanks for this article, and I am also very sorry for your loss. I completely agree with the feelings expressed in your article, because I had many of the same feelings when I too experienced a miscarriage after telling everyone I was pregnant. Worse yet, I found out I was going to miscarry the day before a surprise birthday party I was throwing for my husband and many of the guests there already knew I was pregnant.
As for people who will say the wrong thing… a very good friend of mine managed to say every wrong thing that could possibly be said to someone experiencing a miscarriage… but like someone expressed in the comments above, our society doesn’t deal well with pain and loss. I didn’t blame her, and weeks later she happened upon an article with a list of “things not to say to a woman experiencing miscarriage” and she sincerely apologized.
One thing I will say… the loss needs to be mourned. Has to. In all my “busy-ness,” I failed to properly acknowledge my loss, even explaining it to people rather matter-of-factly. When I became pregnant again, I experienced mind-numbing fear and dread… as bad a case of prenatal depression as ever was. Thankfully, because of all the people I had shared my joy and my subsequent sorrow with, my symptoms were recognized by an associate and I got much needed help.
Very best to you and again, thank you for a heartfelt and helpful article.
I always thought the secrecy rule came out of the issue of abortion if the child was discovered to have genetic problems. If you are against abortion and would never do it, no matter what, I see no reason for secrecy.
So sorry for your loss. And thank you for sharing your painful loss. Having had miscarried myself I felt that “shame”. It was only later that I was able to share this news with people around me and I was astounded to learn that it had actually happened to many people around me.
One more thing, we conceived one month after our loss. There is a saying in my culture: “the miscarried baby has one foot stuck in there” (meaning the next one will come quickly after a miscarriage). I wish th every best to you and to your family.
So could you ladies tell how your husband/father handled the miscarriage and how they helped you through it? WOuld appreciate the comments on this. Thanks Ted – http://snards.com
I found pregnancy loss to be a dirty little secret. My first was sad. The second was shocking. By the time I got to my third, whatever friends I had left had no words. And still, so many people I know experienced it and never spoke of it. What had we done wrong? Nothing.
I compiled a list of famous women who lost their pregnancieswomen with access to the best care money could buy. Heartache knows no economic class, and pays no attention to who you are. What a diverse sorority we belong to.
http://in-their-honor.blogspot.com/
I had a miscarriage in August. It started the Sunday night when I first saw brown, which eventually turned to red. My husband went with me to the doctor the next day and we were sent back home because things were not absolute about whether or not it was a miscarriage. I then ended up having horrid cramps along with diarrhea. My husband took the train back home so that he could take the train with me to the doctor’s office where I had my D&C.
I wanted to tell my friend Alison, the person I feel most comfortable telling these things to. But never bothered to do so since she did not know I was pregnant in the first place. I told another friend that was pregnant (rather flippantly since I had mostly come to terms with it) the next month. Then in October, I was pregnant again. I told this friend and she started talking about my difficulties with pregnancy. That made me regret telling her.
Personally, I am someone that has always mourned in private. So I totally agree with others that chose not to tell everyone. My husband actually wanted to wait to tell everyone, not because he was worried about miscarriage, but because he was worried about genetic testing and the two of us already agreed what we would do.
I never felt embaressed thtat I had a miscarriage. But I never wanted to deal with the awkward pity that I knew would come along with it. In the long term talking about putting my cat down years ago is harder. We are having our first this July and I do not have any regrets on waiting to tell people. My friend Alison figured it out on her own, but was too afraid to ask because she thought that I may have just gotten a little fat!
Ted~ I think the best thing my husband does for me is to tell me how heart broken he is over the loss and to ask me daily how I am feeling. I’ve had 5 losses. Each one has been different. My physical symptoms, time to resolve and necessary medical intervention has varied for each loss – some were miscarriages, some ectopic, one uncertain. That he asks how I am feeling means a lot. He expresses compassion and care and is helpful at home. If I speak about it he stops what he is doing and listens. Sometimes the response is just a long hug and a kiss on the head and him telling me he loves me. It’s also nice to say something along the lines of “this is a really hard thing you are going through right now, and you are handling it very well, and I am proud of you……I wish I could go through the physical part instead of you, but I am right here with you and my heart is broken too…….We will be okay. I want you to be sure that I am here and we will be okay……” He also encourages me to go to something fun together or on my own, helps me focus on what we have to be grateful for. Good luck. And thank you for asking.
I couldn’t agree more with this — my first miscarriage would have been so much easier to handle if I’d had any idea how common it was. Once I discovered how common it was, I decided to be completely open about it, telling people who didn’t even know I was pregnant. I’ve had two more miscarriages and one beautiful daughter, and I find that other friends or acquaintances going through something similar take such comfort in knowing about my three miscarriages, and then seeing my daughter. If it wasn’t such a “shameful” secret, people would be much more relaxed about it, I think.
I’ve had four, and am still trying for baby #2 (first baby was healthy pregnancy, no issues at all). A great resource is “About What Was Lost” by Jessica Berger Gross, which is an anthology of essays by women who have miscarried. For me, it brought home that I was not alone and it was healing to see all the different ways people react and cope. The shame and need for secrecy have worn off at this point and I can talk about it pretty matter-of-factly, most of the time. I think it freaks people out, however.
Thank you thank you thank you for writing this.
I recently had a miscarriage, too, and as I was going through it, I began to wonder why women never seem to talk about it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, but yet, mostly women do not discuss them. I’m sure that yes, it’s too painful a topic for many women to bring up. But there I was, experiencing something very physically painful and shocking—and I had no one to talk about it with because I didn’t know of anyone who’d admitted to being in that situation before. And then I found myself even clamming up about it around others, even thought perhaps they could have helped me if I’d only been willing to open up myself.
This article echo’s exactly how I felt after our miscarriage last year. You need the same people who had been glad for you to be sad and mourn with you. The hardest person we had to tell was our 3 year old daughter. I think all too often families misjudge how how very important it is to be honest about it with children, and in turn take the easy way out and say something asinine like the baby went to live in heaven. Yes, it’s a delicate balance, you want to offer the age-appropriate amount of information and why you’re sad without instilling fear, but honesty is key. We found that for her age, likening it to a seed in the ground (some grow and some don’t) was an easy for her to digest and in turn provided a natural way for all of us to heal as a family. We have since become pregnant again and are about a month away from welcoming our new little one into the world and I can’t tell you what a bonding experience this entire process has been for our family. Loosing that little baby was so painful, but the understanding and trust set into motion in our home has been irreplaceable.
Jennifer..I thought the exact same thing. All I wanted was somebody to talk to…somebody that had gone through the same thing. I needed to hear I was not alone…but I also needed to be alone. I needed to be alone with my pain…I needed to be able to escape it and not have to confront the sadness and pity in people’s eyes. I needed somebody to hold my hand and explain how everything would unravel. I needed to hear how sad I would feel…how painful it would be. I needed to discuss the different things that would happen to my body.BUT I ended up alone…my husband tried…and he was 100% supportive…but I was alone. I had been waiting for the 10-12 week point to tell…so nobody in my entourage knew I was pregnant. At 5 weeks there was some spotting, which continued every few days. I had very slight cramping on a few occasions. My doctor sent me in every few days for a blood test…to check the pregnancy hormone levels…they were good…and increasing. At 7 and a half weeks, my doctor sent me in for a “Viability Ultrasound” (awful name). My ultrasound technician couldn’t find the heartbeat so she brought in the awful, awful, head of obstetrics at the hospital…who basically said “Ok…there is no heartbeat” The baby had no heartbeat. I sobbed…so deeply my heart ached. The doctor looked uncomfortable, then 2 seconds later said she had to leave to check the triplets in the next room. She came back and immediately asked me if I had decided what I was going to do next. I asked her what my options were…she coldly spit out “D&C, pill, or wait for it to happen”. I could have screamed, but I didn’t. She insisted on booking a D&C. I wanted to think about it and talk to my doctor. At that point, I felt that they might have missed the heartbeat…that in getting a D&C I would be killing my baby. I felt fiercely protective. I saw my doctor who was horrified at the treatment I had received. She went over each of the 3 options carefully. She explained that I could wait for it to happen on its own…but that that it could take weeks. I didn’t think I could hold it together for that long…it had already been over 3 weeks. My daughter was 18 months old at the time…I didn’t want to bathe her little life in sadness. I couldn’t do the D&C…I had ruled it out immediately. I wasn’t strong enough and I still wanted some time to make sure it was real…that the baby was no longer alive. I asked if my doctor thought the “pill” option was ok. She smiled gently and said whatever I decided was good. She prescribed the pills and explained, in detail, what was going to happen. Before I left…I had to ask her if she thought that there was a possibility that they might have missed the heartbeat. She said it was impossible. It should have been obvious at that point of the baby’s development.I waited almost a week…the light spotting turned to heavy spotting. I knew the baby was gone. I started the pills. I took the first pill in the morning…I felt some cramping…but only light. I watched cartoons with my daughter. My husband stayed home that day…he took her outside to play in the backyard after my second pill (just after lunch). The cramping was more intense…like contractions…every 30-60 minutes. I took the 3rd pill and the contractions were more frequent…every 5 minutes or so. I was lying in my bed…it was a beautiful day…I could hear my daughter laughing in the backyard. A few minutes later, they came inside to check on me. As they were walking up the stairs, I smiled at something my daughter was saying and then I felt a sharp pain, deep inside and then instant relief. My daughter jumped on the bed…my husband was holding my hand. I realized that some liquid had come out. I got up and went to the bathroom. I knew…I held a small, sterilized container under as I sat above the toliet…it came out (sorry for being so graphic). I cried as I studied the contents. I transferred it to the container my doctor had given me (she was going to have it analyzed). I held it up to the light…I saw my baby. I sobbed. My baby had 2 tiny little “arms” and 2 tiny little “legs” and a relatively big head…in total no bigger than, maybe 1 to 1 1/2 cm. i called my husband in…he took one look at the contained…one look at me and cried. I asked him to take a photo. (I know…sounds morbid…but I needed to) I called the doctor, but it was too late to go to the office. I was told to keep the container in the fridge. I must have touched that container 40 or 50 times in the space of 24 hours. I talked to it…telling the baby everything would be ok. (I swear I am not mentally unstable…nor was I at the time). The next day..I got a little cooler…put icepacks at the bottom and top…lined the bottom with paper towels and carefully placed the container inside. I cried as I said goodbye….as I placed bubble wrap around it so it wouldn’t get jostled around during the car ride. I wrote a note for the doctor…I couldn’t go. In the note, I explained what had happened. I asked several questions…the one that had everyone concerned was “can we have the baby back after the tests”? The doctor explained that the “fetus” would have to be completely dissected…I had already read that on the internet..but I had to ask.Since I had apparently passed all the contents of my uterus, I did not require a D&C, as is sometimes the case. It was over.The teast results came back and all the contents had indeed been passed and there were no abnormalities in the fetus. My doctor then sent me in for a battery of tests…but nothing was really wrong. She explained that some of my vitamin levels were slightly low…some hormone levels were off…but nothing significant. She put together a plan of action (truckloads of vitamin supplements and pills) and explained that when I felt the time was right…after the 2 cycle waiting period…I would try again…with this plan.It worked…a little over a year later we welcomed our lovely daughter Cara!We hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy…but I eventually told my mother and sister…my husband’s family. I was upset, but not surprised at everyone’s reaction. No one was mourning my baby! I didn’t want to hear..”you already have a beautiful daughter”…”or you’ll try again”! I needed to mourn.My doctor, her secretary and my husband’s family thought…that I needed to see a therapist or psychologist…but I knew I would be ok…I had to do this my way.I am ok…
It’s funny, I just read a post on the Motherlode blog today about a similar topic where all the commenters wanted more discussions and blog posts about pregnancy loss. I appreciate your candor and straightforwardness about your loss, and I’m so very sorry for you about what happened, but I actually couldn’t feel more opposite. I unfortunately had to terminate my second pregnancy at 23 weeks due to a fatal developmental abnormality. I was showing, past the point of people not knowing. I could feel the baby move. When I found out something was wrong, my husband and I completely shut down communication with our friends and family. It was just too painful to talk about it. When my operation was over and I was no longer pregnant, the last thing I wanted to do was chat it up about my loss. I know it’s still painful and I’m not trying to be insensitive, but it’s different than a “miscarriage” at 12 weeks. For me, it wasn’t the issue of someone knowing I had a loss (it was obvious by my diminishing belly), but it was the constant sharing of sob stories and commiseration that made me crazy. I felt sad enough, why would I want to hear more sad stories? So for me, telling people one liner, “we lost the baby,” and moving on was the best possible way to move forward. I also think your view reflects the innocence we all feel at our first pregnancy. I remember when I was pregnant with my son telling our family at 2 weeks, thinking nothing could go wrong. I hate to be jaded, but when you have a bad experience sometimes it just puts things into perspective. I hope to hear happy news from you soon!
People miscarry. Having had two healthy children and two miscarriages and watched nearly all of my friends come through their childbearing years with me, what I now understand is that early miscarriages happen all the time. Honestly, the only surprising thing is how frequently it occurs. Why most of us were told to keep our early pregnancies a secret and only tell each other about our losses after the fact is mystifying in hindsight. Early miscarriage, or the worry over it, is something we all experience. Why we can’t just talk about our fears and our losses with each other as we are feeling them and experiencing them because of some strange idea that we should not share our worries and pain with those close to use is a bit absurd.
I hear that the rate of miscarriage is 75 percent – sounds high to me, but I think what we see now is a result of the home pregnancy tests – we simply know much earlier whether conception has occurred. Our mothers and grandmothers simply did not know they were pregnant often until the second trimester. Back then, miscarriages were happening but people did not know they were pregnant. Also, I think our modern society has a penchant for sharing personal stories that goes against the age-old adage of keeping certain things in the family, or behind closed doors. What I think is most concerning is the feelings of shame that so many women report – like they have failed in some way. If the rate really is that high, there should be no shame, just support.
Yep – I am totally in agreement with this. I had a miscarriage at 6 weeks, so early that I hadn’t had a chance to tell anybody I was pregnant even though I had planned to. I felt very alone in my loss until I finally started telling my closest friends what had happened (it took me awhile because I just didn’t know how to start that conversation). I don’t get the “don’t tell anybody” mentality. I can see not telling every single acquantance or people at work if they aren’t close friends as well, but I think that the people you would want to turn to for support should anything go wrong should definitely be in the loop from the get go.
Marie Claire:
I understand what you went through. My son was 8 months old when I got pregnant again. My husband and I were so happy. I told everyone and was congratulated. At about 10 weeks, I began to bleed. We were moving that day so I took my 8 month old son with me to the hospital to get checked out. While in triage, I began bleeding at regular intervals like contractions. The blood was so red, if I had not known any better, I would have thought I had been stabbed. When I was in a room, the doctor came in and did a vaginal ultrasound and warned me that the baby might not have a heart beat or could already be dead. Except, he called it a fetus. I waited anxiously for my babies heartbeat and about died of heart failure when it thumped. It was so strong and loud. Then, within the space of a few seconds, the unthinkable, the heart slowed and then stopped as if it was bleeding to death. I wailed and sobbed like I have never cried before. I could not believe it. The doctor and nurse kept trying to tell me that I still had another baby right there, (my 8 month old was in the stroller by my bed looking horrified). I wanted to kill them for being so insensitive. After I calmed down, the had me go to the bathroom to pass my child. I sat on the toilet, not knowing what to expect, when a large blood clot came out. It was my baby. The horrible nurse flushed the toilet before I could get the baby and see it. It was only about 3 inches long and they kept calling it a fetus. This was over 5 years ago and it still hurts to this day. I could not tell my family so I had my mother explain what had happened. No one called, no one offered condolences. It was as if it had never happened or that I should just suck it up and be strong. 2 years later, we had our daughter and now have two lovely children. But I will never forget the one I lost. Good luck to all you women who have been through similar situations. I hope the best for you and your recovery from such a sad event.
When I was 14, less then 6 years ago I found out I was pregnant. When I miscarried I was in to my second trimester. I knew that the baby was going to be a girl, and even picked a name for her. Adora Rose. Since I was so young I didn’t want the world to know. I saw it as a short coming. I didn’t tell anyone close to me besides the father to be. We were in love with the idea of starting a family. At that point I was already self sufficient and wasn’t living with my mother anymore. I was at my mom’s house for New Years when I started to bleed and with in a matter of hours I was a bloody mess. After that I had to move back into my mom’s house, because it wasn’t even able to walk for a month after. It took months for me to be physically functioning again. To this day my mom is about the only person who knows what I had to go through. I still miss my girl. There will always be an empty hole in my life that only she can fill. Years later my husband and I decided to try to have a baby. We tried and tried. I knew that I would have to let go of the guilt I felt for Miss Adora before my new baby would ever be able to come. With the support from my family I was able to do that. There still are many very important people in my life that are clueless about the horrors I went through during and after my miscarriage, but the people who I was strong enough to talk to helped me to be able to become pregnant with my now 6 month old daughter.
Also a side note, I personally I don’t see any diffrence in mouring the lose of a baby wether it is consider a feutes or anyother type of loss. You wouldn’t refrain from talking about the loss of your family members if that is what helps you mourn.
To Sara Fisher I just wanted to tell you that I know what it is like to lose a older fetues. It is a awful thing. But mothers and fathers that lose littler babies go through much the same thing, and it is not fair to say the loss of a 20+ week baby is worse then a 10 week baby.
Well, am short of words….
I didn’t have a misacarrage, I lost my baby three days after birth…
My preganncy was healthy and everything was right till the last day.
It was the most devastating experience ever, the baby was a girl and so lovely…
for weeks all I could do was cry and feel so sad, but am happy that my family stood by me so did my husband.
People, may try and comfort you, but only you can get over the lost and that is thru the grace of God… I feel no shame, but joy!!!
I have come to trust God and I believe He knows what’s best for me…
Its an awful thing, but we must go on living and using our loss to touch the life of others by encouraging and remaining focus on the Almighty God.
When we do, we are soaring on eagles wings cause I know she will come back to me soon…
Thank you for sharing your story, God bless you!!!
Gosh…I experienced so much pain…and then I read your experiences..especially yours…Lindsey, Purplemoon and Beauty. I cried. I cried because of your pain and because of your incredible love and strength.Lindsey…I really felt your pain. How you made it through that day…how you didn’t smack that nurse that flushed that toilet…how you managed to pull yourself together for your 8 month old…how you did all that…alone…I can’t imagine. How are you today? It has also been 2 years and 2 lovely daughters for me. I hope that each day has made it easier and that your life is full of joy.Purplemoon…no 14 year old should have to go through all that. Pregnancy and all its ups and downs is stressful for a married 30 year old, let alone a young teenager. And a 2nd trimester miscarriage…I have no words. You must be a very strong woman and a wonderful mother after all that…I can tell by your words. I realized after during the miscarriage scare and, especially after, that I loved that baby. I knew I loved my beautiful daughter…but you always wonder if it’s because she was so easy to love…so lovely, so funny, so swet, so kind, so innocent…so easy to love…you wonder if the love just sort of grew because she was so loveable. I realized after the miscarriage that I loved my children…I love them…unconditionally…it’s an innate, visceral love! You have that Purplemoon…you must be a fantastic mother. (Adora Rose is a lovely name)Beauty…I have no words…or there are no proper words to express my sympathy for your tragic loss…my awe in the presence of your faith…I hope your life continues to be full of your love…for your family…for your children or future children and for God.
Sorry…I was, perhaps, unclear…I wrote:”I realized after during the miscarriage scare and, especially after, that I loved that baby. I knew I loved my beautiful daughter…but you always wonder if it’s because she was so easy to love…so lovely, so funny, so swet, so kind, so innocent…so easy to love…you wonder if the love just sort of grew because she was so loveable. I realized after the miscarriage that I loved my children…I love them…unconditionally…it’s an innate, visceral love!”I meant that my deep love for my firstborn daughter who was 16 months old at the time seemed so easy because she was so lovely in all possible ways and that the miscarriage and that baby I lost made me realize that the love I felt for my children was a real, visceral, unconditional love…I have it for my first born…for the baby I lost and for my wonderful 10 month old Cara. I also just realized how much better I feel 2 years later. How much better I feel talking about this…especially with women who have gone through it. I still don’t know if I would do this with my family and friends…but I now know it is important to let it out. I wish you all had been there 2 years ago to “listen”, to share and to advise.
miscarriage sucks, most people who haven’t been through it have nothing to offer. some people actually have nothing to say. i don’t see what the issue is. why a woman who has gone through pregnancy and had a child cannot imagine the pain or have compassion enough to even come up with a kind word…….humans can be odd and disappointing
When I miscarried at 7 weeks I was relieved that only my immediate family knew. I needed to deal with it in my own way, which was ultimately to conclude that I was extremely fortunate to a) have one healthy child b) to have miscarried very early, instead of later when it would surely have become more difficult c) to have gotten pregnant so quickly both times. In other words, I needed to find the positive side of it. When I did tell a few friends and actually had some break out into tears for me, I found that only upset me more. In an odd role reversal I actually felt that I needed to comfort them!For me, the miscarriage was intensely personal and NOT having to tell everyone allowed my husband and me to come to our own peace first. When I became pregnant again a few months later we held our breaths and waited until the doc detected a heartbeat at 10 weeks. And then we delighted in breaking the wonderful news to everyone.
what an amazing group you all are. i too have experinced miscarriage, 5 times actually and all in a row. blessedly, all after the bith of our two heathy, magical girls.
each of our experiences are as unique as each of us. for me it’s not whether we tell or whether we don’t so much as how do we grieve? how do we allow ourselves the time and space to be with the very REAL loss of miscarriage. after five, this is what i KNOW…healing through miscarriage takes us slowng down long enough to be with the pain. i have posted a short video of some of what miscarriage has taught me on MyMommyManual.com http://mymommymanual.com/category/mom-confessions/miscarriage/. i hope you will join me here in sharing your story too. i thik SUPPORT and tlaking with each other as we are doing here is one of the most important things we can do for ourselves. i am sorry for your loss…from my heart to yours….
I understand what this author says, but I believe some people keep their early pregnancies secret to not have to repeatedly explain to the world that their pregnancy was lost. It can be painful to have to keep explaining to people that the pregnancy ended in miscarriage, when the people who are asking think they are talking to someone who is pregnant. I’m glad this author felt loved and supported throughout her pregnancy loss, but I still believe that it’s not a bad thing to keep early pregnancy secret.
I’m so sorry for your losses, the authors and the women leaving comments, and am very thankful to you for sharing your stories.
I think it’s good to share your early pregnancy with very close family and friends, but to limit broadcasting to everyone you know. It can be painful to explain the news of a miscarriage to those outside that close group. When I miscarried at 12 weeks, every time I talked about it with someone I would start crying. I was glad to not have to repeatedly explain it to co-workers or friends and face the uncontrollable tears. My family and close friends were extremely supportive and loving, so I’m glad they knew and helped me get through it. For my second pregnancy I waited til 14 weeks to tell everyone (besides my parents and best friend), and I think it was well worth the wait.
I lost our baby at 22 weeks… after that in subsequent pregnancies I told everyone right away, under the logic that there is no “safe time” until babe is out and in arms. For me that would’ve meant waiting until 28 weeks at the point where a preemie could survive if I went into premature labor again. Since waiting that long was impossible, I went the other route. The 12 week line is arbitrary. I think too that the secrecy thing is very old school– like you just don’t talk about your “lady business”…
This is an awesome article… thank you for writing this as I have always thought the idea of ‘hiding’ a pregnancy was just plane silly. Miscarriages happen… Actually they happen 20-35% of the time and it is nuts that you are supposed to be alone when this happens…
I am so sorry that you and your husband went through this. We too lost our baby at 11 weeks and I suffered a hemorrhage that landed me in the ICU. When we returned home, everyone told me that miscarriage is a silent pain that many women carry. Thank you for telling your story so eloquently. I decided to share my story and my recovery experience on my blog. This is something we should support each other through as women!
http://organicmamacafe.blogspot.com/2011/03/recovering-from-miscarriage-hemorrhage.html
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Thank you. I also shared the news with everyone. I found many people don’t know how to react, more people need to share this, and not suffer alone. *hugs*
i was shy off of being 18 wen i found out i was pregant and wen it came to my miscarrage at 9 wks i didnt leave the house for a wk no help or anything.all i had was my hubby.everyone else turned there backs so its good someone got simpathy an that there is helpful people out there
I think how a person grieves is different for everyone. I’ve always been private when it comes to pain, so for me, having to tell everyone after my first miscarriage just made it that much worse. Everyone was so excited for us because we’d been insisting we didn’t want kids, so it was a pleasant surprise for friends and family when we announced our first pregnancy at just six weeks. I’ll never forget how much it broke my heart when I had to call and tell my parents three weeks later that we’d lost the baby. Even though they were so supportive and more worried about me than anything else, I felt horrible for crushing their hopes.
When we got pregnant the second time, we wanted to wait until the second trimester to tell anyone, because we didn’t want to have to go through the pain of spreading the news if a miscarriage happened again. Sure enough, at 10.5 weeks, we lost our second child. And as painful as it was, I was relieved to only have to tell close friends and family, and only after the fact. For me, it wasn’t a matter of the miscarriages being a shameful secret; it was more about grieving in private and not having to relive the pain by telling people about it. It was about not wanting others to feel awkward when they saw or talked to me, and not wanting to be pitied. Some people need that support; I needed privacy. Everyone is different when it comes to grief, and it’s their choice whether they decide to tell the whole world or suffer in silence, because in the end, some people suffer more by telling the whole world.
I had to tell everyone also and I’m glad I had the support of most friends and family. Some acquaintances and work associates that had found out we were pregnant through others were the most awkward. Next time I will ONLY tell close family. Some people’s comments are just awful, despite them trying to be helpful.