The Journey to Parenthood: Pregnancy and Loss

The beginning of human life is a complex and beautiful process. When you think about it, we all start as a possibility: cells that mix together and combine the DNA of two different people to make a whole new person. Slowly, over time, a potential person grows from cells, to an embryo, to a fetus, and finally to a newborn baby. And before this, of course, there’s pregnancy.

A pregnancy, planned or unplanned, is an emotional journey. Maybe you’ve always planned on having children, but when you find out you’re pregnant, the timing is all wrong, whether because of your relationship status, finances, or many other reasons, and you’re conflicted. Or maybe, after years of infertility, IUIs, IVFs, or waiting for a surrogate/birth mother, you finally get pregnant and suddenly feel totally unprepared for having a baby. Or maybe it feels too good to be true, that this time, after multiple miscarriages, it will work.

There are so many questions that come with pregnancy. What will pregnancy do to our bodies? To our relationships? What does it look like if we embark on the journey alone? What kind of parent will you be? We might have ideas, but these will likely change and shift over time. 

Perhaps you saw those two pink lines days ago or are five months along. At some point, reality begins setting in. Slowly for some, quickly for others. There may be waves of nausea. Fatigue. Swelling in the feet. Cramps. A protruding belly. Maybe strong cravings for pizza at 2 AM. As your body changes, you also experience internal changes: anxiety, excitement, fear, concern, worry, happiness, moodiness, frustration. Love. Pregnancy is a slow crawl to a sprint. Little things happen over time, and result in big, noticeable changes.

Pregnancy and parenthood, though commonplace, are not guaranteed for all those who embark on the process. The loss of a baby or potential baby is a common fear women and expecting parents live with, and many that have to contend with the reality. Maybe you just found out you were pregnant, and then there is spotting and blood. You go to the doctor, and they tell you there is an empty sac, when there should be a heartbeat, or an embryo that stopped forming, and there’s no heartbeat. There could have been multiples in a prior scan, and in the next, one embryo is no longer viable. Or there were no complications, and you go for your anatomy scan, and you find out there are serious and complex health issues for the baby, for which science has no cure. You want this child, but not the kind of future that would be in store for them. You decide, with great suffering, to terminate. Or, maybe you are at month seven, and go into premature labor unexpectedly, and are informed your baby did not make it in the process of labor. You have no baby to swaddle and take home with you, and yet you gave birth. 

It could be you have told no one yet, or told many people in your network: your partner, friends, colleagues, the lady behind the counter at the café in the corner. And now you have no pregnancy to update anyone on. What will you tell them when they ask, “How far along are you now?” or “How’s the baby?” People want something to say, but don’t always have the right words. They think aloud, or feed into your anxieties, pains, and concerns. 

“Sorry to hear that. Things happen for a reason.” What reason could there be for this suffering?

“It’s part of God’s plan.” What kind of plan is this?

“You were going to the gym too much. You have to be careful.” I was told staying fit was important. 

“Why not just adopt?” I wanted this baby. 

“What happened?” I ask myself the same thing. 

“Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.” Why would becoming a parent not be meant to happen? 

“It’s not like you got to know the baby yet.” But I did. 

“At least it happened early in the pregnancy.” How early or late justifies grief?

“You might have to accept that this may not happen.” Why can’t I have what others have?

What you want is for someone to say, “I am so sorry you are in pain, and what a horrible thing to have endured.” 

Being unable to conceive without reproductive assistance, maintaining a pregnancy without assistance, and pregnancy loss are surrounded by stigma. People often wait until after they are three months pregnant to tell others they are expecting. The first three months of pregnancy for many (though not all) are sometimes the hardest: relentless nausea, a sour stomach, crippling fatigue, and anxiety that something will go wrong. This is when support is helpful, and yet, due to not wanting to deliver possibly bad news, we hold off. To protect others from bad news. To protect ourselves from unhelpful comments or information.

Maternal mental health and the mental health of expecting parents is crucial during the pregnancy process, and in particular, when there is loss. There is the physical recovery after your body miscarries, or you have to give birth. There is deciding what to do after the loss of a baby. Do you create a memory book? Do you push down the memories and forge on? Do you share your story? How do you move on? There’s milk that leaks from the chest, hair loss, postpartum depression from the hormonal changes, adjusting to stretch marks and weight fluctuations, calling out of work. There’s hospital visits for a D & C/D & E, and waiting for pregnancy levels to drop, and being told when you can try again (do you try again?).

It’s a heavy, and painful subject, and it’s necessary to discuss the pains of it, to be there for women and expecting parents. At Footprint, we’re here to help. We provide a safe space to discuss your feelings, even if you just need to vent. We offer private, non-judgmental therapy sessions with licensed, experienced professionals. Learn more about how our therapists can help you at https://www.footprintnj.com/.