Our Story

TW: pregnancy loss

I wrote and re-wrote the beginning of this multiple times, but as it turns out, there's no eloquent way to say that I was decorating my classroom for a Christmas celebration when I lost my first baby.

Rewind. I was transforming my classroom into the Polar Express, a yearly tradition. My mom and dad were helping hang Christmas lights and snowflakes from the ceiling while I dreamed of the ways I was going to tell them I was pregnant. We were just about finished up when something didn't seem right. Something didn't feel right. I went to the bathroom and saw blood. Lots of blood. I felt my stomach drop and heat hit my face. I stood there for a good five minutes before I talked myself into walking out of the bathroom and telling my parents the room looked good and we should stop decorating.

We were meeting for dinner afterwards and I told them I would be right there. I didn't know what to do, so I went to dinner. I sat in a booth and pushed through the cramping in my stomach and confusion in my head. I don't remember the dinner but I remember getting into my car and sitting for a minute trying to figure out what to do next.

Clothes. I need new clothes. My house is about 20 minutes from home, in the direction opposite the hospital. I stopped at Kohls, which was right by the restaurant, and grabbed a new pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. I distinctly remember the sweatshirt. It was bright blue, soft, and became one of my coping mechanisms for several months.

My husband was on his way home from a work trip. I need him here. I called him and he was not alone in the car. Please don't say anything. Listen to me but act normal. I'm bleeding. Something isn't right. I'm going to the hospital. Can you meet me there? How far away are you? I need you. Please don't say anything. Please? Two hours away.

I called my sister-in-law. I don't know how to say this. Please don't tell anyone. I am pregnant. I was pregnant? I am pregnant, but something's wrong. Can you meet me at the hospital?

Please don't tell anyone.

Please.

I got to the hospital at the same time as my sister-in-law. Standing at the front desk shaking, I told them the same thing I told her. I was pregnant. I am pregnant? I'm bleeding. Something's wrong. Filled out the paperwork, sat in a chair, waited for I'm not sure how long. "Emily Meyers?" That's my turn. Repeat the same phrases again. I was pregnant? I am pregnant? Something's wrong.

I'm finally taken to a room. Repeat the same phrases again. I can't say it again.

Blood tests. Ultrasound. They don't tell you how uncomfortable a transvaginal ultrasound is, especially when your body is rejecting your baby. Finally, a physician assistant comes in. It's someone I know. Shame. Guilt. "We didn't see anything on the ultrasound." More shame. More guilt. So I wasn't pregnant? "No, you were definitely pregnant. Your bloodwork came back positive." I'm confused. So I'm not pregnant anymore? "No." I don't remember any words after that point, except miscarriage.

What the hell is a miscarriage?