Thanks, But No Thanks

Within recent weeks, I’ve had to tell a few people about my miscarriage.  (I made sure to keep those conversations brief because dwelling on it might have induced tears.)  During one conversation, a well intentioned friend responded, “Well, you’ll probably get pregnant next month and have a beautiful baby.”  I understand what she was trying to say–your fertility is probably unaffected–but the statement hit a nerve.  The implication that I wanted to get pregnant again is miles away from the truth.

After giving birth to both Andrew and Emily, I had this weird sensation of wanting to have another baby immediately.  Bizarre, I know, but completely true.  I had the same feeling following my first miscarriage.  The second miscarriage had the opposite influence.  The intensity with which I wanted that pregnancy left me feeling bitter, hollow, and apathetic ensuing the miscarriage.  It isn’t that I don’t want another baby, it’s that I am terrified of another miscarriage.  Terrified of another pregnancy.

As of now, I can’t bear the thought of trying again.  I’ve even questioned my dream of having a big family.

Perhaps within a year I will feel differently.  Though, truth be told, the experience was so extremely heart breaking that I’m not sure if I will ever have another pregnancy in which I will feel safe.  Unless I am given some advanced directive from Above informing me that all will be safe, I will be anxious until I give birth.  Because, as I’ve learned, even a heart beat doesn’t provide conclusive evidence of a safe pregnancy.



Filed under Shooting Straight

15 responses to “Thanks, But No Thanks

  1. I love your honesty, and I think if anyone had been what you've been through, they would feel the EXACT SAME. Totally terrified of anything possibly/possibly not happening again. I don't blame you at all for feeling that way.

    I think with time you will know. What you can handle or be emotionally prepared for, what is best for you/your family, and what the plan IS for your family.

  2. I am sorry that you are dealing with all of this. It amazes me how people assume they know what we want in situations that are immensely personal. I do not pretend to know exactly what you are feeling now, but I can understand the fear. I can. I do hope you do not abandon your dream of a big family, but that is just because dreams are so much of who we are. I am proud of you for taking the time to think all of this through. xo

  3. It is heartbreaking. And you never truly "get over it". And people who haven't gone through it themselves just can't understand. Give yourself time and you'll see how you feel. I'm here!!

  4. I cannot pretend to know exactly what you're going through. But, after our miscarriage, I was so very frightened. I needed (in a desperate, unhealthy way) to get pregnant. I needed to feel like I could. And then, when I did, it was terrifying. We had blood clotting issues. I was afraid for the first five months and then we were planning a move and my life felt so out of control that I just had to let the fear go. And thankfully, we had our second daughter. But, the experience did make me question how far I can push myself. I remember clearly telling my husband that if we had a second miscarriage, he would just have to get used to the idea of having only one child. I couldn't go through that fear again. Now, I am battling with myself about the notion of trying again. Because I have no more illusions that I can say I will have another. We control so much less then we'd like to imagine.
    It's important to know where you are, and to accept your feelings. Where ever they lead you.

  5. You need time to heal. And that's OK. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

  6. Makes perfect sense. Time may change your mind (or not). And that's okay. You will know what's best for you and your family when the time comes. Just go with your heart and your faith. xo

  7. I know that feeling so well. And when I was pregnant with Claira I was terrified for the first month. And then the second month, I told myself I would miscarry any minute and I accepted it would happen, and I was miserable. And then the third month it suddenly hit me…wow, I'm still pregnant. There was no magical moment where I suddenly felt safe, perhaps because I didn't think to pray and seek one out, but we got through…reasonably sane even. We had a year between the miscarriage and getting pregnant with Claira. I needed that time…came to be grateful for it. I hope whatever time you have is precious, heart and body healing time. ((Hugs))

  8. Isn't it strange that people would assume you want a replacement rather than a simple, "I'm sorry you're going through this. I'm here if you need me." ? I'm glad you have this space to articulate your emotions with honesty.

  9. Even without a history of miscarriage, I understand the fear. When had one, I was fearful of trying for two. After all, I was blessed with one beautiful, healthy baby – why risk it? Two was born healthy, but we almost lost him at 4 months. We thought we were done. Then the baby bug bit us one last time and again, the same fear throughout the entire pregnancy. I hoped for healthy babies – that I wasn't being greedy. Parenting makes you so vulnerable.

  10. I am always surprised by what people say during a person's time of grief. Take your time and heal. You know what will be right for you when it is appropriate. Thanks for sharing your truth here. I hope at the very least it was cathartic.

  11. Kenzie

    Good intentions gone awry. It happens a lot, doesn't it? I was watching Marie Osmond on Oprah (yes, I just admitted that I do watch Oprah), and after Marie's son died, she'd have people say, "Well, at least you have 7 children still." Their intention was good, but the way it was said was – well, it wasn't helpful.

    I'm sorry you're going through hard times. I don't know you, only through blogging, but I do believe you've a great heart. I keep you in my thoughts and prayers, my friend.

  12. There just aren't answers, Amber. Not ones we can understand, anyway. We all grieve differently, just as we love differently.

    People mean well. Perhaps we should just nod, and hug one another, and stay still.

    You're in my thoughts.

  13. It's funny that I just had this conversation with another friend earlier today about how people need to think more before they speak. I'm sure whoever said this meant well too, but it doesn't make it easier to hear. Hang in there. You are in my prayers.

  14. I think that the rush of hormones during and after pregnancy, especially after, can make us feel all different things. No matter what, though, those feelings are intense. Hormones are a powerful thing, and there's no cure for them. I guess we all have to just ride the waves as they come.

    Sorry for your loss. You are brave to write about it.

  15. Well, I've been there, Amber. When I was pregnant with triplets in between my two children two turned out to be blighted ovums and the last one was a trisomy 10, an unsurvivable genetic defect. But I didn't know that when I first saw the baby and the heartbeat. I was devastated and, truly, a wreck for a long time.

    All I can say, as one person of faith to another (even if we're of different faiths!) is that you'll find out what God has in store for you and if what he has in store for you is what you have now, what a wonderful blessing that is. The day I had my procedure done to get pregnant with my daughter I think I finally understood that. I thought there was no way it was going to work but I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for this one perfect child I was given, and that was just fine.