Pregnancy Is Not Always Fun
A new father’s experience with pregnancy loss.
When my wife and I got pregnant for the first time, it was admittedly a bit of a shock. Our intentions were clear and we certainly understood “where babies come from,” but we didn’t think it would happen this quickly — let alone on the first attempt. We thought it would take a few months of trying as the OBGYN set that expectation.
I remember it vividly. She was in the bathroom taking an at-home pregnancy test and I was anxiously waiting on the couch distracting myself with the TV or something. And then I heard it. The loudest, most joy-filled yet holy shit scream of “OH MY GOD” I’ve ever heard in my life. She was pregnant. We stared at those two little lines for minutes to make sure we weren’t seeing double which resulted in taking a few more tests to triple confirm that we weren’t crazy (which requires a different test). We were excited, nervous, thankful and scared as fuck.
The next couple weeks were tediously spent researching and studying up on what was happening inside my wife’s body. What size fruit is the baby this week? What organs are developing? Taking multiple trips to the book store for the baby books and ordering them on Amazon (because you’re supposed to get the baby books). The excitement was palpable and we felt super positive about how the pregnancy was progressing. And then Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG) hit.
If you would have asked me before this experience what HG is, I would have guessed that it was some sort of scientific process, but I learned and I learned quickly. Hyperemesis Gravidarum is defined as severe nausea and vomiting during pregnancy or extreme morning sickness. The secondary definition is “that thing the Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton had.” My wife’s description is, “having the worst hangover of your life combined with the worst stomach flu you’ve ever had.” But, she feels a special connection to the Duchess which basically makes her a Duchess too.
Side note: I don’t understand why they call it “morning” sickness because it seemed to be happening all fucking day. Also, that pregnancy glow? That’s just sweat and dried crusty puke.
There’s no way to describe HG other than it really sucks. It sucks for my wife who has to go through it and manage it, and it sucks for me having to witness this form of torture that would be deemed “cruel” by the government. And while I had no physical symptoms, the mental and emotional toll it took on me as a husband and seeing my partner suffer is still extremely damaging.
Up until this point, this had been the most miserable we’d both have ever been. We’d taken several trips to the ER to pump her full of fluids that were lost from vomiting and for her to receive IV anti-nausea medication to try and help calm this shitstorm. But it never really got better.
This took us to week eight (your baby is the size of a raspberry). My company was having an annual meeting which included a dinner the night before. For me, this was a great way to get some good face time in with senior leaders of the company in a more casual setting so I was looking forward to it. Meanwhile, during the past few days, my wife had experienced some spotting and when we consulted with her doctor, she said that it’s OK and nothing to worry about unless the spotting is accompanied with extreme cramping. Back to the dinner.
Trying to be respectful at the table, I didn’t want to look at my phone but the vibrations in my pocket from incoming text messages could have started a small fire. The messages still kept coming, so I knew something was wrong. It was my wife telling me she’s in the most pain she’s ever been in her life.
I was caught in a pickle: stay and try to advance my rank in the eyes of the company’s leaders or tend to my ailing wife. After much internal debate (which there shouldn’t have been any at all), I excused myself from the table and went home only to find her keeled over in pain to the point of tears. I tried my best to comfort her until we eventually both fell asleep.
The next day during the meeting, my phone was buzzing again and she told me she felt like she needed to go to the doctor because she was still experiencing spotting. I asked if she needed me to accompany her because I really wanted to try and stay at this meeting. Keep in mind, I haven’t missed a single OBGYN appointments until this point. She said her mom was able to go with her and that I could stay. Then I got the most bone-chilling four-word text I’d ever received:
“Can I call you?”
My body and mind went numb and I had no choice but to assume the worst. I stepped outside to call her and she confirmed what I already knew. We lost the baby. And I wasn’t there to be by her side when the ultrasound tech couldn’t find the heartbeat. I had been at every doctor appointment and every ER visit, and the one that I missed had to be the most traumatic visit of our lives. I felt fucking miserable. I quickly gathered my things and rushed to the hospital.
Fighting back the tears, I met my wife and mother-in-law in the room where they explained that we had lost the baby and what our options were at that point. Distraught, we made our decision together and then went home feeling empty inside. But the bizarre part is, we weren’t actually empty because our baby was still inside my wife’s body until the procedure in the following days.
I found myself in another pickle: to be a man and suck it up to be strong for my wife or allow myself to grieve in the fact that we just lost our baby — while still being there for her. I’m not sure I ever let myself grieve fully, but I learned that’s what being a man is. You can be a man and be scared — which I was. You can be a man and cry — which I did. I don’t think we ever fully recovered from this experience, nor do I think we will, but with time and unwavering support from our families did come some sort of healing.
According to Mayo Clinic, 10–20% percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage while the actual number is even higher as many women have miscarried before they even know they’re pregnant. That’s nearly one out of every five pregnancies. Yet, for some reason in our society, we’re not supposed to talk about it — it’s taboo. But I needed to talk about it because it helped me heal.
Every person I talked to had experienced this type of loss either themselves or through friends and relatives and finding that common ground really helped. It didn’t make it easier by any means, but it helped me feel like I wasn’t alone. And that’s why we do need to talk about it because keeping it bottled up like a “dirty little secret” can make you feel lonely even though so many others have had this experience.
As time passed, our minds and bodies healed. We tried again and thankfully we were able to get pregnant again and we now have a beautiful baby girl who is our rainbow baby (child born after a miscarriage) and our entire world. But, during those 10 months (it’s not nine months like they say…) we were scared to death of this happening again. We went through HG again (which eventually went away around 16-weeks); took multiple trips to the ER and frantically panicked at every ultrasound and OBGYN appointment until we saw or heard our baby’s heartbeat.
Funny story, the ultrasound to confirm the second pregnancy (first ultrasound since we lost the baby) was performed by a student as we were receiving care at a teaching hospital. Apparently, the machine she was using was a newer model so she wasn’t exactly quite sure where all the buttons were. It took what felt like FOREVER for her to find the heartbeat and she actually needed to bring someone else in who found the heartbeat in like five seconds.
Since we had such a rough go the first time around, it was impossible to find the joy of pregnancy and the whole pregnancy process during the second time. Every moment was spent thinking about what could go wrong or fearing that our baby won’t be healthy, but we were relieved to learn that she was.
We’re so thankful for our baby and it was a long strenuous journey. We know that each couple experiences pregnancy differently and honestly, if we decide to try for another child, we’re really not looking forward to that journey again. But, seeing our daughter smile and watching her grow and develop certainly helps the cause and we know her brother (we found out the sex of the fetus through genetic testing) is always watching over her.
