I am going to have a miscarriage.

I don’t even know how to start sharing this, so I will just do it without overthinking it: I am going to have a miscarriage.

I don’t even know how to process the thoughts going on in my brain. To be honest, I can’t keep up with how rapidly they change. Sometimes, they’re optimistic: “There’s a 3% chance this will work out ok, which is still a chance.” Sometimes they’re exhausted: “I can’t think about this anymore, I need a freaking Netflix series NOW.” Sometimes they’re matter-of-fact: “So, this is really happening. You’re lucky you had warning, bunker down.” Sometimes they are self-deprecating: “I deserve this. I have done terrible things or said terrible things to people, so I deserve this.” Sometimes they are shaming: “I wasn’t good enough, I didn’t provide a good enough egg.” Sometimes they are sorry, especially for my husband, my child and this little spirit: “I’m so sorry. I am so sorry this happened. I’m so sorry I let you down.” Sometimes they are just numb and empty and confused and stare out into the distance.

We have been trying to get pregnant for 16 cycles. After the first 6 failed cycles, slid right into action mode: I found a specialist, added on a homeopathic doctor, went to countless acupuncture appointments, adopted a Keto lifestyle, lost 20 lbs, started on what felt like 50 different kinds of supplements, peed on likely 1000 ovulation sticks and wrote out all about my experience. After the 15th cycle, all the specialists, including the acupuncturist and homeopath all agreed it was time to try a fertility drug, Letrozole. So, after some emotional wrestling with my ego, I did.

And it worked. I was over the moon. The excitement lasted for about a day, then all of my emotions quickly turned to anxiety and panic. I couldn’t even say the words, “I’m pregnant.” Instead, I said, “I got a positive pregnancy test.”

I had my blood drawn early on to confirm the pregnancy. It was exactly 3 years to the day after I had blood drawn for my daughter. They were about a week and about 9,850 u/g in HCG apart. I was shocked to see such a low pregnancy hormone number, but brushed it off to, “the timing is different, we caught this one super early.” Still, the panic started to creep in. I had NO symptoms. With my daughter, I had massive food aversion and tiredness. I had none of that this time. The good news was that my HCG was doubling, things were progressing. There was some relief.

But, then at the next appointment, the doctor handed me a photo of an empty womb. He said he swore he saw a “yolk sac”. I tried squinting. I still couldn’t see it. I popped the picture on my fridge regardless. I needed a reminder that something good was happening.

Then, hormones set in. Between the uncertainty in the pregnancy and the devastation of the nearby fire in northern California, I found myself in a full blown panic attack. My husband pointed out what was happening, and reminded me of my tools. I did my meditations, went for a walk, did some writing. But that empty womb picture kept staring me down, reminding me of what wasn’t obvious. My doctor said to purchase some magnesium, so I placed my Amazon order and slept easier that night.

The next week, there was a heartbeat and the yolk sac was clear as day. Relief rolled in, dampened the worry and cleared the way for some joy and hope. It felt like we were on our way! Step one was complete. Only a million more steps to go. Still, the doctor assured me that we were not out of the woods yet. I should have been about 7 weeks pregnant. The baby was measuring 6 weeks, 2 days. A little small, but all within normal limits. The heart rate was just below 100. It should have been above 100 at this point, but it was “nothing to worry about”… yet. At 9 weeks, things would be more certain, we could celebrate then. But, we were just kicked back a week to week 6. I didn’t care. That tiny little flicker, that little heart beat meant that it was finally time to say the words, “I’m pregnant”.

So, how did I get here? Where I’ve been told I am having a miscarriage? And I’m still pregnant.

Yesterday, after a week of increasing symptoms, exhaustion and food issues that infused confidence and enthusiasm, I had another scan. The scan indicated that the heart beat went up. Perfect. Hurray. I could say hello again to that little heartbeat, floating there in the middle of the screen. I missed seeing you.

What happened next, I appreciated, but it devastated me. The doctor was kind, sensitive and gently asked me, how many weeks was I last week. I said 6 weeks 2 days. He said that was the same measurement this week, no matter what angle he took the measurements from: 6 weeks, 2 days. Between the increase in the size of the yolk sac, and the significant lack of change in the fetus size, he was 97% certain this pregnancy wouldn’t progress. He was confident it was due to chromosomal abnormalities. There was nothing I could have done. It was bad luck and it was far more common than anyone knew.

He stayed with me while I swore. He stayed with me while I cried. He stayed while I shook my head in disbelief. He reassured me that this was normal. It happened very often and that I would likely go on to have a beautiful rainbow baby one day. There was no, “the upside is that you got pregnant,” there was no, “There’s still a 3% chance.” He was very clear. The likelihood of miscarriage, grief, and mourning was imminent.

So now what do I do? I feel fine. I’m still pregnant. The heartbeat that was there yesterday, is likely still there right now. So, what do I do now? Knowing this will end? That we will have to start over? I can’t go there yet. It’s all too much. It’s too much right here, right now, nevertheless imagining the pain and loss that is yet to come.

I cried all yesterday. I cried in the arms of the receptionist. I cried in the arms of a friend I saw. I cried over FaceTime telling my pregnant friend who lives halfway across the world. I cried as my husband held me. My eyes were swollen all day. My 2-year-old daughter saw me cry and I didn’t lie to her. I was sad and at the same time I promised her that I was going to be ok. I sang her that Daniel Tiger song. “It’s ok to feel sad sometimes. Little by little, you’ll feel better again.” It was true. I would feel better again. Just not in that exact moment and I didn’t know when. My daughter offered to give me things to make me happy. She even offered to give me a new baby and dropped a pretend baby down my shirt. I smiled and I hugged her and kissed her. And then, I did it again. I hoped that this baby spirit being knew that I had that much love waiting for him too.

I thought about hiding this from my daughter. The idea of guilt also floated through my mind on a passing cloud. I know she reads emotions exceptionally well for a 2 year old. But there was no hiding this. This was happening. She saw me sad. I’m ok with that. She also saw me smothered in joy when she offered to make me happy by giving me her stuffies. I love the compassion in her that she has mastered already. I’m not worried she knows I am sad. She will know sadness in her lifetime and I know in those moments she will feel the love and compassion I have for her.

Today, I didn’t cry as much. Just sprinkles here and there. I’m trying to stay grateful that I am pregnant right now, even if it ends soon. I still want to reach out to everyone I know and ask for prayers. For me, for this baby, for my daughter and husband too. I want that support right now. I don’t know where this is going, but I’m certain the positive energy can’t hurt. I’ve told a few friends that I was pregnant. I will tell them what’s happening now and ask for support. I will tell others too. A few extra lovies couldn’t hurt. Plus, it’s so hard to lie right now when people ask “How are you, what’s going on?” It’s impossible to answer, “Fine, not much.” That just too far from the truth.

I also fully admit that I have denial. I accept that. I somehow think that I can be the 3%. I’m working though that bargaining too. Maybe if I get enough prayers, the baby will stay. I swear I heard this child say “the doctor doesn’t know everything, I’m fine, it’s all going to be fine. I’m sticking around.” And maybe it is. There is so much unknown in this universe.

I’ve been talking to this baby. I tell it that I love it. I tell him, it’s ok if he wants to stick it out. It’s also if this isn’t the body for him. And it’s ok if this is as far as he goes. I will always love him and he will always be my child. I also tell him that I want clarity. I don’t want to drag this on. I want the signs to be clear. I don’t want to have to make tough choices based on unclear information. I appreciate his support on this. If he’s going to leave, please make it quick and easy. And then, I tell him I will love him no matter what, even if he goes. Although, I hope he considers coming back.

Today, I tried to keep out of my head. I dove into self care. I went to acupuncture today. She says my pulses still feel great. I am probably still pregnant right now. But I know that she can’t tell me about tomorrow. I also got a massage. He didn’t seem fazed at all when I told him I was pregnant but it likely won’t stick. Later, I left a message for a new therapist that specializes in this part of women’s health. I went to yoga. I felt the single tear roll down my left cheek after my teacher told me to feel into my heart center. I sat patiently as the other two tears rolled out of each eye after I opened them. I texted a few friends. I hugged my daughter again and again and again. I soaked it in when she told me she loved me… so much. I opened my computer and started typing.

Tonight, my husband made me soup. It filled my whole soul with love. It is what I wanted last night, but instead I asked for pho and we went out. I sat there feeling brain dead in that restaurant. Just wanting to run out of there. I found no pleasure in being around strangers and faking my emotions for the comfort of the general public. Tonight, at home, with the soup, and my family, I feel comfort, I feel safe, I feel joy creeping in as the sadness streams out. I feel loved, even at my lowest. I feel cared for, even when I have nothing to give. I am surrounded by love and laughter even when my eyes are raw from sadness and tears.

I asked my husband to talk to this baby. He said, if he could talk to the baby, he would thank it for ending our struggles with fertility. Here is how I translate his sentiment: “Thank you, thank you for coming in and completing our fertility struggle journey. Even though you won’t be with us, you were the gift that brought our struggles to an end. You are that gift that lets us start a new journey, from a new space, with a new energy. We are so grateful for you. You are such a gift, regardless of how long we have with you.”

The entire 16 cycles that we fought to conceive this child, I struggled to “let go”. I practiced non-attachment, but even with all the effort, there was no way to ignore the desire for a specific outcome, this baby. I practiced my mantra: “Lower case hopes are the things we can imagine, upper case Hope is being open to receive the unimaginable”.

When I took the fertility drug, I became open to receiving the unimaginable. I couldn’t compare and anticipate my body’s signals any more.There was nothing to imagine, it was all uncharted territory. And there, in that moment, began my surrender.

And now that I am here, in a place where there is nothing I can do or not do, no right or wrong, no way to mess this up, or bring it back, I am here. I am pregnant and totally, completely, and fully surrendered. For this, little my tiny one, I am so grateful for you. Thank you for giving me this gift of surrender.

And so, now from this place of total and complete surrender, I guess, for now, we just wait.

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