It was an August Friday when the bleeding and cramping began. Just two days prior, I watched anxiously as six pink lines appeared across three pregnancy tests. Only two days, and I had already envisioned the entire life of a baby that would never be. We’d just gotten over the shock and were starting to get excited. It had only just begun, so how was it already over?
They call it a “chemical pregnancy.” For those who don’t know, a chemical pregnancy is when a fertilized egg fails to implant fully into the uterine lining. Most medical professionals agree that chemical pregnancies occur due to chromosomal abnormalities, but no one really knows the complete story. These hormonal pregnancies typically don’t present pregnancy-related symptoms other than a late and sometimes heavier-than-normal menstrual period.
Most women who experience a chemical pregnancy don’t even realize they’re pregnant and thus never know they’ve miscarried. Unfortunately, due to my hyper-awareness of my cycle and ultra-sensitive pregnancy tests, I wasn’t so lucky.
If there wasn’t a baby, is it even a miscarriage? I guess the short answer is no. Chemical pregnancies don’t produce a baby. It’s nothing more than hormones from the fertilized egg. So, no baby, no loss, right?
Well, try telling that to the newly formed hole in my heart. My body may not have lost a baby, but my brain did — and no amount of scientific research can argue with that. When I saw the positive tests, I began planning for a new baby. In two days, I reimagined bedroom arrangements, sorted through summer plans to accommodate a newborn, and mourned the loss of future sleep. I saw a future life with three kids. I felt the exhaustion, sore breasts, and hunger. Every part of my brain was convinced we had conceived a full-blown human child to birth and raise in eight and a half months.
But, no. Instead of a baby, we have three positive pregnancy tests and an empty womb. Fetus or no, we experienced a perceived loss, and that hurts deeply.
I’m not good at mourning. Knowing the science of a chemical pregnancy takes off a bit of the edge. There wasn’t an actual baby. No one to name. No sac or placenta to pass, so no need for surgery. And because the pregnancy ended so early, the end was just menstruation as usual.
I’m grateful for the friends who have encouraged me to sit in the grief. But with two children in the flesh, there’s not much time for wallowing. I have allowed myself space to burst into tears while cooking dinner, while driving down the road, and while sitting in the shower. But once the bleeding was over, the grieving seemed to end as well. After a tearful follow-up with the midwives, filled with hugs and encouragements, I truly felt fine. And honestly, a bit more motivated. Hesitantly motivated, but motivated nonetheless.
So, what now? I never have been very good at mourning. I live life for enjoyment and try to quickly skip over the things that are less than. I’m also an eternal optimist. In my head, it’ll always be better next time around. I feel truly optimistic. But next time, I will wait until day 31 to test.
{The Fort Worth Moms Blog created the Forever Loved, Never Forgotten page to honor the lives of our children who left this world too soon.}
Thank you for sharing this. I just experienced my first “chemical pregnancy” exactly 1 week after my positive pregnancy test. 1 week of laughter, and hope and envisioning what our life would look like with 2 under 2. A week of planning on how we were going to tell our parents, laughing at potential names. One week of testing, each morning to notice that, while the line was still there… it wasn’t getting any darker. There may not have been a fetus, but there was a baby, and a life in my heart and mind.
The grief is like nothing I could have imagined. But, like you, I am grateful that there is not DNC; there is hope that we will get pregnant again. And counting my blessings for the beautiful family that we do have.