We had a beautiful 2-year-old daughter and had decided it was time to expand on that.  Getting pregnant and carrying Emaline had been smooth sailing and we were prepared for more calm seas ahead.  We didn’t really hold back and relayed the good news to our family and friends relatively early.

Now, the news of our first pregnancy had stirred up some interesting family emotions… When we shared the news of that first pregnancy with my parents, my mom proceeded to inform me that, not only is she surprised, since she always thought we were “too selfish to have kids” … but also, she relays the story of when she found out that she was pregnant with me: and how she had made an appointment to terminate the pregnancy.  She and my dad were early in their marriage, and she had career aspirations.  Having a baby so quickly wasn’t really in her plan.  But when they drove up to the clinic for her abortion, she got cold feet and decided not to go through with it.  Phew, I guess… (while I’m fervently Pro Choice – somehow the discussion of your own existence and near miss while you’re sharing the news of your first pregnancy with your family creates an odd dynamic).

Now, fast-forward a few years, and things are going well.  Motherhood hasn’t been without challenges, but we’re ready to do it again.  We even tell Emaline about becoming a big sister – well, as much as you can explain it to a 2-year-old.  Emaline was always our little “peanut”, so we were trying to develop a new nickname for this little baby who is growing inside me.  We ask Em, what should we call the baby?  And she says, “Motorcycle.”  And so we did.  Motorcycle, Emaline, Tim and I – our growing family.

Now in our healthcare system and circumstances, beyond a blood test to confirm the pregnancy, you didn’t really see a doctor or check any other details until around 12 ish weeks.  That morning I drove Emaline to her daycare center, telling her I would bring her a picture of Motorcycle when I picked her up.  And then I went to the medical center to meet Tim.  We knew the OBGYN from our first pregnancy and were excited to see him and get that first glimpse of the baby.  But when he used that ultrasound wand to “take a look” he was suddenly quiet.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

Our doctor immediately sent us upstairs to get a more comprehensive ultrasound.  He tried to frame it as “taking a better look” … maybe the equipment he had in his exam room just wasn’t finding the heartbeat.  It *could* be fine.  Try to stay calm. 

And I tried.  I’ve always been a hopeless optimist.  It was almost like I believed that I could will things into happening with a positive attitude and enough hope.  And I prayed.  Please, please God – let this baby be okay.  How could there be anything wrong?  I felt fine.  Emaline had named him Motorcycle.  Somehow in my heart, I thought it was a boy.

We had told everyone.  Would they think I had failed?  Was this happening because maybe I was too selfish after all?  Maybe God let me get away with 1, but 2?  Not gonna happen. 

The ultrasound tech did her thing.  She was very quiet and I was lying on that loud protective paper sheet in the dark exam room, trying to see the screen and follow or understand what was happening.  Finally, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I asked her: Do you see a heartbeat?

She was kind and calm.  “No, I don’t,” was all she said. 

“Are you confident, that if there were a heartbeat, you could see it?  That you would see it?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said.

And I broke down.  This was really happening. 

We went back to get the “official” report from our doctor.  And he was so caring and gentle.  He even cried with us.  And then we had to discuss options… Since I was already roughly 13 weeks, it wasn’t likely my body was going to miscarry this baby without some “help.”  I could take a pill and go through it at home: likely painful – cramping and a lot of bleeding.  Or, he recommended, I could come in the following day for a D&C.  Now, prior to this moment, I had never even heard of the term “D&C.”  In fact, I had to look it up – and my first Google search came up short as I didn’t even understand that the “and” in the expression wasn’t the letter “N” – I literally searched “D-N-C.”  But soon I realized, this was the procedure commonly known as an abortion.  I was suddenly scheduling my own abortion – for this baby that I wanted so badly.  For my Motorcycle. 

There is no heartbeat.  We have to do this, right?

And I was crushed.  I picked up Emaline at day care, tears streaming down my face, no photos to show.  I felt so alone and ashamed.  I didn’t know anyone else who had had a miscarriage or a “D&C.”  Of course, I knew that it happened, I knew the stats – 1 in 4, something like that… but knowing statistics isn’t the same as knowing people.  Did I do something wrong?  Why was this happening to me?

But almost immediately people started to come to me and share their stories.  People I knew well.  People who I considered close friends, and they were suddenly telling me about their miscarriages.  And I was like, “Why?  Why don’t people talk about this?  Why do they all go through it feeling so alone?”

I am generally not an overly emotional person – but from the time we knew, through the D&C and recovery, I basically didn’t stop crying.  All those plans and expectations and dreams we had for our life with that little soul just poured out of me – but I had no words, only tears.

I called a few people, those who I was especially close with… my parents, my in-laws, Reen & Phil – the aunt and uncle who were our closest relatives in proximity & so much more.  And it was awful.  I mean people wanted to help and say the “right” thing – but nothing really helped.  I needed to sit with the pain and try to forgive myself and rise above my self-doubt and remember – I didn’t really believe in an interventionist God… this wasn’t because I was selfish or flawed.  It was science.  And it sucked.  I needed to grieve but I needed to stop blaming myself.

Luckily we were able to go in the very next day for the operation. A Friday – 2 days before Mother’s Day.  And I went into the surgery with tears still streaming down my face, but knowing there was nothing else to do.  I had to let Motorcycle go.

And in the coming weeks and months, life moved on – as it tends to do.  And mostly I felt like people tried to avoid talking about it.  Most people, except for Reen & Phil, who would ask how I was doing in a way that opened the door.  That let me share what I was feeling or thinking or struggling with.  Or that let me choose to avoid it, if that’s what I wanted on any given day.  They asked great questions: about my mind and my body – and they didn’t share outrageous oversimplifications like “everything happens for a reason.”  They were direct and kind and taught me what empathy feels like and how to practice it with others. 

Since then, I share this story often, with the hope that other moms feel less alone in their journeys.  And I also feel like I learned, through some pretty great role models, how to walk with people in their pain: what that looks like, how it feels to have people walk that road with you.  Less lonely.

That experience didn’t convert me from a hopeless optimist to an eternal pessimist.  But it did teach me a lot about grief and grieving.  Even when you’re grieving for a life and a dream that never got to take flight.

And now, in the wake of the reversal of the Roe v. Wade decision, I have heard so many stories like mine – and many more tragic and urgent and heartbreaking.  And I can tell you, that the medical decisions a woman has to make should always be between her, and her doctor.  I can tell you that my D&C was the same procedure commonly known as an abortion.  I can tell you that the recent actions of the Supreme Court have introduced more friction and red tape and delays into the process, for many women – even in circumstances where the fetus is not viable.  This decision will put more pressure on doctors and radiologists and other medical professionals to put their reputations and careers on the line when sharing a diagnosis like mine.  And I can tell you that the judgement and delays and second guessing will result in more pain for everyone – more pain on top of an already heartbreaking and tragic situation, regardless of the circumstances.