Pregnancy After Miscarriage… Again

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Pregnancy after miscarriage recurrent #miscarriage #pregnancy #pregnancyloss jalina king this side of if

***This is written about my 6th pregnancy, which ended in miscarriage***

April 14th, 2019

I was in denial. Surrounded by the cloud of disbelief, I didn’t care about being pregnant so much as I cared about being right. I had felt all my usual pregnancy symptoms– still fresh in my mind since I had miscarried at 11 weeks the month before– since what must have been the day of implantation, and I wanted something to show for it. When I did, when that faintest line became less and less faint, I didn’t believe it. Through my years of infertility, I had never, ever had a false positive to hold onto. To give me hope, even false hope. I couldn’t manifest a hint of a line even if I made myself dizzy with squinting, and God knows I tried. “A line is a line,” they say in the TTC and infertility communities. I had always imagined I would believe the faintest line, if only there ever was one. Now that there finally was, I most certainly did not believe it. How could I after everything I had been through?

When I felt the pregnancy symptoms with Shiloh, the baby I had miscarried the month before, I had taken a test I had sworn was negative. I gave myself several minutes to search for that coveted second pink line before finally tossing it in the trash. When I emptied that same trash can weeks later (a large bathroom trash can mostly filled with used tissues and Q-tips), the test had somehow made its way to the top and fallen out. By then, I had already miscarried, and I knew in hindsight that I was, in fact, pregnant when I had taken that test. That particular home pregnancy test had been taken on a special anniversary for my husband and me, and I thought it would be a sweet keepsake of our baby gone too soon, so I checked in one last time. When I peeked at the test, there it was: a faint pink line. Far outside the appropriate test window, but still there and still pink. In my months of infertility trying to conceive our firstborn, I had checked and rechecked pregnancy tests from the garbage days or weeks after I had given up on them, and they were always, always, heartbreakingly, hopelessly negative. So, while far outside the recommended test window, I decided to keep that little pink line in memory of my baby.

Here I was with a little second line that met all the criteria: showed up immediately, visible without a backlight, pink. Although it had been 4-5 days early to test, and admittedly, it was probably very difficult to see to the untrained, uninterested eye.

I sent a picture to a friend and fellow infertility warrior so she could tell me I wasn’t crazy. I felt like I was going to puke, and that’s not because I typically experience nausea and vomiting during pregnancy… because I don’t.

Then, the flashes of fear. In December, after I felt God calling me to trust in his timing for our next baby, I immediately sensed I would miscarry. Somehow, the idea of two miscarriages came to mind. I had just had one.

I didn’t want to go through it again, but I knew that I could. After how well we grieved and coped with our most recent loss, I knew that I could do it again. If this was going to be another loss, God already knew it and by his grace, we didn’t have to try to conceive for a long time only to lose another baby. It would be over quickly.

Those thoughts came in flashes, but mostly I was… right. I was right. I had a pink line to show for the pregnancy symptoms I had already experienced for six days, and that was that. Still disbelief. Still needing a darker test line. Then would I believe? Would I be excited? Overjoyed? Thrilled? All these things I had felt with our five previous pregnancies? Or would I just feel numb and afraid? Would the line disappear instead of getting darker than faint? How, then, would I feel about what I was pretty sure was a baby inside me, so young with so many obstacles ahead? Did my baby even count this early? I mean, I know he or she did, but would I let myself believe that faintest line enough to mourn the loss of another baby, or would I just think, “Oh, well, guess there wasn’t a line after all”? The second option seemed unlikely. What had I gained from such an early indication of pregnancy? I don’t know. I just know that I was right. And probably pregnant.

This song comes to mind, and it fits perfectly. God is in the details.


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