pregnancy

I had a lot of well-meaning friends and family searching for the right words to say after my back-to-back miscarriages. So many offered solace by guessing at where my lost babies resided in the ether: taken away to Heaven, perhaps forever, perhaps waiting for a better moment— an unknown, destined time these small souls were meant to break into the world. I accepted these comments silently, because they did nothing to comfort me.

The gynecologist said, “Congratulations!” He sent me home with some vitamin B pills, assuming that of COURSE I was going to carry this baby to term. My heart ached and I was devastated all over again — but I knew I could not support the life of a child.

“It will be long,” they told me. “It will likely be days after your due date,” they advised. “Everything will begin slowly with breaks between contractions,” they said. They lied.

We do our best as parents, but there is no plan or prediction that can determine how your relationship with your children will be, grow, and change throughout the course of our lives. That is one of the most unpredictable things in parenthood.

When I found out I was pregnant, I reluctantly made the choice to stay clean. I doubted my decision (both to have this baby and to stay sober) the entire pregnancy and was unsure of how I would feel or what I would do when my child was born. Everyone around me was unsure, too. My parents discussed contingency plans with my son’s father for when — not if — I relapsed. But I didn't.

“All mothers need access to affordable, reliable, and appropriate mental health care,” explains Jenna Hatfield, 34, the Online Awareness & Engagement Manager for Postpartum Progress, a non-profit organization dedicated to raising awareness about maternal mental illness. “Too often we see moms slip through the cracks because there’s too much red tape to access care or continue care they’ve sought out. Additionally, under-served moms aren’t always made aware of the care available to them, and that’s simply not acceptable.”

I felt lonelier than I ever had before. I didn’t recognize who I was anymore. I tried to play my role, but inside I was drowning.

I was nearly six months pregnant when they died. They died because I was one of the 5% to 10% of women who suffer from preeclampsia. Worse, I was one of the rare ones who had early-onset preeclampsia, before the babies were viable (able to live outside the womb).