I’m Grateful for My Rainbow Baby After a Miscarriage That Almost Broke Me

I got my blood work done and then went in for my 11–12 week ultrasound. My doctor came in and started the ultrasound. I watched the screen, and it seemed as if she was having a hard time finding the baby, but I figured that was normal. They are so tiny at that stage.

She kept looking, and then said she wanted to do a vaginal ultrasound instead. OK. She started that ultrasound and then turned to me and said, “I am SO SORRY!” I knew what she meant. There was no heartbeat. After two and a half long, hard years of trying to have this baby, it was gone. My body had failed me. This couldn’t be happening. We were supposed to have another baby. I wasn’t supposed to have a miscarriage. This wasn’t fair.

No words will ever describe that moment of lying on that table in the doctor’s office, looking at our baby with no heartbeat. To say I was crushed would be the understatement of a lifetime.

I wanted to feel that joy and hope I had when we first found out we were pregnant. Not like the world had crumbled into a million pieces. The world felt dark, alone, and scary. I wanted to just lie on the floor and cry.

Before I could even process what I saw, we had to talk about next steps. Did I want to miscarry naturally? Did I want to do a D&C? If so, I needed to talk pricing since it was elective with my insurance company. WHAT?!?! I just wanted this baby out. I wanted to pretend like it had never happened.

How could this be happening to us? Wasn’t it painful enough, month after month of seeing nothing but negative pregnancy tests? Was this the world’s cruelest joke that for 11 weeks, I had everything in life I’d ever wanted and then in an instant it was all taken away?

I had a work trip planned for that coming weekend that my doctor said was fine to take since the earliest we would plan for a D&C would be the next week. I figured I needed a minute by myself to grieve and process everything, and my husband agreed, so off I went to Florida.

People asked how I was, and I was numb. I somehow said I was great, but really I was dying on the inside. Tears were on the brink of pouring out at any second. Part of me wanted to pretend this was a really bad nightmare and I would wake up and it wouldn’t be real.

Around 2 a.m., I started to get cramping pain and I thought maybe it was the food I ate. No. This pain reminded me of labor pains from when I had my first son, Eddie. I was miscarrying right there in that hotel room by myself in the middle of the night. This wasn’t the plan.

I started to bleed. This was quite possibly one of the most painful experiences physically and emotionally of my life. I was hemorrhaging. I was terrified. I couldn’t breathe — the pain, the blood — was I going to be OK? At that moment, I felt my late mom hold my hand and tell me to breathe. We did it together as I cried on the bathroom floor for hours. And there it was on my pad, that little baby that could have been. I told my mom to take the baby over the rainbow with her and that I loved her. I have never stopped thinking or loving that baby that should have been ours.

I was terrified post-miscarriage that we wouldn’t be able to get pregnant again and have the pregnancy stick. I was afraid to tell people that I had a miscarriage. It’s such a taboo subject, and it shouldn’t be. Miscarriages steal your joy, but I knew at some point, I had to get back into fertility acupuncture and we would have to try again.

Four months later, in between renovating a home ourselves, selling it, and moving when we decided to put baby-making on hold, low and behold our rainbow baby was in the making.

I had fear every time I would go in for an ultrasound. I was no longer blissfully unaware of what could happen. It took me a long time to really attach myself to our pregnancy. I was so afraid that another miscarriage would steal all my joy and my positive outlook on life. I don’t know if I could have recovered from a second one.

Veena Crownholm

Thirty-nine weeks and five days later, our precious Max joined us Earth side, and I have not taken a single moment for granted. So the silver lining is that I appreciate my nights when I don’t sleep, the endless hours of bouncing and rocking him, the cracked nipples from breastfeeding. This is the soul I had been dreaming of meeting for the past four years.

I am also forever grateful to two close mom friends who had bravely shared their stories. They emotionally held my hand through the most painful experience of my life. My husband was right there with open ears and hugs, but sometimes you need people around you who fully understand what you are going through, to make it through. I knew both of them had had miscarriages before, but somehow when I read their stories on Instagram it resonated in a different way.

The more I shared in the coming weeks, as painful as it was to acknowledge I was no longer pregnant, the more I realized that this was a lot more common than I had thought. Somehow seeing pregnant women and hearing stories about how they got pregnant shortly after miscarrying made me feel as if it was going to be OK. We were going to be OK, and we were going to have a rainbow baby on the other side.

I think the biggest takeaway from all of this is that life is fragile. Life is short and full of unexpected twists and turns. Lean on other women who have walked in your shoes. Don’t shoulder the emotional burden of something as painful as a miscarriage. So many of us have been there and want to be there for you. Miscarriages happen to more people than we think. You are not alone.