Denial
Elisabeth Kubler-Ross states in her book “On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages” that, “the first stage of grieving helps us to survive the loss”. As I was reading these words, I thought back to the grief journey I went through with our miscarriages. My first thought was, “Huh, weird. I never experienced denial. I never experienced the first stage of grief.”. But I did, I just hadn’t recognized it.
From someone looking in, my denial probably looked like a compulsion. When I first took the pregnancy test and found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed! I looked at that test over and over. I showed it to my husband and he was overjoyed. But a few weeks later, something felt off, so I took another test. The test came back still positive, but the line wasn’t as dark. I thought that was weird and started doing some research. All of the testing packages and pregnancy websites said that it didn't matter how dark the line was, just that it was there. I took solace in this. I tried not to worry.
The next day, I still felt off. I hadn’t had any pregnancy symptoms for a couple days, so I took another test. This test didn’t show a line. So, I took another one. And another one. This was my denial stage. Deep down, I knew what was happening, but I didn’t want to accept it. I kept thinking that the test must be wrong. I held those tests up to the light. I looked at them at every angle possible, just hoping to see the line. I did this EVERY time I experienced a miscarriage. I took so many tests that I actually went to different stores to buy them so that the check out people wouldn’t think I was crazy. I would take the test, see the line had disappeared, throw it away, and then go back hours later and check again. I was in denial. My brain didn’t know how to process this type of loss.
My second to last miscarriage was undeniably the hardest miscarriage I had to suffer through. In short, it was the pregnancy that we really thought was going to last. We had made it past the time when I “usually” miscarried (pretty sad when you can use the word “usually” when it comes to something like that), and were fairly confident that because we had made it this far, we were going to be parents of four children soon…until the 7th or 8th week when I started spotting. I went into the doctor’s office, fully expecting them to send me home saying that everything was fine. But they didn’t. And when I look back on those 24 hours, I realize just how deep in denial I was in.
Honestly, I think the doctor may have been in denial as well (he had already seen me through my previous 4 miscarriages). He turned on the ultrasound machine and started looking for the heartbeat. He kept scanning but couldn’t find one. At this point he had me move to a different room so that we could use a different machine (I honestly think he really thought this couldn’t be happening again). We went into the other room and used a more advanced ultrasound machine and still, no heartbeat. This is when my denial kicked in. I asked him to check again. Still, no heartbeat. When we went into his office and he explained my options, I kept thinking that he was wrong, that there must be another machine. The next morning, when I went in for my DNC, I kept thinking that they were going to find the heart beat again. That this was all just a terrible mistake and they were going to send me back home and say that everything was fine.
The night before the DNC, I actually talked to the baby, thinking that it could still hear me, and apologizing for not being able to give it what it needed to survive. My body and brain literally could not handle the pain of this loss. It wasn’t until I woke up after the DNC that my brain accepted the idea that there wasn’t going to be a baby and my body broke. Right there, in the recovery room, I sobbed uncontrollably. It’s amazing how your body and brain can protect you from such severe grief because it knows that you literally can’t handle the pain all at once.
Reflecting on this journey through denial, I now understand the importance of allowing myself to grieve, even when it feels unbearable. Acknowledging the depth of my denial was not easy, but it was a necessary step towards healing. Each miscarriage was a profound loss, but recognizing my grief allowed me to begin to accept what had happened. Acceptance doesn’t mean forgetting or moving on without pain, it means embracing the reality of the loss and finding a way to live with it. My heart still carries scars, but they are a testament to the love I had for each of those pregnancies. In sharing this experience, I hope to offer validation to others who find themselves navigating the tumultuous waters of grief, reminding them that it is okay to feel, to grieve, and eventually, to heal.
