My Pregnancy After Loss Part 4:
My Second Trimester (and when we found out, she was a “she!”)
Ohhhh the second trimester — I like to call it “the sweet spot”
Your nausea usually starts to subside
Your body might not be entirely that uncomfortable yet
The 1st trimester exhaustion might fade — and some energy might enter the chat
And if you’re lucky, you might start feeling some movement from baby
This was my … what?! 5th pregnancy (wow) so I started feeling movement pretty early on. My nausea also slowly started to decrease. Two things most mothers would be thrilled over — and I was, but I feel like for loss moms or any mother who struggles with anxiety, losing nausea and feeling movement can be a bit of a catch 22. On one hand, you are thrilled to be feeling better — to be reminded your baby is in there. On the other? Well.. now can come the second guessing… the over analyzing. Am I still pregnant? Has my baby moved today? Is my baby moving enough? It can feel rather endless.
Just like the first trimester, staying busy was my choice coping practise. It meant less time to analyze. Time felt like it moved a lot faster at this point too, which, for a loss mom who is counting down the weeks to their “finish line”, or due date — this felt like a blessing.
I felt like I was doing a decent job at coping and staying busy and you know.. all the things to keep my walls up. That was— until, I found out she was a “she!”
It was 4 days before mothers day. And we were also coming up to William’s birthday. Emotions were high, to say the least. A part of me was thinking about how the universe seems to just love to teach me lessons — I mean, it has already given me a due date only days away from when Vienna died… this baby for sure has to be a girl.
And sure enough, I was right.
I never knew I had a longing for a daughter until I found out Vienna was a girl — we kept her sex a surprise right until the very end. After we found out she had died, we had our doctor print out her gender on a piece of paper. We had always envisioned Scott telling me the gender at her birth. We sat in the sunshine in our backyard, Scott opened the paper — he leaned over and kissed me, and ever so gently told me “we have a little girl”. It wasn’t what we had originally envisioned, but it was a beautiful moment I will keep with me always.
Finding out gender of your rainbow baby can come with so many emotions— again, we are kind of facing a catch 22. Maybe we do want the same gender, maybe we are even eagerly pining for it. Maybe we have some gender disappointment when we find out it’s the opposite. Or maybe, in your heart, you are hoping for something different. I knew for me, I would obviously be happy with either gender, especially since we had already lost both a boy and a girl, but knowing this baby had almost the same due date as their big sister — and was also a girl — well… it just felt prophetic to me. I don’t want to call it a do-over, because it was not that at all, but it just felt eerily similar and the stakes felt extra high.
We kept her gender a secret her entire pregnancy, all the way to when we announced her birth. It was the biggest secret I had everrrrrrr, or will ever keep. Looking back, I am not entirely sure how I was able to do that!
I knew my days of disassociating were over. There were of course some moments of reprieve, of “taking a break from my pregnancy” because I also needed to be able to survive it, but moving forward from that day, I made a promise to my baby to do two things: 1) spend time with them everyday; whether it be talking to them, rubbing my belly, telling them I love them, telling them how I felt and 2) doing one tactile thing per day to prepare for their arrival (buying an item of clothing, hiring my doula, seeing my therapist, setting up the crib, etc).
If William had taught me anything, it’s that tomorrow is never guaranteed. All we really have is today. I knew William was going to die, so I made sure to connect with him every day. The truth was with this baby…. I had no idea how her story would turn out. I didn’t know if I would get to bring her home, or if I’d be saying goodbye again. I didn’t know if this would be the last time I ever carry a baby. I didn’t want to look back with regrets. I didn’t want to feel like I squandered my time with them, if in fact our time was limited.
There were days that I relished in connecting with my baby girl, and there were also days where I battled hard. I had my first real panic attack the day we put up her nursery wallpaper — I’ll share more about that another time.
Here I am at my clients birth — still secretly pregnant :)
We continued moving forward, as one does. Journalling, constantly talking to my loss mom friends online, music, writing, and of course, doulaing, were my saving grace. I still had a full doula roaster — still was having birth marathons. From all nighter home births, to once again, 3 births in 3 days. I even attended 2 OR births, which usually never happens — I’m so glad I didn’t faint!
It was another really special time and it felt like me, and my little girl — were a team. I could feel Vienna there, too. I don’t really have the words to describe it because unless you’ve lost a baby, attended births, and was pregnant all at once— it probably wouldn’t make much sense, lol. But I truly never felt closer to heaven and to God than when I was supporting a birth, pregnant my baby girl.
I still kept busy, and I tried my best to incorporate all the tools I was learning to help cope with my growing anxieties. I have always been someone who wanted to be a “journaler” or practised medication/gratitude, any or all of those holistic modalities — but I truthfully never had the discipline. But when I was PAL? I pulled out all the stops, as I knew I could not afford to f*ck around. Because of my work as a doula, I knew how to best support myself and my pregnancy — I could essentially “doula” and encourage myself to do the same things I coach my clients to; get plugged in with a mom community, become educated and clear about your birth and your preferences, hire a doula, prepare your home, prepare your body, etc. etc. etc. But every step that I took to move forward and to support my pregnancy in the “traditional” sense, was met with me feeling ultimately unseen, invalidated and disappointed. The complete opposite experience that any pregnant person deserves.
My prenatal classes — they were a trigger. We’d go around the circle; sharing how many weeks you were and if it was your first pregnancy and then answer some arbitrary question. I remember “what is something you are worried about right now?” … Every single womans answer was totally and completely valid. They were worried their baby shower would be a flop, worried about their MILs being overbearing, worried about facing induction. ALL OF THESE WORRIES = valid (I can’t emphasis that enough). But when it came for me to answer; I felt I had to keep my story to myself in fear of scaring the other mothers. What am I worried about? Well… that I will have to deliver another one of my babies sleeping. That I am going to miss something and my baby will die and it will be my fault. That they are going to have an incompatible with life diagnosis. Sometimes, I did share when it was my turn, and I was looked at with sad eyes. Which, is ALSO totally and completely valid. I’d be sad for me too, but it just did not feel good.
As a doula, one of the things we preach all the time is to surround yourself with positivity — positive birth stories, people who support you and see you. I did not want to feel responsible for igniting a new fear and sharing my traumatic birth story with a woman who was having a blissful pregnancy.
The due date/mom groups — they were same thing. There was no one I felt I could be seen by. I was living an entirely different experience. And you know what, I was really happy for those moms to have their blissful time. When I think back to my pregnancy with Vienna, before she died, it was the happiest time of my life. I wanted them to have that. But in the same breath, part of me too was also mourning that I could never have that same experience with this baby… a baby shower would never feel normal, I didnt feel the same excitement to prepare my nursery, this wasn’t going to be my first birth, doctor appointments were scary, not exciting.
Even with friends and family. You know what, I consider myself so incredibly lucky to be surrounded by some pretty spectacular, deeply caring individuals — but I learned really early on, no one is going to understand this. And I knew I was barely keeping it together. It felt scary to let people in and open myself up to their judgements, or well-intentioned comments, or (what felt like) pressure. I, too, also felt like I needed to protect them. Maybe, if I kept them at a distance — if this baby were to die too, I could save them some heartbreak.
Reading this over now with tears in my eyes … I know I am not alone in feeling this way, but I feel really sad for this girl. No wonder I felt alone. But, it just was what it needed to be and I have zero regrets. I didn’t need to appease anyone, or have things go a certain way… I simply needed to survive.
It was a really lonely time in my life. It was my whole world, and I did not really share it. My only reprieve were my fellow loss mom friends — they truly understood and I would have been lost without them. They weren’t scared by my fears or comments. They knew how holding your breath felt, or the anxiety that came with appointments. They knew, however happy of a time this was, or however grateful I was, it came with paralyzing fear and grief over the experience I thought I would have.
One of the biggest supports during my pregnancy was also my care team. It was stacked. I had eyes watching me, taking my concerns seriously, essentially giving me anything I felt I needed. They also knew my babies and my history. I worked with an MFM as my OB and primary care provider, a rheumotologist and a hematologist. I was still taking my daily blood thinners (injections), and was also on an immunosuppressant.
We were being monitored every 3 weeks or so throughout my second trimester. I had an early anatomy scan and everything looked perfect with our baby — after William having a heart condition, hearing our baby was healthy was music to my ears. I did have a hematoma, but we knew this already and very thankfully, I wasn’t bleeding. We weren’t able to get all the images in that first scan; so I was brought back for a follow up scan a couple weeks later, and that’s when it was discovered that my hematoma had changed. It was now between my uterus and placenta (? the details are truthfully a bit hazy) and my doctors were very alarmist about it. This is one part of our story that we never really shared with anyone.. but at 21 weeks, our doctor sat us down and told us to prepare for a delivery as early as 24, 25 or 26 weeks.
The first thing we did was call another clinic for a second opinion.
Part Two:
This is where my work as a doula really worked it’s magic — if there’s one thing I know; it is definitely how to work with hospitals and staff. I know how to advocate, and if I needed something to be taken seriously or I needed to be seen, I always got it done. I remember after we lost Vienna, we were told our genetic follow up appointment wouldn’t be for another 10 months. I told them I see’d them that Monday, and then again on Tuesday, and Wednesday… that I would be waiting in their waiting room for the next cancellation. They understood my point and got me in the following week, lol. Thank goodness they did, because we were well into our pregnancy with Sena before that appointment time.
This situation was a lot like that one. There was no way I was going to let my daughter fall through the cracks of care again. For all I knew, I was ultimately fighting for another babies life — I advocated for our situation and our case like hell, and we were able to get into Mount Sinai to their placenta clinic a week later. It was there we met with a phenomenal doctor that I will always remember (Dr. Hobson, for those who are needing a referral). He was thorough, he was communicative and best of all, he was kind. He really made Scott and I feel taken care of and at ease, something that is unfortunately not always common with obstetricians. We knew we were in the right place. Very shortly into our appointment, he put our fears at bay and told us he wasn’t concerned and that the findings in my local hospital were incorrect. Um…… wow???? This is a perfect example why advocacy is so important in our pregnancies and birth, and why we, as mothers need to be on top of things. It isn’t fair; but no one is going to care for or advocate for our babies the way we would. Imagine I just went with my hospitals diagnosis. Imagine I just let time move on, robbing me of joy and ultimately, have me drowning away in worry.
The week between when we got the original diagnosis and our second opinion was a horrible, and I mean horrible week. I didn’t outwardly show it, because I was just being a mom and doing what moms do — keeping it together. For all I knew, I was going to welcome a VERY premature baby in just a few weeks time. I needed to get my sh*t together and fast. The whole 21 weeks I was pregnant with this baby, I was praying for them to simply survive in utero. I never once envisioned losing them after birth or having a potential several months stay in the NICU. Here I was joining every premie advocacy group, talking to moms of micro-premies, ordering the itty bittiest clothes you ever saw in your life… I was scrambling to get ready.
All of that fear… instantly lifted, and then the flood gates opened. I had a lot of processing and truthfully, crying to do.
My ultrasound at Mount Sinai Hospital — it was on a large screen above me, and I got to watch everything being done. My doctor was exceptionally thorough and explained everything. Look at our little sweetie!
After this intense scare, we only had a few more weeks of the second trimester left! Hard to believe.
We hit our 24 weeks — for many, it meant viability. That if your baby was born then, they’d have a chance of survival outside of the womb. But, as any stillbirth mother would know — hitting viability sadly doesn’t guarantee anything. We had hit viability before, and we lost our baby. Yet still, I knew the math and the chances of baby’s survival went up every week — so, I continued to count. 25…. 26…. 27… every week, I breathed a little more, knowing we could deliver if we needed to. But as the time continued on, and my heart and devotion and love for this precious baby grew, so did the stakes.
I started counting kicks around 24 weeks. It generally isn’t recommended to do until the third trimester, but things with Vienna went awry close to these weeks and I knew I needed to check in.
One big thing we don’t talk about when it comes to being prengnant after loss, is the intense responsibility a mother has to carry. Unless you are living in a hospital, being monitored 24/7, no one else can check in with your baby, but you. You are the expert, or are needing to become one. As someone who had had a stillbirth before, who had lost that trust with their body, whose previous intuition was gaslit and told they were incorrect, this was a major pain point for me. I had to relearn what my intuition sounded like, felt like. I had to learn how to get quiet and trust it. I had to learn to decipher what was anxiety, and what was my mom gut.
Truthfully, it felt like so much pressure. It felt like I needed to be hypervigilant all the time. Some days, it was utterly exhausting. And unlike any other jobs, there are no breaks!
One thing I didn’t entirely envision or was prepared for was the intensity of my anxiety increasing the further along we got into the pregnancy. I really thought I’d be able to enjoy it more, but it was rather the opposite. My fear only intensified.
I still continued on supporting myself as well as possible; going to therapy, talking to my loss mom friends, connecting with my baby, practising different modalities to help rid some of the anxiety/energy from my body…I was using the tools. I still struggled with loneliness; wishing I could share my pregnancy with other moms who understood, Who could commiserate with me. Who understood how every appointment felt and the level of my exhaustion. I was mourning not feeling safe enough to have a baby shower, hoping it would change the next month, or maybe the next month, until I felt like I was running out of time to plan anything. I struggled if I should announce my pregnancy. Just like my hope of possibly having a baby shower, I pushed it, and I pushed it, and I pushed it.
We very luckily had some distractions going on.
We were gearing up to start renovating our kitchen — deciding on knobs and cabinet colours was a very welcomed distraction and a reprieve from my hyperviligance. It was a lot of fun. Some people thought we were insane to do such a big renovation right before a baby, but I am so glad we did it. It was a new energy we needed. Our kitchen was aiming to be done the same time our baby would (hopefully) be born. We are working towards both goals and our kitchen became sort of a symbol… newness.
We were going to bring this baby into this kitchen.
And just like that, we were turning a corner into the third trimester.
Stay tuned for My Pregnancy After Loss Part 5: My Third Trimester