Expect a rollercoaster ride.
That’s all I can say. Climb into the car near the front of the rows, buckle your seatbelt, then grip the chrome handle in front of you. Clack. Clack. Clack. The car is nearing the top of the first high hill now. Get ready to raise your hands and scream.
The first time we were pregnant was 10 years ago. The very same day we first announced the pregnancy to friends, my wife, Mary, began to bleed. What a day of highs and lows it was. That morning, people were so happy for us, then that afternoon we stood at the front counter of an emergency room, our faces ashen. Mustering the lowest, most-controlled voice I possess, I said to the receptionist one short sentence I will remember forever: “I think my wife is having a miscarriage.”
It’s an odd thing about miscarriages. They just happen. Sometimes there’s an underlying cause that can be addressed, but often there’s virtually nothing that anybody—no medical doctor, minister, or magician—can do to prevent them. They occur in about 1 in every 5 pregnancies. Doctors will tell you that it’s the body’s way of cleansing something that wasn’t meant to be. There’s no rhyme, nor reason. Just mystery, and vagueness. Something to wonder about, but not understand.
Yet each one is heartrending. And a man finds himself in a unique spot. He’s often the silent sufferer, the one called upon to support and encourage and comfort. Yet inside he’s as equally torn up as his spouse or girlfriend, as unsure of what to do next, as grief-filled, discouraged, and aching. How can a man navigate this difficult season?
Mary and I spent four hours in the examination room. Mary lay on a gurney. I sat on a chair beside her. Doctors and nurses came by to draw blood, ask questions, write on forms, look, probe, touch, and talk. During those hours there were uninterrupted spells of quiet. Mary and I sometimes looked at each other, but it was hard to talk. We were sure we lost. There was just too much blood.
We learned a lot during that trip to the E.R. Normal gestation is about 40 weeks, which we already knew, but, technically, if the pregnancy ends prematurely, it’s called an “early pregnancy loss” up to about week 6, a “miscarriage” up to about week 20, a “stillbirth” up to about week 37, and a “premature birth” from then on, (it’s called a birth even if the child dies). This was week 10 for us.
Toward the end of our stay, the doctor scheduled an ultrasound. I have often wondered why he didn’t do this first. I surmise he was convinced the situation was hopeless. But finally he did. Mary and I were emotionally pushed over the edge by then, completely exhausted, and anticipating a slew of sad phone calls to family and friends.
The ultrasound room was warm and dark and quiet. Then, to our complete surprise, the doctor cleared his throat. “I don’t know what to tell you, but there’s some other unknown reason for all the blood today.” He pointed to the monitor and grinned. “Because there’s your baby’s heartbeat. Strong and healthy. Your child is still alive.”
I will never be able to describe it. I could write until I run out of words, but I will never convey the emotion of hearing those startling and wonderful words. This is a rollercoaster experience, remember, this process of having children. Sometimes it’s best to just hang on for the wild ride.
We named that child Addy. Today she’s in fourth grade. Loves drawing and Barbies and reading. Just last night she sidled up to me on the couch and gave me a mischievous wink. “Dad—” she said, “what’s a horse’s favorite thing to put on his sandwich?”
I shrugged.
“Neigh-o-nnaise.”She whinnied like a horse, grinned big teeth, and added in her best Las Vegas comedian voice, “You’ve been a wonderful crowd. I’ll be playing here all week.”
That was our first pregnancy, the one where we nearly lost Addy. To me, that put all future pregnancies into perspective: it’s such a fragile thing to have a child. And when you see your child growing up, you can more easily imagine your other children, the children you’ve lost. Stay with me here, because there are huge highs and huge lows, like I mentioned, and it certainly hasn’t been all after-dinner jokes for our family.
A year and a half after Addy was born, my wife became pregnant again. This time, again, she started to bleed. We anticipated the worst. This time there was no unexpected, miraculous change of course. No heartbeat. Nothing. Not after the bleeding started anyway.
We had been so fortunate the first time around. This, now, was our dues paying, we figured. Somehow, seen from that perspective, it seemed easier to cope. We were pretty sure it was a boy, although we never found out the sex. In our minds, we named him Luke.
So that was our first miscarriage.
A year and half after that, Mary became pregnant a third time. Again, she started to bleed. We were moving to a different city when it happened. Everything seemed in such upheaval just then. There were too many changes in our lives to fully process. Again, we lost the baby, this time at 9 weeks. We grieved in the moving van on the drive to our new house.
For weeks after that, nothing seemed in its right place. It was a girl—that was our hunch anyway. In our minds, we named her Skye. Like the color of a warm summer day.
So that was our second miscarriage.
After that, we got serious. Really serious. More serious than we had ever been before. We went to doctors and specialists, and they put Mary on a hormone therapy. The therapy was our ace, we were told.
Sure enough, Mary became pregnant a fourth time, and everything went fine. Amazingly fine. Not-even-a-hiccup fine. Our son, Zachary, was born in 2008. He’s in preschool today. Loves soccer and bulldozers and Legos and chocolate Dilly Bars from Dairy Queen. He’s an amazing kid, a delightful blunderbuss of winsomeness and wit.
Three years later, Mary became pregnant again. We were so smug. We had the hormone therapy, after all. No way could anything go wrong. But it did. Mary miscarried on Mother’s Day, 2011. I hope this isn’t too much information for you, but we saw our child that time—partially developed—tiny and gray and still. In our minds, it was a girl, although we never found out for sure. I called her Macy, but my wife has always called her Nikki.
So that was our third miscarriage.
Here’s what I’ve learned over the years about how a man might handle a miscarriage. I’d never try to give anyone a “step-by-step plan” to coping, so I’d rather call these six notes I’ve made to myself about our miscarriages. Hopefully these principles apply to any man going through this situation. Hopefully they help you or someone you know.
1. You grieve.
And that’s good.
That sounds pretty basic to say, but I think some men overlook the simple fact that a miscarriage is a serious loss, and afterward, grieving is mandatory. Flat out, there’s no other way to cope except to grieve.
You and your significant other have been excited. You’ve been reading naming books, pricing cribs, checking out strollers, and painting your spare room. All that translates to excitement. And now the excitement is no more.
The famous psychiatrist, Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, outlined the 5 stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance—and a man can expect to experience these in various forms.
Expect to grieve. Expect to feel lousy. Expect the world not to be all right.
2. You’re tempted to apologize.
But don’t.
Sometimes you wonder if you should have told people. Even if you should have allowed yourself to feel such excitement yourself.
It’s okay to have been excited.
It’s okay to have told people.
And, no, do not blame anyone for the miscarriage. Including yourself or your wife. It is no one’s fault.
When Mary was a few weeks along while pregnant with Macy, I was right in the middle of releasing a new book. I was so stinking proud; I even announced our pregnancy during a radio interview. I wanted the whole world to know. After we miscarried, I felt so stupid for not keeping my cards closer to my chest. What an idiot I had been. That’s what went through my mind.
It was my mother, actually, who wrote me a short note after the miscarriage that said, “You celebrated the start of a new soul, and you invited the world to celebrate with you. Never apologize for inviting people to see something of wonder and awe and profound beauty.”
3. Your job is to love.
Hardship can either rip couples apart or bring them closer together. Decide early on that you and your wife are on the same team, at least as far as it depends on you, regardless of what difficulties you encounter.
It’s particularly important to support the other grieving partner during a miscarriage. Let her know that no matter what happens—whether you go through another miscarriage, or you can’t get pregnant, or you decide to do fertility treatments, or you hope to adopt—you are going to get through it together, and you’ll work through everything together, come what may.
As a man, be the first to take the initiative here. Reaffirm your love for each other during any time of sorrow. Let her know you’ll be at her side no matter what.
4. You commemorate, or not.
Mary and I have known couples who’ve miscarried and held memorial services afterward. We’ve never done that ourselves, but it seems fitting, particularly the further along a pregnancy is.
Other couples we’ve known have planted trees in commemoration of their lost child, or had plaques installed on park benches. Some parents write letters to the child. I say, commemorate anyway you wish. Or don’t. Whatever feels best for you as a couple.
After our third miscarriage, because our children were of the age by then where they knew about the pregnancy, we decided to hold a family celebration day. We bought a fancy doll for our daughter and a cool toy truck for our son. We went out to eat at a restaurant, and had a movie and ice cream night later on. We explained to our kids why we were doing this. We wanted to remember the child with joy. And, frankly, we wanted to cheer ourselves up.
Whatever works best for you.
5. You don’t replace the child.
People sometimes say things like, “Well, just have another kid. Then all will be better.”
No. That might be part of your solution as a family, and people are well-meaning in offering their consolation, but having another child will never replace the child you lost.
That child will always be autonomous in your thinking. A separate being. And should always be thought of that way.
6. You keep going.
Each couple needs to decide what it means to “keep going.” For some, it means they’re done, but they won’t be defeated—at least not forever. For some, it may mean some serious planning and adjustments. Infertility clinics. Adoption.
Having more children doesn’t lessen the loss you felt at having lost a child. But it can be part of the solution. Part of the overall process.
How did we keep going? After five pregnancies and three miscarriages, we were convinced we were finished with trying to have any more children. We waited a year after our last miscarriage, just to make sure, and every ounce of common sense told us we were done. We were getting older. The hormone therapy wasn’t a sure thing. At the end of that year we were certain. I made an appointment to have a vasectomy.
They make you have a consultation first, those vasectomy clinics. I had my consultation, then, on the drive home, I felt so uneasy, so torn in my spirit. I wasn’t afraid to have the procedure. In fact, it’s again on the list of things to do. But we were wrong. We simply weren’t done—that was the big thought that kept coming back to me.
Four weeks later, Mary was pregnant again.
We’re nearing the end of that pregnancy right now. It’s a girl. We know this for sure. So far, doctors say, everything looks just fine.
We haven’t decided on a first name yet. But both Mary and I are sold on a middle name. It’s a reflection of the one factor that’s kept our heads from splitting apart during our wild rollercoaster ride of having children.
I might add that I believe in science. In the best doctors and the newest procedures and the slickest hormone therapy procedures. I believe in everything medicine can do to prevent miscarriages.
But, still, her middle name will be Faith.
Have you and your wife/girlfriend ever suffered a miscarriage? What was it like for you? How did you best cope?
_______________________
Marcus Brotherton is a regular contributor to Art of Manliness. Read his blog, Men Who Lead Well, at: www.marcusbrotherton.com
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Great read, well done!
A topic not discussed among men enough. After our first child was born, we experienced 3 miscarriages in a year’s time, the last resulting in emergency surgery for my dear wife. That was by far the hardest year of our lives. We did not know if we would ever have any other biological children. 15 months later, on Christmas morning no less, we welcomed our next child into this world….followed by four more! That’s right, we have six amazing children with us, but we never forget the three that we lost.
Daddy’s hurt too, but in different ways. I know that I felt strange because ours were so early, that we barely had time to get acquainted with the idea of these children. Trying to be there for my wife, while not fully understanding the emotional and physical struggles she was having was challenging.
I encourage other men to help out friends that you know who experience this loss. It may seem awkward to some, but it is something that needs to be talked about.
My mother had a miscarriage when she was pregnant with a set of twins I was going to call my little siblings. That was 8 years ago (I was 9 at the time) and I remember how awful the family felt. Luckily, one of the two survived, and now my little brother Rowan is one of the most important people to me.
Thank you for sharing your special story. It was wonderful to read it from a mans perspective. We are going through the loss of twins through a missed miscarriage. After two healthy boys it was a double shock to learn we there were two sacs, but they weren’t viable. My husband tells me he’s ok, but I know it’s important he has time and space to grieve. It has definitely brought us closer and is something painful but special we will always share. All the best to you and your family.
Beautifully written. Thanks for sharing. Having never had to experience this, I still read through moist eyes.
Powerful.
“You work through it together…come what may.”
I agree with Joe W.
“you are going to get through it together, and you’ll work through everything together, come what may.”
Powerful words indeed.
10 years ago my wife had a miscarriage around 8 to 10 weeks. I remember her waking up that morning, bleeding heavily and both of us full of concern. We both called off work and stayed home. She called the doctor and she confirmed it was a miscarriage.
The biggest things I remember were sitting on the couch all day holding my wife. We didn’t talk, we didn’t eat, we didn’t move. We did cry. We just sat there holding each other and mourning the loss of the little one. The next day was more of the same.
Another thing I remember is the searing pain of loss I felt. This was my child. A child who I will never meet, watch grow up or a whole host of other things.
I think we really spent a whole week grieving. One decision that came out of this experience is we decided to not try again. It wasn’t until 6 years that we tried again and got pregnant with our first son. I remember we were terrified she would miscarry again. Each day our first boy held on we rejoiced until after the first trimester when we could finally breath easy.
A year and a half later son number 2 followed. We have truly been blessed with two awesome boys.
Yeah, “Science” probably would’ve been a terrible middle name.
We have endured two miscarriages. The first was not so hard. The second, due to several factors, was terrible. I could not think of the word “miscarriage” in common conversation for around a year. My wife is still sad, 15 years later, around the time of Baby’s (what we’ve always called him/her) death and projected birth date. We’ve been blessed with two great sons; one about to graduate from grad school and the other from college, but we sometimes think about the one we lost in-between, and often about the one who would be in high school now.
My wife has mentioned to me that her parents had a miscarriage when she was growing up….it was the only time she has seen her father cry.
A sad and frightful subject. Glad to see someone willing to open up about the experience. Often a subject men will bury or bottle up.
This was very moving to me since my parents had 3 miscarriages before I came along. This experience separated them since my mother blamed my father for at least one of the miscarriages. In the end, my mother had a problem which was settled by surgery but my father’s lack of empathy for her didn’t help.
So I really agree with the need for pulling together amid all of the feelings of guilt and not blaming each other which is even more painful than the grief.
Thank you so much for writing this. We had a miscarriage in August and today was our EDD. Your words are beautiful, but I especially appreciate the part where you say that you don’t replace the child. We are pregnant again and due in September, but today I am really missing the baby that we lost. It also means a lot to hear that you named your children. We named our baby Taylor Ashley, because we just really believed that we were having a girl. This time around we don’t know what we are having yet, but if it is a girl her middle name will be grace. Your words just really resonated with me, and it gave me so much appreciation for what my husband has felt through this process, even though he has been the strong one. Thank you.
That was beautiful.
My wife and I went through a miscarriage between our first and second daughter. We were set to go on vacation the next morning with her parents. Not wanting to wake our daughter who was 1 at the time and against my objections my wife went to the hospital and endured the tests and ultimate results alone while I paced the floor anf feared the worst. We had not even told anyone yet we were pregnant.
Until I read this article I haven’t realized two things. One and most important how strong my wife was for doing that alone. Two, that I had never allowed myself to grieve. Since that day God has blessed us with another daughter and we are expecting a boy in May. Thank you for sharing your story and opening my eyes.
Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you for sharing your perspective. So many things hit home. My husband and I had 2 kids and we were “done”. We even sold all our baby gear. It was 3 years after our second, I turned 30, and realized in fact, I wasn’t done. My husband was, but I wasn’t. He was kind enough to try for another. We fell straight away, but I started bleeding at 10 weeks, only to find the baby hadn’t grown past 6 weeks – a “missed” miscarriage. Something keeps telling me it would have been easier to lose it earlier, but I think you’re absolutely right… we’re excited, and we love it immediately, and it’s a grieving process no matter when it happens. We tried again and the next was an ectopic pregnancy. Somehow, this was different – I knew something was wrong as it was uncomfortable from the get go. It didn’t feel as real as the miscarried pregnancy, and while it hurt, it didn’t hurt quite as much. I feel guilty for that.
I convinced my husband to give it one last try… and we now have a beautiful, healthy, and absolutely perfect 3 month old brother to our 5 & 6 year olds :)
Big thanks for to you for sharing. My wife and I have been in a similar position with 7 pregnancies and 5 miscarriages in 3 years, the latest miscarriage being back in November 2012. It never really get easier but having two rock star daughters in between the failed pregnancies makes me more appreciative of the life we have. As many times as we’ve gone through this, I never actually thought about point #2. We make a point not to tell people when we have found out just because of the “what if’s”. But it shouldn’t be that way, it should be celebrated no matter what. This is by far one of the best articles I’ve come across on this site.
red beard has been staring at me from my inbox for a week now. I knew I needed to read it, but also knee what emotions it would pull out.
I knew I want to be a father since I was 15. I knew it would be the most important job I’d ever do. This notion kept me out of trouble and away from drugs for fear it’d mess up my kids.
I married the perfect mother to my children. A woman who matched my passion for having children. We got pregnant with our first child after a year and half of trying to conceive. It was so special to us. She was 25 and I was 26. We were having a boy, Anderson Perry we named him.
I come from a form belief our child is a child from conception and that the baby is not an it nor am I a soon to be dad, but am a dad. This was what I was waiting for for half my life.
We were 26 weeks into the pregnancy when my wife didn’t feel him move all of Wednesday or Thursday. We went to the emergency room because the lack of movement and she was having back pain. I remember the ultrasound, looking for a sign of life. The tech wouldn’t say anything and went to get a doctor. We sat anxious not willing to believe the worst. The doctor came in and told us we lost the baby. I collapsed on my wife with uncontrollable sobs, which she matched tear for tear.
They let us be for several minutes to grieve what we could. Then they took her back room where they informed us she was in labor and had to deliver him. I’ll spare the detail of the next furs only to say there were screw ups from inexperienced nurses, medication foul ups and some of the worst pain any one could go through let alone a shocked, grieving mother who had to endure 10 times the pain of birth with no child at the end of it all.
I remember that first phone call to my brother, a call I couldn’t even get through. I remember the nurse in recovery who spoke to us with such softness and empathy. I remember watching as Anderson slid out, small but wonderfully beautiful. I remember deciding for my wife to see and hold orsson.
Thank you so much for sharing this from a man’s perspective. My husband and I have been through the same. Five pregnancies, two miscarriages, a still birth and yet still two lovely, healthy girls. My husband is wonderful, but I understand how many would feel lost in this situation. Almost five years from our last loss the grief still exists, compartmentalized in a little closed box, but still there. From a woman’s perspective, it is comforting to hear that we are not alone and you are sharing your grief with someone who is feeling much the way you are.
Excellent article. Similar experiences here. For me, I hold my wife, say nothing, and cry when she isn’t looking. Not because I have to be some “tough guy”, but because I have to be there for her and like you wrote, few words can describe it all.
This was so moving… My wife and I had a little boy, Mattox, in January of 2011. He was born at 26 weeks, was about 12″ long and weighed about 1lb, 7oz. It was funny, leading up to it, I wasn’t sure I was ready or wanted it; would I lose my friends and that “young” feeling? But the second I saw that little guy it all vanished and he was the center of my universe.
Besides being premature, it was later determined that he also had a heart defect which he ultimately succumbed to six weeks after he was born. I’ve seen my father cry 3 times in my life, when his dad died, when his mom died and when he was in the hotel room with me and I was explaining the upcoming ‘celebration’ and burial for Mattox.
Men are the silent sufferers. We are the rocks, we are the pillars. But finding time to greave, how ever that may be, is of paramount importance. Sometimes you have to be strong when you don’t want to be or don’t think you can be. You do it because you have no choice. Sooner or later, though, the time will come for you to lean on your significant other and let it out. Don’t miss that opportunity.
This was truly a moving piece… Thank you, AoM and Marcus.
Choked up.
The telling of your story put word to the emotions felt during our personal story.
Thank you
Well done. Very well done. The role of men in death and grieving is many times miss understood. Love and support is also one of the greatest therapies we can give to our spouse. After the loss of our child that love and support help us grow closer to each other. Men need to remember its ok to mourn as well. Allowing yourself to mourn with your wife will help you as well as her.
Beautiful story. Really beautiful. I gained a lot from it. Firstly, as a man who hopes to meet a special person and then ultimately fulfill my vocation to be dad, your story shines on the importance of the couple working together as a team and going through this rollercoaster of emotions. Secondly, as a young physician, I always knew that the guy grieves as well, but I never knew how to state it eloquently like you do. Thirdly, the last few sentences touched my heart, as the mystery of life is much bigger than the inventions and technology that medicine and science offers. Good job!
Thank you for writing about this. My wife and I have lost 6 babies to miscarriage in the last 2 years. We are blessed to have had 1 successful pregnancy and have an amazing 14 mo. boy.
Great article. My wife had a miscarriage three months ago. It was really rough for quite a while. We have moved on though and are about to start trying again.
My wife and I recently went through an unexpected miscarriage after a pregnancy we did not know about. My wife did not have her period for almost two months. Both of us were too busy with work and school to even notice. She often has unusual cycles, so lateness doesn’t even faze us. I in fact was so distracted with work and oblivious to the world, I thought events from October happened in December. So when we finally did notice, we took a test. It was negative. Still she never got her period. We took a test again with a super fancy expensive kit. Still negative. So of course, we just put it out of our minds.
One day at work she emailed me and said she had begun heavily bleeding bright red blood and cramping to the point of not even being able to stand up. I knew exactly what happened at that point. She had indeed been pregnant, and lost it early on, but her body never rejected the embryo until now. After scrambling to the doctor to make sure she wasn’t in danger, we went home and it finally hit us both. We had almost been parents whether we were ready or not. It hurt, and we had no idea it would hurt like it did. She tried to blame herself for being a drinker and being unhealthy, but I wouldn’t let her do that. It was such a weird feeling, we were often so flippant and apathetic about children, but now that we could have had one, and lost it without knowing, it seemed cruel and “just our luck.”
My friend Mike, who went through the exact same thing, gave us almost the exact same advice as this article, and above all, stressed that if there was any grieving to do, let it happen. If you try to bottle that up, it will only break itself out in a destructive way.
Despite all the fantastic and manly articles I have read on this blog, this is one of the most beautiful articles I have read. Blessings for your child
My wife and i had a miscarrage about 6 weeks along, not long after we were married…….the pregnancy was unexpeted, so we were just elated, but we hadnt made any kind of anouncemant, as we had only been to the doctor for one visit. we had kind of an odd experience,the doctor, who came highly recomendend was totally inept at keeping us in the loop and letting us know what to expect. He never even “told” us we would lose the child. He gave us a prescription for the bleeding and sent us home. what followed the wee hours of the morning was the most horrifing experince of my life…. we called the doctor and got a diffrent one on call he was great. spent about an hor on the ohone with both of us at 3am mind you, and answered all or questions plus ones we didnt even know we had. However the phisical pain, bloodloss, shakes, shivers and so on that followed were horrible,not just for my wife but for me to see. What im trying to say, is that the phisical was far worse than the emodtional for us. The experince aged our marraige in a way to allow us to skip so many of the little fights newlyweds have (we didnt live togeather beforehand, so you can imagine the adjustment) it bonded us in a way that in a way i am thankful for. we have both talked about how quickly we got over the emotional aspect of the situation, and we wonder if we are strange for it. we are great know,its been about five years, the misus is healthy but no kids yet. we have yet to tell a soul about this experince, as the article suggests, we felt silly doing so. so while we have never “grieved” at least not in the traditional sense anyway. i dont think it has hurt us, i guess we just skipped it (the griving) so i found the article great but a little hard to relate to in an emotional way.
Well done.
Thank you for this well-written and perceptive article. Miscarriage, though common, is a heartbreak that is often misunderstood and rather hard to explain. I am grateful to the writer for sharing his experiences in this post and to AOM for publishing it.
I’m thankful for the article – but I want to say thank you also to all those who have posted comments. So many of them, and every one of them compassionate and positive. It’s sad to say, but that’s not so common anymore, even with such a painful personal topic. Thank you, all of you, for the love you show in your daily lives.
Thank you so much for writing this. It’s so helpful to hear that other men have gone through the same thing. There is a weird norm in our culture in which people don’t regularly talk about miscarriages (especially not men). Why is it common for couples to wait 3 months before announcing a pregnancy? Just in case there is a miscarriage? Then we grieve in silence. That’s ridiculous. It’s such a tremendous loss, we need each other. Thanks again for sharing.
Marcus. God Bless you and those you love. Miscarriage is a tough loss. I suffered the same loss years ago. Very touching.Thank you for sharing. I will keep Faith in my prayers..
Great article, Marcus. My wife and I had a stillborn daughter at 30 weeks – Regan Myriam – back in 2006. It was one of the hardest things we went through, but we did it together, leaning into our faith. Today we’ve got two sweet wonderful boys (4 and 2), but we often think about Regan and her sweet life.
Excellent read, difficult topic. My wife and I experienced our first miscarriage last year. As a man I felt unsure about how to move forward, about how to lead my family. We have an 18 month old son, so we were confident in this pregnancy. But as stated above, nothing can truly be predicted.
To symbolize the life lost, my wife purchased a small ring with a baby foot decoration. Small and simple, it was our memorial to the child lost. We have since become pregnant again and are celebrating a new life, but neither of us think of this child as a replacement.
I encourage all men out there to be prepared for the possibility that someone close to you will experience a miscarriage. This article has a great outline to be prepared. Thank you for writing this.
This post has been staring at me from my inbox for a week now. I knew I needed to read it, but also knee what emotions it would pull out.
I knew I want to be a father since I was 15. I knew it would be the most important job I’d ever do. This notion kept me out of trouble and away from drugs for fear it’d mess up my kids some how.
I married the perfect mother to my children. A woman who matched my passion for having children. We got pregnant with our first child after a year and half of trying to conceive. It was so special to us. She was 25 and I was 26. We were having a boy, Anderson Perry we named him.
I come from a belief that our child is a child from conception and that the baby is not an it nor am I a soon-to-be-dad, but am a dad. This was what I had been waiting for for half my life.
We were 26 weeks into the pregnancy when my wife didn’t feel him move all of Wednesday or Thursday. We went to the emergency room because the lack of movement and she was having back pain. I remember the ultrasound, looking for a sign of life. The tech wouldn’t say anything and went to get a doctor. We sat anxious not willing to believe the worst. The doctor came in and told us we lost the baby. I collapsed on my wife with uncontrollable sobs, which she matched tear for tear.
They let us be for several minutes to grieve what we could. Then they took her back room where they informed us she was in labor and had to deliver him. I’ll spare the detail of the next few hours only to say there were screw ups from inexperienced nurses, medication foul ups and some of the worst pain any one could go through let alone a shocked, grieving mother who had to endure 10 times the pain of birth with no child at the end of it all.
I remember that first phone call to my brother, a call I couldn’t even get through. I remember the nurse in recovery who spoke to us with such softness and empathy. I remember watching as Anderson slid out, small but wonderfully beautiful. I remember deciding for my wife and I to see and hold our son. It was something I knew we both needed to do begin the mourning process. My wife has always said she would have regretted not holding him.
The next hardest part about losing a baby the way we did was the trip to the car and the ride home. Some stranger asked as Sandy was wheeled out of the hospital from the maternity floor if we were taking our baby home today, which invoked silence and inter torment. Then came the ride home, leaving with an empty womb, the reminder of death by the stillness, the music playing about how God is great. Sandy sobbed and I let the tears seep out of my eyes. When home I held her when she needed, sat in silence as she bawled, reassured her of my love.
We had a funeral for Anderson. Many family came, as did friends, because some of them were just as excited about our expectant child as we were. A pair of my friends played and sang ‘Glory Baby’ by Christy Nichols and ‘I Surrender All’. It was beautiful. As father and man of my family I decided to say a few words. I thanked everyone for coming and told them that their attendance was an acknowledgement of our son’s life. I said simply that while we mourn and grieve, we also take comfort in our baby’s place with God and that it is a matter when we see our son and not if. I had to be so strong for Sandy and myself. So strong that I swallowed most of my grief like a bitter bile. Instead it found its way out in many ways and at different times. It turned me angry toward anyone who questioned the life of my son through their inconsiderate, ignorant statements. I also drank and ate my despair back down. It would put me into a state if I saw or interacted with any little boy that was around what my son’s age would be. I’d dwell on all the memories I would never have.
Our miracle baby came 16 months later. Autumn Lila. She has done so much for my healing. Her life re-gave meaning to my own life. Her sister came 2 1/2 years later. They are 3 years old and 4 months old. I am at a better place, but I still break down from time to time. Sandy and I regret having waited so long to have kids. We also decided never to prevent again, because all life we bring into this world is so special to us. Also because every child we have gives us a clearer picture as to what Anderson would have been like.
Thank you.
I hope I’ll never need this advice, but if I do I hope I’ll remember it. Thanks for sharing on such a tough subject.
Thank you, my wife just miscarried and I remembered seeing this article and came back to it the day after.
My wife and I went through a miscarriage about three years ago. What a terrible feeling. My wife was afraid I was mad at her and would leave her. I felt helpless and angry. We made it through and we now have a 6 month old daughter.
When my wife and I went through our miscarriage, I experienced a deep seated anger, not at my wife, or I, or anyone in particular. I was mad at the world, I wanted to burn down national forests, tear down monuments, I wanted everyone to experience the worst sense of loss I have ever felt. My anger became directed at one group of people: Shitty Parents.
You know they ones, they treat their children as items, as accessories of burden. I develop a hatred for the careless, evil flaunting of something so precious, that the parents barely were conscious of it’s existence.
Over time, I learned that when I wrote, in a private journal (A man diary? A Mairny?) that I could release such great amounts of my anger, that I would empty my mental tank. It was how I grieved.
Now, almost 3 years later, we have beautiful 18 month son, who is a ball of laughter, and odd phrases. We have our next one on the way.
Thank you for writing about the dad’s perspective.
My wife and I spent 2 years and tens of thousands of dollars trying to get pregnant. After 2 years of shots, operations, vitamins, acupuncture, scheduled sex and comforting her every month when her period came we gave up. She may have had one very early miscarriage (one to two weeks in) but we never knew for sure. Two years later we were divorced.
We lost our first child, Beatrice, in utero about three years ago.
My wife felt miserable. I felt nothing. I couldn’t make sense of it. Then months later I randomly started to experience waves of emotional grief. Small, trite, random things seemed to trigger good, heavy tears. I talked with another father who had gone through the same thing: years of trying to conceive, conception and the senseless loss, no immediate emotional experience, then random experiences of grieving. It seems normal for some of us to take a long time to process this sort of thing, even years.
After being led through the Inferno and Purgatorio, Dante finally entered Paradisio. He learned that his beloved Beatrice was there, and had been praying for his soul all through his journey. I hope for a similar destiny.
As a Catholic, I’ve found substantial theology to confirm a belief that our little one is in heaven, and I imagine her resting in the arms of the mother of Christ, praying for the souls of her parents.
Elizabeth Claire Morgan.
My wife had trouble getting pregant and it was hard on her. i prayed for answers and one of the very few times i felt i could literally hear God’s voice, He said she would get pregant. Elizabeth is the english form of the name Elisheva, which means God’s promise. At our first ultrasound (on our aniversary) there was nothing there. They called it a blited ovum. No signs of miscarriage, just no baby. This article reminds me of my little girl. I miss her but glad to not feel alone. Thank you all for sharing.
Thanks for sharing this article. I just happened to read this today–coincidentally on the one-year anniversary of my wife’s miscarriage. We have no children at this point and have been trying since the miscarriage a year ago. It still doesn’t seem real to me but it has been one of the most difficult things my wife has dealt with. Your advice is good… It’s not something you can prepare for and everyone deals with it differently. Thanks!
Thanks, Marcus.
My wife and I have been married almost 3 years now. She’s been pregnant 4 times, and has miscarried each time.
It’s great to have a place where men can connect and help each other to soldier on and become better men.
Proverbs 27:17
Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.
Great article. I’m not married, do not have a girlfriend for years so I’m not even close to become dad. So that specific subject will not come down on me not even in this decade. But it is good that this website covered so much different subjects and especially things like this, in particularly but in a “manly” way it just need to be.
I also like the phrasing of this article. It has a real background, is written like a story and closes with short notes as a guide to carry yourself with your significant other through.
That’s the reason why I do really appreciate this website even with some subjects which just don’t involve me.
Thank-you. I’m not alone. My wife and i have suffered 2 so far, we’re not done. I felt like I was the only man in the world that felt like this, thankyou so much.
that was so deep. i am not nearly close to having a child of my own (or being in a relationship) and i have no idea how this read would effect my life right now but i still connected to the topic and author. it was so worth the twenty minutes. thank you.
I have a hard time understanding most of the commenters.
My wife and I went through 5 miscarriages and no children. The whole “you can’t replace the lost child”, while completely true, is also a privilege of y’all you should appreciate. Some of us have nothing in the aftermath but pain and sorrow.
In the summer of 2007 my wife and I were super excited to go to our 20 week ultrasound to determine the sex of our baby so we could start planning the nursery and spread the news to family members. A few minutes into the ultrasound the nurse said she needed to go and discuss something with the doctor. Turned out that our baby (who we ended up naming Matthew) had developed a cystic hygroma accompanied with hydrops. The doctor told us there was very little likelihood that the baby would survive and told us to make an appointment with high risk doctor and have an amniocentesis done. I will never forget that day in my life. No words could explain the sorrow I had for myself let alone my wife. Having to see my wife take an enormous shot into her pregnant belly (for which just a couple days earlier we thought housed a healthy baby) was very hard to endure. I have no idea how my wife could endure all the pain and sorrow. After all the test results came back, the high risk doctor told us that we needed to terminate the pregnancy and deliver a still born baby. They gave us a couple days to get things in order and then we went to the hospital so my wife could be induced and deliver a dead, still born baby. The days, weeks and months following this were some of the most agonizing and painful moments of my life.
From winter of 2007-Spring 2009 we had 1 or 2 miscarriages in this time frame but were still determined to go through fertility treatments and have a real baby we could take home. In spring of 2009 we finally got pregnant and my wife made it to the end of the first trimester. We went to that appointment hopeful but sure enough the high risk ultrasound found more cystic hygroma and hydrops. We were a little more guarded going into this appointment but were still devastated to hear the news. We opted to play it out to see if things would improve (as long as there was no risk to my wife). We got to 24 weeks and our little girl (Gracie) still had a heart beat but her hydrops and cystic hygroma had progressed to a point where it started to pose a risk to my wife’s health so we had to make the horrible decision to terminate and deliver yet again a still born baby. This was different than our first stillborn because we knew all along that there was some problems but we were so determined and hopeful that things would improve but they did not. We had to make arrangements to terminate the baby and my wife had to deliver another dead baby.
It is so hard to describe the emotions and experience of watching the love of my life, my best friend, my everything go through the pain of labor and to know that we would not deliver a living healthy baby. We were able to hold and “pretend” that we had a baby for a short period of time but eventually they took them away to have autopsies down to confirm the hydrops and cystic hygroma.
From fall of 2009 through fall of 2011 we did not give up- we were determined to have a baby. We continued to have fertility treatments which resulted in another miscarriage. My wife had a surgical procedure done to clean up some of her fibroids and other stuff I really don’t understand. After the surgery we were on our last round of fertility treatments when we actually got pregnant and this one actually worked. It was so terrifying going to the ultrasounds. We always expected the worst and just could not believe it when the doctors gave us good news at our checkups. While the labor and delivery was so freaking scary, we ended up with our miracle baby (Jack) who is now about 20 months old.
My wife is now pregnant with what we are expecting to be our second healthy, living son (due in mid May 2013).
I know that we had a rough go at it and were very blessed to end up with a healthy living baby. Through all the grieving, anger, depression, etc… the one thing that got us through was our relentless love and support of each other. We went through counseling, had some very low points. I probably drank too much during this period and just had zero confidence in myself because I couldn’t give my wife the one thing that she desired. I did a ton of crying, trying to hide it from my wife , family and friends. It is super hard being excited for other friends and family who have healthy living babies when you cannot. My career progression suffered because I didn’t care. I was so wrapped up in our inability to have a baby.
I was blessed and ended up having a great son (Jack) and am super excited for the one that is on its way. But there is not a day in my life where I don’t think about our still born babies and how my wife and I were able to take care of each other through our awful period.
My heart and prayers go out to all of you who are encountering what I went through. I am hopeful that you too will get your miracle baby.
I appreciate your thoughts. Having gone through a miscarriage with my wife, there really is no cure all. All we can do is look forward with an eye of faith. Well written, and beautifully expressed thoughts.
I am so sorry for your losses. What a difficult time.
My husband and I lost our son at 22 weeks over three and a half years ago, and it was kind of shocking to see how varied the grief resources were for men and women. My husband was told to be there for me. And I was told to grieve however I wanted. Okay, that is an oversimplification, but in the past few years I have read so many articles about “How men grieve” that actually talk about how men *don’t* grieve. Men talk about football. Men stack firewood. Men don’t talk about their feelings.
But everybody’s different, and there are just as many ways to grieve as there are people grieving. Recently my husband was knocked down by a new round of grief and wept for hours. He was being a man; he was being a *father*. I wrote about that day here: http://www.runningnekkid.com/node/241 . I was so…well, excited isn’t the right word, but I was definitely appreciative when I saw this post pop up in the #pregnancyloss twitter hashtag.
I hope you are doing well.
Thanks for this. We had a miscarriage this week (2nd child, 10 weeks along after trying for 1.5 years)…I suppose we are in Day 2 of the true grieving process as the D&C was Tuesday (today is Thursday). It’s the hardest thing I have ever had to go through…and I was starting to question if I should be this upset. But after reading this, I realize that what I am feeling is valid and normal. It sucks – but it’s ok. So much of the commemorating section hits home too – that’s great advice – writing, memorials, etc…all things we’ve discussed. After all, this was our second child and can’t be replaced.
Thanks for this. We experienced/suffered 4 miscarriages. Each one was painful and each one brought us closer. In the end we did have one wonderful miracle child. She seems to have all the personalities any child could have. My husband was so supportive through them all and we held each other up through prayer. Most of our children would have been born in May so that is a very hard time even 25+ years later. But we know that we will see them again in Heaven. Read Heaven is for Real if you want to see what I am talking about. Jesus keeps us going. Thanks again for the male perspective. God’s grace to you.
Thank you for opening your heart Marcus!
My wife had 6 pregnancies — 3 miscarriages + 3 successful deliveries (teenagers now). I do sometimes think about our 3 children whose lives were cut short…usually on an anniversary of an expected due date or an event that brings back the memory. In our case though, our living children came so closely after each miscarriage, that the thought of my current children not existing, but for the providence of a miscarriage, brings comfort to my soul. The miscarriages were difficult, and I was not always the perfect husband. But my wife and I found comfort in God’s grace, He grew our our faith through it, and our 3 kids today give us great joy.
Congratulations, and I will be praying for you, your wife and child.
My wife and I were both married before we met. I had a son from my first marriage. My wife and her ex had tried to have children, but never did. She told me they spend thousands of dollars at fertility clinics with no luck. They even told them to plan on adoption. Well, we dated for a year, got engaged and were planning a wedding. She started feeling bad, body aches and vomitting. She took a pregnancy test and sure enough… BAM! Just like that, we were expecting! This pregnancy went well. Daniel is 3 now and doing his crazy 3 year old stuff! We got pregnate again a couple years later. All was well, we told everyone and shared our happiness with everyone. At 10 weeks, my wife started bleeding. We went to the ER and our fears were confirmed. It was tough to say the least. It was really bad when all the new clothes and toys started arriving that my wife had ordered. We didn’t know the sex, but we were convinced our baby was a boy. We named him Revi. We dealt with the pain as best we could. We listened to our family and friends who lost children of their own. That seemed to help a little, but we couldn’t help but wonder why it happened. The answer was there was no answer. It just happened, no reason. We talked to each other and listened to each other. As time passed we got better, but never forgetting to pray of for baby Revi in heaven. We took comfort in knowing that he will be taken care of until we can get to heaven to meet him again. After a year or so, we got pregnate again. We were worried, but all went well. We have our baby girl Izzabelle. Life is good, but the losing of our Revi will never be forgotten.
I just got the news today that wife miscarried at 6 weeks. I had spent the weekend thinking about how my laid back lifestyle would have to change, but in a good way. Honestly I’ve taken it much more horribly then my wife so far. And for some reason every photo on FB is some buddy’s kid doing something great. Since I’ve always been horrible at grieving, the temptation to hit the bottle is high. I appreciate this entire page for the lessons offered. It has given me the kick in the head I need to realize I have to be stronger for my wife and maintain our faith that this will happen.
Thank you for this article. My girlfriend broke up with me 4 weeks after finding out she was pregnant, and yesterday she sent me a text saying that she had lost the baby, that these things are just meant to be, and never contact her again so we can get on with our lives. To say i am in pieces in an understatement, though its good to know i am not the only one. The fact we had taked about having more kids, because i knew just what good parents we would make, makes it even harder.
This article really touched me, but in probably a different way than most.
It really made me think of my mother, because of all the trouble my parents had with conceiving and then with carrying a baby to term. My parent’s knew that they were meant to have children. They had the luck to conceive and rejoiced as the baby developed and grew. But during the 2nd trimester, my mother miscarried. This happened several times.
After losing that baby, my parents turned to adoption as a way to have children. They adopted my older sister, Katie. 2 years after that, the birthmother of Katie contacted them with the news that her next baby, who would be me, was up for adoption once born. They had begun the vast amount of paperwork, meetings, evaluations, and preparations for the adoption when they realized that my mother was actually pregnant!
The thing that really gets me is that even when they could have stopped the adoption process because, obviously, adopting another baby would be unneeded since they would have their own, they continued with the adoption. They proceeded with the adoption although the fact that my mother’s pregnancy made it twice as hard for the application to go through (concerns about loving the natural baby more and such). At 6 months pregnant, my parents received the news that I had been born, and upon seeing me in the hospital, loved me.
My parents have been very open about their miscarriages and adoptions to us, and have often told us that through the heartbreak and hurt of the lost babies (they named them Francis and Kelly) came the greatest blessings they have ever received from my sisters and me.
In March 1988, my wife and I were excited that she was pregnant for the first time. We had waited 6½ years, until we were both out of school and had decent jobs, so we could afford to rear a child.
I was following the progress of the baby every day in a book, and marveling at how quickly it was growing and developing. We even saw it as a miracle that my grandmother had just died, yet a new life was coming into our family.
My wife started to bleed. The bleeding got worse. A sonogram showed that the baby had actually died before we even knew she was pregnant. The doctor said she would need an emergency D&C, or she could bleed to death.
After the procedure, my wife cried, a lot. I felt I had to be strong for her, so I would hold her and comfort her, then go get in the shower and cry. This went on for a couple of months. As she healed physically, she would sit on my lap to cry, but I would hold my tears until I was in the shower, where she could not hear or see me.
Surprisingly, my wife seemed to heal faster than I did. About six months later, she wanted to try again. I was scared. After another month, I agreed to try. Once she was pregnant, I was probably overly protective. Even a little spotting during the 1st few months sent me into a silent panic, but our daughter was born the next July.
Thank you so much for expressing this from a father’s perspective. I knew what it felt like from a woman’s perspective, the feelings of failure, of being scraped raw and bleeding where no one else can see. How it bleeds and aches anew each time a meaningful date comes along. That there is nothing you can say to either parent, nothing to explain or ease it.
My first pregnancy ended in miscarriage at approximately 9 1/2 weeks. Three days before my first appointment. We didn’t get to hear our child’s heartbeat. I still can’t decide if that was a blessing or something that makes it worse. I got pregnant again almost a year later, and the experience didn’t have the same shiny newness that the first had. I was afraid. Scared witless every single time we went to an OB appointment in those first weeks. My husband was always solid. He was my rock, and could look at my face and know just how terrified I was. So, I laid there, pale faced and feeling nauseated from my nerves. He held my hand, and I think if he could have, he might have done anything to make sure it was all okay, said anything to make our results positive.
Luckily, he didn’t have to. The doctor found a healthy heartbeat. We took home a picture, and I felt the knot in my stomach slowly loosening up. Each visit became easier, but I was so cautious of falling in love with this child, until I was out of my first trimester. My husband knew as much, and he never judged me for feeling the way I did. The first time the baby kicked was the moment it became real to me. Before then, I kept this distance. I needed to save myself, should something go wrong. But my hubby not only stayed strong, but kept his faith strong. Kept everything positive, even when I knew that his own fears must be in there, as well. I could see it in his eyes when we searched for the heartbeat each time we had an ultrasound. The look of relief that passed over his face, of peace, was a telling thing.
Now, I’m in week 36 with our child, a little girl that we plan to name Kyriae Angelis. She’s stubborn already, and active. And there’s nothing like watching my husband kneel down and speak to her while she’s safe inside me. She’s our angel here on Earth, and we have another resting in peace. Both of us suspect that our first child was a little boy. We won’t know until he greets us when this life is done. I look forward to meeting him, and finally holding him. Until then, we count our blessings and feel glad that we love, and keep being given reasons to do so.
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