I Miscarried at 44 & Had No Idea How Much My Husband & I Would Grieve a Surprise Pregnancy
Colleen Dilthey ThomasLess than 30 minutes after I was told my baby had no heartbeat, I messaged my editor to tell her I needed time to process this profound loss. There was no way that I could work knowing that the baby I was so looking forward to holding would never be in my arms. Yet, as much as I knew I needed a break, I was compelled to type until my fingers were sore and my eyes had no more tears.
Pregnancies come in all different forms, and this was the surprise kind. A few months shy of my 45th birthday and already a mother of four, I saw two pink lines that changed me in a way I may never truly comprehend.
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For six weeks, life was magical again.
My baby will turn 8 in a couple of weeks; my others are 15, 13, and 10. Adding an infant was definitely not on my bingo card at 44 with a 50-year-old husband, but I was still thrilled. It was two days before Christmas, and I envisioned decorating my tree next year with a baby in a swing nearby.
I considered rearranging my family photo wall to add another smiling face. We already have a big family, so another baby would be a blessing, nothing less.
I was older, and I was scared.
Being in my mid-40s certainly brought with it an element of fear. We started with bloodwork, and my HCG (human chorionic gonadotropin hormone) doubled as it was supposed to, and my progesterone was good. My breasts were tender, and riding in the car made me woozy. I felt like these were all good signs, but I settled on cautious optimism until I saw a heartbeat.
At our first appointment, there was a yolk sac but no fetal pole. I worried, but the ultrasound tech assured me I was just earlier than I thought, and I was scheduled to return 10 days later. That day, I feared the worst. And then, flickering on the screen, my husband and I saw our baby's little heart. It was tiny but mighty, and we were thrilled.
My doctor asked that I come back one more time in the first trimester to be sure, and I couldn't wait to hear that heartbeat again.
We started talking about names.
We got a great deal on a crib, and I even bought a pair of maternity leggings. I'm older and I've had four babies and two C-sections, so I definitely started to show early, and I wanted some forgiving stretch.
Then we started the name game. My husband and I don't always agree, so I decided to start early. These discussions were just between us, as the circle who knew about the baby remained very small. They were a group I felt would be optimistic and prayerful, and early on, that's all I needed.
We kept the secret from our kids, waiting until that next ultrasound to share the joy.
I went to the appointment alone.
My husband had a meeting, and I assured him it would be fine. I didn't need him for anything other than moral support, and I was confident that I'd come home with another set of ultrasound pictures to share, and we could start planning how we'd let our other kids know.
But very early on, I knew something was wrong. As the ultrasound tech moved the wand around inside of me, It was clear there was no heartbeat. And when I blurted out the question, she looked at me and said, "I'm not seeing anything. I am sorry."
I jumped from the table half-naked and ran for my phone. I thought I would throw up; I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I called my husband and could hardly make out the words. There would be no baby.
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They escorted me out a private door.
The office staff was nothing if not professional, compassionate, and loving. They saved me from the pain of walking through the waiting room and gazing at the beautiful women with hands on their bumps. Instead, I exited into the stark hallway and went back to the elevator alone. I kept my composure as I left the building – the shock and adrenaline kept me stoic.
The drive home was a blur, but I crumbled when I saw my husband. He held me tighter than I ever remember, and he let me wail and shake. As my cheeks pressed against his, I could feel his warm, salty tears mixed in with mine. I wasn't feeling this profound devastation alone; his heart was broken, too.
He wanted another hand to hold.
So often, I think dads are forgotten during miscarriage. Even though he was terrified in his 50s to have to support a family of seven with a newborn, this was his loss, too. When I asked if he was sad, he looked at me and said, "I knew that having a 10-year-old at 60 wouldn't be easy, but if I had a little hand to hold across the street for a few more years, it would all be worth it."
Instead, he can hold mine, and I know he will. He'll be right next to me when they wheel me into surgery to have the remainder of my pregnancy removed. And he'll be there when I wake up. And that baby will always be there, too. It will be in our hearts and our souls for eternity. Even if we only had six weeks to dream, those will last a lifetime.
Until we meet again, my baby angel, know that you changed your mom and dad for the better, and we will always love you and mourn the fact that we never held you in our arms.
