When Brian and I lost our first baby, I was very particular about the language I used to describe the loss. It wasn’t a miscarriage. It was an ectopic pregnancy. I wanted people to know there was a difference and that difference meant something to me. Over the years I have become less particular about that distinction. I have come to let go of the things that separate me from my sisters who have experienced the same pain of the death of a precious child. I have found it is easier to say, “I have had two miscarriages” than to say, “I have had two ectopic pregnancies” and then have to explain exactly what that means. Even in my writings here you will find me using more general and inclusive language about my losses because I am more interested in what unites grieving woman than what divides us.

But I want to tell you my story. And it’s the story of ectopic pregnancies.

Rebecca Tredway Photography

I happened to run across the blog of a woman who had also had an ectopic pregnancy. She commented on one of my blog posts, I checked out her blog and I found we had a shared story. It was amazing to me how in reading about her ectopic I felt a sense of healing. Some of what she was expressing was familiar to me, but they were thoughts and emotions I had shoved down long ago. So I’m sharing my story not because I want to separate myself from women who have had a more “typical” miscarriage experience (whatever that means), but because maybe there’s a woman out there who is grieving her ectopic pregnancy and is having a hard time finding someone who understands. I understand that pain and the need to find someone who has walked this road, too.

If you’re wondering what an ectopic pregnancy is, The Mayo Clinic has a great overview. The short story is that babies belong in a uterus. If they don’t implant there, they may implant somewhere else, most commonly in a fallopian tube. That pregnancy can’t be sustained. Hopefully someday doctors will be able to successfully transplant them to the uterus, but at this point that isn’t a viable option. So here’s what it’s like to experience an ectopic pregnancy.

The pain is incredible:  And I’m talking about the physical pain. I couldn’t straighten up or walk during the worst of the pain. I can’t really describe the pain, but it doesn’t feel like cramping the way you might expect a miscarriage would. It was just like a sharp lump of pain and nothing could fix it. I also was so wanting to protect my unborn child that I didn’t want to take anything for pain. I legitimately thought I might die and told Brian if he found me dead in the morning, he should tell the paramedics it was an ectopic pregnancy. This was before we had an official diagnosis, I just knew. My second ectopic pregnancy I ended up collapsing on the ER floor before somebody put me on a gurney in a hallway while I waited to see a doctor. This is a pretty traumatic way to be initiated into losing your baby.

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In 1988 the month of October was officially designated “National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month” by President Reagan. I was 7 years-old, with no idea that one day the speech he gave on that day would be so meaningful to me. I’d love for you to take a minute to read his Presidential Proclamation as an introduction to this topic. I love how he says, “. . . increase our understanding of the great tragedy involved in the deaths of unborn and newborn babies.” This is beautifully validating language that acknowledges the life that was lost even at the earliest stages of pregnancy.

Throughout the month we will be reading stories from women who have lost babies either through miscarriage, ectopic pregnancies, stillbirth, or infant death. It’s a hard topic to embrace, but I think it’s incredibly important to realize that even a miscarriage isn’t “just” a miscarriage. The death of a child is always incredibly personal and painful, no matter how long or short the life of that child was. The more we can understand and validate the pain of those around us who have lost children, the more we can help them carry that grief and hopefully lessen the isolation and loneliness it may cause them to feel.

October 25, 1988

By the President of the United States of America

A Proclamation

Each year, approximately a million pregnancies in the United States end in miscarriage, stillbirth, or the death of the newborn child. National observance of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, 1988, offers us the opportunity to increase our understanding of the great tragedy involved in the deaths of unborn and newborn babies. It also enables us to consider how, as individuals and communities, we can meet the needs of bereaved parents and family members and work to prevent causes of these problems.

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