I started this blog as a support for women who have suffered a miscarriage like me because there isn’t much support and our stories are important and they matter. We matter. So I wanted to tell you the start of my story because, at the beginning, I didn’t realize the path I was embarking on.

I was using the Mirena IUD for 6 years before my husband and I decided that we would start a family. I did a lot of research and found that it might be difficult to conceive right away because I had been on the IUD for so long, but I am not a patient person. I had intense baby fever and I was ready to have a little big-eyed newborn in my arms. One of my coworkers was pregnant and I knew another one was trying. I was ready to jump on the baby bandwagon and my husband had finally jumped on as well. We set up an appointment to have my IUD removed. Then, a pandemic happened. All appointments at my OB/GYN were canceled unless they were emergent and starting a family was not exactly considered emergent. I called Planned Parenthood and set up an appointment for two weeks away. The wait was agony and I worried that they would cancel as well. And they did: four days before the appointment. I rescheduled and that was also canceled since coronavirus cases were exponentially rising. Only emergent appointments were being scheduled and held at Planned Parenthood now.

I was at a roadblock. I desperately wanted a child. Being a mother was all I’ve ever wanted, more than my job, more than money or happiness. I’ve always pictured myself as a mom and I was ready for that dream to become a reality. I searched the internet to learn how to take my IUD out myself. It didn’t look that hard and it seemed like quite a few people did it, so one Friday, I went into the bathroom and pulled it out. I was officially no longer on birth control and we could start trying for a baby. On our first cycle, we were pregnant. I was shocked, but also over the moon.

It was so hard to believe. I had a new life growing in my uterus and I still didn’t feel like an adult, but I was officially a mom. I couldn’t keep it a secret. I had to share it. We told my sister that night. We told my parents that weekend for their anniversary. We told grandparents after the 6-week ultrasound when a heartbeat was confirmed. Everyone was over the moon. We all had needed the good news during a not-so-great year. Miscarriage was far from my mind. We had seen the little flutter of the heartbeat at the 6-week ultrasound and that had made it real. I had read online that my risk of miscarriage was reduced drastically after seeing a heartbeat at that appointment. The only concerns found by my prenatal bloodwork were that my thyroid levels were out of whack again and I was no longer immune to the chickenpox. I didn’t think anything of it. All we had to do was increase my Levothyroxine to combat my hypothyroidism. Everything was going perfectly. Baby Bean and I were great at 6 weeks except for my nausea and fatigue, but I was okay with all of that because I would be welcoming my baby at the end of January.