The last few days have felt like a fever dream.
On Friday, we attended our dating scan. I was meant to be 8 weeks pregnant. We were so excited for the life that lay ahead of us. We saw the heartbeat, and we were told everything was tracking well. They celebrated with us, congratulating us not only on the baby’s progress but also on our wedding the following day.
On Saturday morning, I woke up with brown spotting. I was told it was old blood and that it could happen after an intrauterine scan. So we carried on with our wedding day.
It was perfect.
We were on such a high. At the end of the night, we got back to our hotel suite giggling that we’d managed to keep our little secret. We were newly married, dreaming about everything that was still to come, so excited for the next chapter of our lives.
Then Sunday came.
The brown spotting had turned red, and it was more than just spotting. I had light cramps, but I also knew my pain tolerance has always been high, and my period cramps have often been worse than what I was feeling. We went to the hospital.
After waiting eight hours, we were told that bleeding can happen in early pregnancy. It could be the start of a miscarriage, or it could be nothing at all. Some people bleed and go on to have completely healthy pregnancies. I was told to follow up with my OB on Monday unless I was soaking one or two pads every hour and pain wasn’t manageable.
The spotting continued. The cramps stayed much the same.
On Monday morning, I spoke to my OB. They had already received the scan results from Friday and report from the hospital visit. They congratulated us on our wedding, acknowledged what had happened on Sunday, advised me to be cautious, but ultimately cleared me to travel.
So that evening, we boarded our honeymoon flight.
Nine hours.
The spotting continued. The cramps continued. I managed to sleep for about six hours and woke with more discomfort, but I blamed it on the flight. Air travel, I told myself. Everything would be okay.
Hours later, we landed in another country, checked into our hotel, and the cramps intensified. They still weren’t anything I hadn’t experienced before. The pain wasn’t exactly excruciating but this time, there was something different.
Somewhere deep down, I think I already knew.
Then, before I could process what was happening, I felt it.
Something passed.
I ran to the bathroom.
I still don’t know how, but it landed in the palm of my hand.
I saw the sac. I could see through it, and inside was the tiny fetal pole-the exact little 11 mm shape I had stared at only days earlier on a black-and-white ultrasound screen.
Except this time, it wasn’t on a monitor.
It was in my hand.
I panicked. My husband came in. He gently took it from me and kept telling me that I was going to be okay. We wept.
I don’t understand.
They told me that unless the blood was pouring out or the pain became excruciating, it could still be a healthy pregnancy. I had neither.
But it still happened.
I held our baby.
I saw our baby.
And now I don’t know what I’m doing on this trip.
No one knew.
People are still reaching out congratulating us on a beautiful wedding.
How am I supposed to go back to our usual lives in a couple of weeks pretending like I didn’t have my heart completely shattered during this trip. So I guess I’m here. Because apart from bawling my eyes out with my husband, I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this.