The Truth About Pregnancy

I have had four pregnancies. I have two children.

Two of my pregnancies ended in miscarriage, and the other two resulted in the greatest joys of my life. But all four were a burden—emotionally and physically, personally and professionally.

Right now, the constitutional right that protects pregnant people’s ability to make our own decisions about our pregnancies is in jeopardy, and I can’t sit by and watch it happen.

The first time I learned I had miscarried was at the 12-week ultrasound of my first pregnancy. At eight weeks, the fetus and its heartbeat measured normally. But now, at 12 weeks, it was the size of a nine-week fetus. For three weeks it had sat inside me, no longer growing.

I got pregnant again. After 41 long, grueling weeks, I was induced. 50 hours later, I had an emergency cesarean section and gave birth to our son. I didn’t enjoy much of anything during those 41 weeks, but I love being his mom.

The second time I learned I had miscarried was during my third pregnancy—again, at the 12- week ultrasound. I had spent the summer nauseated and miserable. This time, the miscarriage was more serious: a rare molar pregnancy. Again, the doctor let me know there was no fetal heartbeat, the fetus wasn’t measuring correctly, and there was concern the placenta looked “mottled.”

I was not allowed to try to get pregnant for six months afterward, to ensure the molar pregnancy didn’t progress into a rare form of cancer. How did this pregnancy suddenly become a conversation about possible cancer? I was terrified. All we wanted was to give our son a younger sibling, and now this pregnancy had taken a turn I could never have expected. But I was so lucky. The threat subsided and I was cleared to start trying again.