I Was Told There'd Be a Village: Transforming Motherhood through the Power of Connection

by Melissa Wirt

On Christmas morning, when I was around three months pregnant, Eric and I snuggled on the couch, watching the kids open their presents. Underneath my cozy blanket, I was suddenly struck by a horrible feeling that something was wrong with my pregnancy. I wasn’t bleeding, but this was far from my first rodeo, and I knew when my body felt off. The next day, I had some lab work done, hoping my spidey sense was out of whack. When the blood work came back, my heart sank. The HCG and progesterone levels were low. Really low. A second draw confirmed that the levels were dropping instead of doubling as they should have been. I’ll never forget the feeling of hope duking it out with terror during my ultrasound. The result was heartbreaking: the fetus we’d been so eager to welcome into our lives was not viable. I stumbled out of the doctor’s office feeling numb. In a daze, I shared the news with Eric before breaking down into racking sobs. I knew that it wasn’t my fault, that there is no shame in a failed pregnancy, but knowing I shouldn’t feel ashamed didn’t stop me from feeling that way.