Pregnancy Loss Support Part III: Emily's Pregnancy Loss Stories • MAMA RISSA

This week’s post is a continuation of a four-part series on pregnancy loss support. Today we will be hearing Emily’s pregnancy loss stories. If you have experienced pregnancy loss or know someone who has, stick around, because Emily’s stories will either resonate with or enlighten you.

Emily Gamboa is a co-founder of Missing Pieces Support Group, a non-profit organization dedicated to providing support for women going through pregnancy loss. Missing Pieces offers a variety of resources and support options that I highly recommend you check out on their website. at MissingPiecesSupportGroup.org.

I also recommend you go back and check out the first post in this series if you have not yet done so to read my interview with the founders of Missing Pieces: Pregnancy Loss Support Part I: A New Resource for Grieving Moms. Additionally, you can read part II in this series from last week about co-founder Jamilah’s pregnancy loss journey here.

Now, let’s hear Emily’s pregnancy loss stories that led her to join forces with other loss moms to create Missing Pieces Support Group.

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Emily’s Pregnancy Loss Stories

Mama Rissa: What is your pregnancy loss history?

Emily: Baby 3 was a “missed” miscarriage identified in the second trimester at a routine appointment; I was just over 17 weeks when I had a D&E. Baby 4 was a “threatened” miscarriage due to subchorionic hematoma in my uterus; I was about 10 weeks when I delivered in the ER bathroom.

Mama Rissa: What was your journey leading up to your pregnancies?

Emily: Before my two back-to-back miscarriages, I had two healthy pregnancies. I did have some minor complications in the third trimester, like preterm labor, but despite those challenges, both pregnancies ended with smooth, easy deliveries. It blessed me with two healthy boys.

Mama Rissa: What is your first miscarriage story with Baby 3?

Emily: We tried for Baby 3 for several months before we finally got pregnant. Honestly, it took my husband and me longer to agree on trying for a third child than it did to actually conceive. When I was a couple of days late—something that never happens—I decided to take a pregnancy test.

I remember feeling ecstatic when I saw the positive result. My second son was about to turn two in a month, which meant he and the new baby would be just two and a half years apart—what I considered the perfect age gap. I excitedly showed my husband the test results, and I remember hugging him, filled with anticipation and eagerness to share the news with our family.

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The first trimester was a blur—nothing out of the ordinary. Plus, you have to remember, I had two boys under four years old and had never dealt with infertility issues. I remember feeling pretty lousy and incredibly tired, and I was already showing by 10 weeks.

But there’s one moment that stands out vividly and I’ll never forget. I took an announcement picture for our family: I had two Starbucks cups for my husband and me, two chocolate milks (my boys’ favorite treat from Starbucks), and a baby bottle labeled “Baby 3.” I was so excited. Since then, I’ve never taken another baby announcement photo.

I had my 16 week appointment scheduled for that Friday, April 20, 2018, just two days shy of my 17th week pregnancy. I dropped off my boys at preschool and rushed over to my doctor’s office. The nurse did all the usual stuff: weighed me, checked my blood pressure, took a urine sample, asked me some routine questions. You know, the typical drill.

Then, she ushered me into the exam room and brought out the doppler to find the baby’s heartbeat. But she couldn’t find it. At that point, I wasn’t too worried. This had happened before at my 12-week appointment, and we had to use an ultrasound to confirm the heartbeat. So I thought, okay, we’ll just do that again. But waiting for my doctor felt like forever. I had thoughts of “what if” but reassured myself that it would be just like last time.

Finally, my doctor came in and started the ultrasound. I was on edge waiting for confirmation that everything would be fine. But as she kept moving the wand around, there was silence. She kept it low on my left side and then said those dreaded words, “I’m sorry. I don’t see a heartbeat.”

I felt like the world stopped. I screamed, I sobbed uncontrollably. It was like someone had knocked the wind out of me, squeezing my heart and leaving me dizzy and numb.

I fumbled to call my husband, but he didn’t pick up the first, second, or even the third time. Panic started setting in. I tried my mom next, but no answer there either. Finally, my mother-in-law answered, and through sobs, I managed to blurt out, “There’s no heartbeat.” I don’t even know if I made any sense, but I begged her to drive to Houston to pick up the boys. That was all I could think about – ensuring my boys were okay.

My husband finally called me back, saying he was on his way. My doctor led me to a room to wait for him. When he walked in, I couldn’t hold it together. Tears flowed freely.

My doctor presented me with two options: First, to be admitted to the hospital for delivery, which meant a two-night stay. All I could think of was my boys at home, wondering where I was. Second, to go home and wait for another doctor to perform a D&E. This was the recommended option with less risk of complications. I just wanted to see my boys, so I chose the second option.

It was such a surreal experience, being pregnant but knowing the baby inside me wasn’t alive anymore. I started questioning whether I could even call myself pregnant. After all, isn’t pregnancy supposed to mean carrying a living baby? The whole situation felt incredibly confusing and heartbreaking.

I definitely wasn’t prepared for what came next. I bled for almost two weeks, had cramps that lasted for days, and my breasts became painfully engorged with milk. All I could think about was that my baby had died. I felt so guilty that I didn’t know the exact moment he passed. Shouldn’t I have known? And because I didn’t, did that mean he died alone?

Some friends sent me flowers, which I pressed and turned into art as a way to cope. My sister-in-law sent me an ornament, and its significance didn’t hit me until the holidays rolled around. No one close to me had gone through this kind of loss. They stumbled over their words, trying to comfort me, or they just avoided the topic altogether.

After about a week, the check-ins from friends and family really dwindled, except from my husband and mom. I felt so isolated in my grief and pressured to act normal, like I wasn’t the Debbie Downer. I tried to put on a brave face, pretending I was okay, but I kept failing. Everyday situations triggered new feelings—seeing a baby, for example, now brought immense sadness instead of joy. It was a constant battle to keep it all together.

Thoughts of Baby 3 consumed me every single moment of every day. I kept replaying what had happened and mourning all the things that would never come to pass. I couldn’t stop questioning myself—what did I do wrong? Was there something I could have done differently? It was an emotional rollercoaster, and processing it all felt suffocating.

Mama Rissa: What is your second miscarriage story with Baby 4?

Emily: I got pregnant with Baby 4 about two months after my first miscarriage. It wasn’t a complete surprise—during that time, I sought comfort and closeness from my husband and wanted nothing more than to be pregnant again.

I was still hoping for that “perfect” two-and-a-half-year age gap, and I wanted to be pregnant alongside friends who had conceived around the same time as Baby 3. I was running out of time to catch up to my original plan. More than anything, I wanted to wash over what happened with Baby 3 and focus on getting back to normal.

I was shocked and terrified when I read the positive pregnancy test: shocked it happened so quickly, and terrified that it would be gone just as fast. I also remember feeling embarrassed. Embarrassed for my intense feelings over the last two months because just like that, I was pregnant again, like nothing happened. I was eager to feel normal again, like I used to, and just consider everything I had gone through as a bad dream.

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I don’t remember exactly how or when I told Daniel; I think I was in the bathroom. Maybe I showed him the pregnancy test? I do remember the feeling though: Somber. I called my doctor that morning and she had me come in to draw blood to monitor my HCG level; two days later, I drew the second vial… HCG level doubled, all good. I wanted to wait to share the news with anyone else until after confirming a heartbeat. Every day I was scared that it would all end.

Even though I spent weeks on edge waiting for things to take a negative turn, nothing happened. The nurse brought my husband and me to a different exam room. My doctor soon followed and began the transvaginal ultrasound. The moment she found the fetal pole, I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Since I was only about 5-6 weeks along, she suggested I come back in a week or so to confirm everything was progressing well.

Two weeks later, we were back for another ultrasound. My doctor found the heartbeat again – yay! But then she mentioned that the fetus wasn’t as developed as it should be based on my last period. My heart sank a bit. She also noticed a subchorionic hematoma, which is bleeding within the uterus. She reassured me, explaining that sometimes the dates are just off, causing the fetus to appear smaller, or the bleeding might get reabsorbed and everything could still be fine.

That night, I started spotting. I tried to reassure myself that spotting after an exam is normal. But after a few days of intermittent spotting, it became more frequent and turned red. My doctor advised immediate bed rest and prescribed progesterone pills. My husband and mom took turns caring for me and the boys.

I dreaded going to the bathroom because it always seemed to confirm my worst fears. I followed every instruction, determined to do everything right in hopes of changing my fate. After a week and a half, I started cramping and feeling sick. My husband brought me to the ER.

As they brought me back, the pain intensified, and I asked to go to the bathroom. Sitting on the toilet in the ER, I felt the urge to push. To my horror, I ended up passing the sac. It was whole, about the size of a quarter.

We stayed there for the next two hours, enduring the mandatory ultrasound to confirm that nothing remained, and then they sent me home to rest and follow up with my doctor. It felt like all hope had been ripped away…again.

Physically, the recovery this time wasn’t as tough. I felt instantly better after delivering the sac, and the bleeding only lasted a couple of days once I got home. But emotionally, I was in a much darker place. I felt more hopeless, desperate, and isolated than ever before.

We only told our families about the loss. We had informed our parents and siblings when things started to look bad so they could be aware. We also explained to the boys what had happened, so they would understand why mommy and daddy were so sad.

However, I decided I wouldn’t reach out to anyone else. If someone reached out to me, I would share, but I wasn’t going to make the effort myself. It felt like everyone else’s lives had moved on without me. Why pull them back into my misery?

This time, I had a clearer idea of what I needed. I needed to stay away from triggers and avoid people who, intentionally or not, pressured me to act like everything was fine. My godmother generously offered her beach house for us to escape to, so my husband, my mom, and I took the boys for some quality time by the ocean. Being in a new place with a new routine helped me stay present.

Once we got back home, I was determined to find out why this kept happening and to feel like myself again. Little did I know, I wasn’t going to get those answers or find my way back to who I was before. Instead, I had to learn to accept the uncertainty and transform into a new version of myself. Things would never be the same again.

Mama Rissa: What did you learn that you did not know before you experienced pregnancy loss?

Emily: I didn’t know what “secondary infertility” meant until I experienced it. It basically means you’ve had successful pregnancies but then can’t get or keep subsequent ones.

After both losses, I went through every test – bloodwork, genetic testing for me, spouse and babies, ultrasound and a hysteroscopy. I expected to find something we could fix to prevent another loss. But we found nothing. I was frustrated to learn that more than half of repeated miscarriages have no known cause.

Mama Rissa: What kind of support helped you most in your grief?

Emily: My husband was my rock through all of this grief. He held me while I cried, listened to my endless fears, wishes, and heartbreaks, and checked on me constantly for months. He took over some of my responsibilities so I could take a walk or just lay down and cry. He was always there, pushing me to keep going when I felt like giving up and assured me that it was okay to feel scared, angry, hopeless or any combination.

My mom was amazing, too. She never asked what I needed; she just stepped in and helped lighten my mental load. She drove an hour each way to watch my boys, taking them to the park, school, or other activities. She cooked for us, helped clean, and did laundry. She even came with me to appointments when my husband couldn’t, or stayed with the boys so he could go. They both made such a huge difference during that incredibly tough time.

For me, talking about my losses without feeling judged or pressured was exactly what I needed. I started therapy after realizing I had been trying to feel nothing just to cope. Therapy helped me identify my feelings, handle triggering situations and manage panic attacks.

I also joined a pregnancy loss support group at Bo’s Place, where I met my fellow founders of Missing Pieces. It was so refreshing to hear others talk about feelings I had, too, without needing to explain or add disclaimers. They understood exactly how I felt because they had been through it, too.

Mama Rissa: What would you say to someone who is going through pregnancy loss right now?

Emily: Here are my five takeaways after going through pregnancy loss:

1. You are not alone, although it can feel like it: Find that person or persons that understand and lean on them. One day, you can be that support for someone else.

2. Your feelings are valid: Whatever you’re feeling right now—anger, sadness, confusion or some combination—it’s all okay. Something that used to make you feel one way may now bring a new feeling or two. Conflicting emotions can coexist. Acknowledge this shift; it’s normal.

3. Don’t rush the grief process: Take your time. Healing isn’t a race. Try not to compare your grief to someone else’s.

4. There will be tough days and small moments of joy: Some days will feel unbearable, but there will also be little moments that make you smile. Focusing on those small moments can help you navigate the darkest feelings.

5. Becoming a butterfly isn’t pretty. A caterpillar has to completely break down before it transforms into a butterfly. In the same way, your grief will be painful and ugly. But when you emerge, it will be beautiful.

Thanks to Emily

I would like to say thank you to Emily for sharing her heart so truthfully and openly with us in an effort to help countless other women who are also going through pregnancy loss. Emily’s pregnancy loss stories of feeling alone are not unique. Many grieving women believe that no one understands what they are going through.

And that is why Emily took it upon herself to help bring Missing Pieces to life. A heartfelt thank you to her for putting her time and energy – along with her co-founders – into this invaluable resource for women going through pregnancy loss.

As a reminder, please check out the Missing Pieces website here to find support for yourself or to contribute your own resources to help support others going through pregnancy loss. Please also share this post via the social share buttons below to help spread awareness and hope on this topic.

And remember, we still have one part left in our series! Subscribe to my emails below so you don’t miss our final post containing Jescekia’s pregnancy loss story, co-founders of Missing Pieces. When you subscribe, you will also receive free access to my Baby Remembrance Journal as a keepsake memorial for your baby in Heaven.

For additional support on the topic of pregnancy loss, you can also check out the resources below.

Additional Resources

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