Miscarriage Reflections (Part 2)

Hi! Long weekends are such a double-edged sword. At least for me. I get the Tuesday blues way harder than the usual Monday blues.

In my first post, I shared about my chemical pregnancies. Today, I want to open up about my miscarriages. If you’re in your first trimester or going through one right now, I’m so sorry. If this feels too heavy, please close the blog. But before you do, maybe send it to someone you know who’s been through miscarriage. I want her to know she’s not alone.

I was six weeks pregnant when I had my first miscarriage. I remember the heartbeat wasn’t great—around 90. Usually, we like to see it above 100. Have I seen pregnancies with lower heartbeats make it? Yes. Have I seen strong heartbeats that didn’t? Yes. As a doctor, I’ve seen every version of that story: women who bled for months and still delivered healthy babies, women who didn’t bleed at all and miscarried.

For me, I hadn’t bled. And I didn’t have many symptoms yet, so I wasn’t completely shocked. What did shock me was that—even as a doctor—I wasn’t spared. You start to think it only happens to “other people.”

My next pregnancy ended the same way. And my third… that one broke me. I had already been through the heartbeat anxiety. That day, I was getting blood drawn for genetic testing—the one that tells you chromosomes and sex. I didn’t care about pink or blue; I just wanted to hear “normal.”

They drew my blood first—mistake. I walked into the ultrasound room with one of my best friends, Dr. Arin Saldana. When I saw my sonographer’s face, I knew instantly: no heartbeat. My first reaction was to apologize to Arin for being in the room when my world collapsed.

There was no way I wanted to take medication and go through labor pains. I chose a D&C. I needed it over quickly. At that point, I honestly thought maybe I was meant to just help other women become mothers but never be one myself.

So when I did get pregnant again, my anxiety was sky-high. I expected the worst at every visit. I didn’t let myself breathe until the second trimester—when contractions started at 23 weeks, and I was put on bedrest.

I look at friends who could fully enjoy their pregnancies—working out, traveling, going to concerts—and I wish I had that experience. But it wasn’t my story. If I could go back, I’d tell myself: enjoy it anyway. Because no matter what, the ending isn’t something you can control.

What I know now: My family was going to be complete one way or another. It's a marathon, not a race. Enjoy every stage as best as you can.

I'd love to know if anything resonated with you.

Have a great short week,

Dr. Schell