This blogpost is my personal experience, and below is what I’m willing to publicly share. I kindly ask you to not reach out to me about this - while I appreciate your love and support, I’m still very much in the midst of this (and I’m honestly at a point where I’m tired of even thinking about it), and would prefer to not see comments/questions/stories regarding this matter, even if the intentions are kind. My DMs will be turned off for a hot minute, but I just wanted to explain why. We all grieve differently, and I appreciate you for respecting my way. Just know I have an incredible support system and I’m doing better every day.
This past spring, when KK was nine or ten months old, I took a positive pregnancy test. We were elated. KK’s pregnancy had been described as “one of the healthiest, easiest pregnancies I’ve ever seen,” so we assumed this one would be the same. I was so incredibly nauseous, but I was also so incredibly happy.
And at the beginning of June, a week after KK’s first birthday, I was told by my doctor it was a molar pregnancy.
Which, come to find out, means in a rare (like, 0.1% rare) stroke of bad luck, there is a freak accident at the genetic level, and a tumor forms instead of a baby. But the body doesn’t know the difference, so pregnancy symptoms are still present, making it all seem like a completely normal pregnancy. And hormone levels in a molar pregnancy are typically sky-high, so symptoms that first trimester can be intense.
(I’m wildly butchering the medical explanation here, but you get the gist.)
We were shocked. And so sad. But we were - at least mildly - comforted by the fact that this was a freak thing. That this had nothing to do with us, that nothing was wrong with us, for lack of better words. That after all this, we could go on to have more healthy pregnancies.
But in the meantime, we learned that I would need the growth surgically removed, that I would need that tissue tested to learn more, that I would need frequent bloodwork for the next year to make sure said growth was fully removed and wasn’t growing back, that I could potentially need more intervention, that I would need to wait a year (and have confirmation that everything was back to healthy) to get pregnant again.
I was devastated. A whole year?
Google searches of “molar pregnancy” terrified me - if something as rare as this happened to me, who’s to say the super rare outcomes of molar pregnancy wouldn’t happen to me as well? Would I be one of the few molar pregnancy cases that needed chemo or a hysterectomy?
Would I not be able to have the three to four kids for which I had always hoped?
I cried. I worried.
And a procedure to remove the tissue was scheduled for the next day.
Let me say this: the first eleven days after that were so dark.
Because I honestly think the hardest thing about all this were those sky-high hormones. Because while a dropping hormone level means that the tissue was potentially 100% removed, it also means a dropping hormone level.
My doctor warned Brett that my levels were high - so very high. She warned it would take a few days/weeks to get those hormone levels back down.
Meaning, in not so many words, that those days/weeks would be hard.
And she was right. They were. I did not feel like myself. In the least.
And yeah, part of it was grief. I was so shocked and so sad. I was very harshly reminded that there are things beyond my control. That things aren’t always fair.
But also? My hormones, man. Lordy.
In a week, my hormone levels plummeted - I’m talking an 86,000 m[IU]/mL drop - and, during that time, I could barely function. I was just crushingly sad.
And, relatively speaking, I got over the pregnancy loss itself fairly quickly. Maybe for me it was personally easier to grieve since it was never a viable pregnancy, maybe I could see perks to not having two kids under two, maybe I was thinking our August beach trip would be a teensy more enjoyable now. But at the same time getting diagnosed with a molar pregnancy, learning the possible implications of it, looking at a full year of bloodwork, and worrying about the future really threw me. I think I got over the pregnancy loss aspect of it fairly quickly because I was more consumed with (and shocked by) everything else.
(Edited to add: Just kidding. After the shock wore off, I was devastated there was no baby.)
I dropped all my routines. I barely existed and I grieved. I sat around. I ignored my phone. I cried. And I cried some more. I couldn’t bear to leave the couch, much less the house. I had no appetite. I couldn’t sleep.
And, I will say - I’d have moments where I felt okay. And that was always when we’d receive some sort of poorly-worded message. And I’d cry. And revert back to barely functioning. And, at the risk of sounding dramatic, then I’d be angry that I wasn’t even allowed to feel normal without that being ruined. That even that was beyond my control.
Let me pause here. And let’s address something.
Things to Not Send Grieving Haley
any sort of advice
i bristle. don’t tell me what to do…ever. but especially now.
words of what I should do next or how I should grieve
see above.
any sort of personal story of a “similar” thing that happened to you
pass. hard pass. I’m currently processing my own situation and therefore unable to act politely interested in yours.
“so-and-so told me,” “I told so-and-so and…” “so-and-so said…”
I’m already upset. please don’t inform me that I’m being talked about.
or - I cringe here - any sentence that starts with “at least…”
no. just no.
These - in my opinion - were the worst. Triggering, even.
(And yes, you and I are totally allowed to disagree here. That’s okay! We all grieve differently.)
It felt very intrusive to receive an upsetting message while trying to navigate something so personal. Am I making sense? It all just didn't feel fair, and to have my healing process interrupted by the wrong words was more distressing than I could bear.
(And really, we didn’t tell all that many people. And the majority of words we received were great. But yes, a small few unintentionally stung, and they stung good.)
The best messages were simple words of support: “I love you,” “Thinking of you,” “Enjoy queso on me,” “Just checking in - no need to respond,” “Sending you money for wine,” “Let me know when you’re up for a queso date,” “Whenever you’re ready for a stroller walking date, I’m here,” etc. To know I was loved and thought about without reminding me of any circumstances was so comforting. Because they were nice to read both while sad…and while feeling like my normal self.
Care packages and food silently arrived on our doorstep, gift cards popped up in our inboxes. I will never adequately be able to express my gratitude. Not only for such caring, heartfelt gestures, but also because there was no prior “What do you need?” texts. (I wouldn’t have been able to handle that.) Similar to above, to know I was so loved and thought about without reminding me of any circumstances (and without asking me to respond to a text) was so comforting.
Brett also did his best to tell people that Haley didn’t want to talk about it, that she doesn’t want to receive texts, that she wants space - and for that I will always be grateful for him.
Anyway.
I desperately needed a swim to help process it all, but swimming was a no-no for weeks post-surgery.
We took the dogs to the dog park for a change of scenery that first weekend, a lovely throwback to our dating days. We ate takeout and easy meals. (Namely food I had frozen “just in case I have a rough first trimester.” The irony is not lost on me.) Brett bought the biggest jug of my favorite peach sweet tea.
We binge watched Mare of Easttown - for the distraction, but also for the lovely dose of perspective. (“Hey look! It could be worse!”) For similar reasons, we rewatched The Seventies, The Eighties, and The Nineties.
I clung to my comfort show: Sex and the City.
I focused on KK. I appreciated her with a new intensity. I researched toddler activities and meal ideas on random blogs. (Several Amazon boxes showed up at our house as a result.) I found it painful when I came across any mention of two under two, so I sat with that grief.
Edited to add: turned all that research into a lot of these posts.
And I distinctly remember five or six days after the surgery, I felt a little more like my Old Self. I was still sad, but things didn’t seem as hard. I picked back up a few of my routines, and I felt well enough to reinstate my daily rhythms. Returning to those was like a warm, warm hug - so incredibly comforting and grounding. The biggest and best dose of normalcy, if you will.
Returning to my morning routine of watching Good Morning America was particularly helpful, both because I found the familiarity comforting and I felt like my Old Self, but also because getting a daily, morning dose of that much-needed perspective (and distraction) was so good. (Also, I don’t know about you, but just being in Robin’s presence makes me feel better.)
After that, each day I spent time in our home gym and each day I worked on our cleaning schedule. It may sound silly, but these two small things were so healing. In a time where we waited for answers and so many things felt out of my control, knowing I could make the choice to do a daily workout and to do a chore felt so empowering.
I menu planned. I now didn’t have to navigate nausea/food aversions/fatigue, and found myself relatively excited to get back into the kitchen, back to family dinners, and back to recipes. (Recipes being another small, empowering thing I felt I could control during this weird time of waiting for test results after test results.)
I got a facial. And I cried afterwards. Yeah, because it was my first outing after everything had happened. And I was so sad. But also because the facial was amazing - I had been searching for years for an esthetician I loved and for this be the week I finally found her just seemed to be the universe’s doing. So I cried.
(Similarly, now that we followed a cleaning schedule and no longer needed to pay housecleaners, I could finally prioritize facials - a goal I’ve had for a longggg time. Silver linings.)
I went to KK’s one-year doctors appointment. And I didn’t expect that to be so hard. I worried for days something would be wrong with her, too. After all, my diagnosis came completely out of left field, so what if the same thing happens for her? (Spoiler: She’s healthy, very tall, and very fair-skinned. I’ve never been more thrilled for a boring, uneventful doctors visit.) I also didn’t expect to find a doctor’s office setting so distressing.
I dreaded going to the dog groomer. A delightful woman who asks every visit, without fail, “When’s Baby #2?”
I splurged on three new books that had been on my wishlist forever. I craved (and needed) a gripping story.
I took a longggg break from Instagram - I vowed to stay away until I felt better. I unfollowed accounts (particularly accounts re: pregnancy), and muted a few accounts I didn’t want to see for the time being. I couldn’t handle posting about what happened to me quite yet - I needed to privately process - but I also couldn’t handle acting like nothing happened. So I took a break.
Days passed. I gave myself a lot of grace. And a lot of rest.
And amongst all this, I saw my doctor. I received messages. I tried to think of potential causes for why this happened. I got my first round of bloodwork. I flinched when the lab tech [unnecessarily] explained, “This blood test is not to see if you’re pregnant, just so you know.” I got my second round of bloodwork. I got more rounds of bloodwork. I winced at how things were coded by insurance. My stomach dropped anytime my email showed me I had a new doctor message or test result. I analyzed said test results. I Googled terms. I made appointments. I sat on the phone. I picked up prescriptions. I kept an eye on our insurance claims.
My days still felt very consumed by all of this, and I felt sad. I felt more like my Old Self, but I still had bouts of sadness.
And I was so tired of feeling sad.
So I started to dream. Now that I am no longer pregnant and now that I am strictly forbidden to become pregnant in the next year, I thought about potential silver linings. What do I want to do with this time? How do I want this next year to go? What are things I’ve always wanted to do? I daydreamed, I brainstormed, I made lists, I bounced ideas off loved ones - it was incredibly therapeutic.
I tweaked my daily schedule to walk the dogs before KK woke up. A nice neighborhood walk during my favorite time of day - right before sunrise, when the world is just waking up. This shift in routine felt amazing, and I loved taking one small step towards taking control of my health, both physically and mentally. Starting my day with one of my favorite things was so good for my soul. I realized I may not have ever thought to do this, had I not been sad about the molar pregnancy. Silver linings.
Inspired by the revised morning routine, Brett and I started watching The Wire - something we had talked about doing for a longggg time. We watched one episode each evening as our revised evening routine. And I felt happy for the time with him, but I also felt happy for the kick in the pants this molar pregnancy gave us to finally do some things we always wanted to do.
Which then led us to decide it was time to get a third dog. Another standard poodle. Another thing we’ve always wanted to do. And while we had always intended on naming our next dog Winifred/Winnie to accompany our other standard poodle Winston (and as a nod to my middle name Wynn), we learned that Winifred means Joy and Peace, and that just seemed so incredibly fitting for what we needed in this season.
We planned trips - trips that we had dreamed of doing, but wouldn’t have been able to do with two kids under two. All of a sudden they were now possible, so we leaned into that bright side and jumped at the opportunity.
We went to Whole Foods and dropped an absurd amount of money on the alcohol aisle. Along with an epic Snack Dinner Saturday spread, and our anniversary cake. (Our wedding had six or seven different Whole Foods cakes. It was awesome. And picking one or two of these cakes up each year makes for the best anniversary tradition.)
I hired the most darling personal trainer. I told him what had happened, and how I was taking it as my sign to focus on my health, that I wanted to get back to being strong. (My mom and I go to sessions together, just like we did when I was in high school during off season of swim team. I’m so grateful to have her and have this time with her.) And it occurred to me I was thankful this whole ordeal gave me the kick in the pants I needed to really take care of myself.
I walked the dogs in the mornings. I practiced yoga, did strength videos, took cycling classes - just whatever my mind and body craved. I took vitamins. I read. I cooked. I got back into Snack Dinner Saturday and Grill and Chill - both had become kind of tired and I suddenly had the drive to breathe new life into these rituals of ours. I focused on adding more produce, more fiber, more protein to our meals. I took care of my skin. I booked a haircut. I drank water (and margaritas). I was excited to have the time and energy to potentially swim three or four times a week again. I appreciated that my loved ones were all happy and healthy, that nothing had happened to them. I gave thanks for our home and for our marriage for being such a safe haven when I needed it most. I looked into online classes. I got my teeth cleaned. I flossed. I acknowledged my feelings as they came. I created new family traditions. I cuddled KK, I snuggled poodles. I continued to rest and give myself a lot of grace.
And I felt like a better version of my Old Self. Or, the beginnings of it, anyway.
We were still waiting on my pathology results, we were still waiting on these next few rounds of bloodwork to see if my hormones continued to drop as they were supposed to, and we were still waiting to see what the next steps would be. But I felt more at peace with everything.
Our fourth wedding anniversary was exactly two weeks after my surgery. And Brett and I agreed - this was by far our hardest year of marriage. Even before the recent events, we had thought this was our hardest year of marriage. But he and I agreed again- our marriage today is so much better and stronger than it was a year ago. (And, to be fair, I thought our marriage was great a year ago.) I’m truly at a loss for words to adequately describe how amazing Brett was in this whole situation, but I will say I’m just so thankful for him and where we are today.
On a similar note, we also celebrated my mom’s birthday during this time by going to the spa - my mom, sisters, and I started a tradition of doing that for each of our birthdays. And this time, there was a new meaning. It was so nice to end such a tumultuous month with such a soothing, nurturing day, yes. But also? This month has made me so grateful for what I do have and I was so happy to have my mom and sisters - both at that spa day and in general.
Because throughout this whole thing, I’d feel deep in my bones that of all the crappy hands to be dealt in life, this was farrrrrr from the worst. That a year of mandated rest to focus on myself and to enjoy my family is not an awful thing at all. And I truly felt so incredibly fortunate for all I do have.
And with that gratitude, I started to feel even better.
And exactly three weeks after my diagnosis, my doctor called.
The pathology results had come in.
And it wasn’t a molar pregnancy. It was something even rarer. A suuuuper rare chromosomal anomaly, caused by - at least in our case - nothing more than a suuuuper rare stroke of bad luck. A fluke. So while it was still a pregnancy loss, there were no longer any risks of potential long-term issues. Once my hormone levels leveled out, we were free to try for another baby whenever we felt ready.
Brett was thrilled, relieved.
I was skeptical. And tired. So tired. I felt like I had been through the wringer the past few weeks.
I told Brett I’ll be happier when this whole situation isn’t so recent, when it’s no longer a constant thought. Because right now, after the last three weeks, the thought of becoming pregnant and voluntarily signing myself back up for doctor appointments/bloodwork/insurance claims/etc sounded awful. And more overwhelming than I can currently bear. That I just wanted to be for awhile.
And honestly, I truly can’t believe quite yet that all of a sudden those potential long-term implications just disappeared.
So we’re taking time to just rest. To let this become old news. To heal. And we will see how we feel in a few months.
I craved a change, so I tweaked our daily schedule, I subscribed to a few magazines, I rearranged my car, I purged KK’s closet, I created a meal rotation, and I signed up for a Mommy and Me workout class that met several times a week. And I prepared for a new puppy. It finally started to feel like a new season.
When we finally picked up Winifred - two days after that phone call - I held her and cried. Not necessarily because I was sad, but because I felt a glimmer of relief that all this was starting to be behind us. That our news was no longer what happened to Haley, but our news instead was we got a puppy.
So know that I’m doing okay. And with time, I’ll be doing better.
And between now and then, I’m taking care of myself.
And potty training a puppy.
xo
Edited to add: This journey drove me to really prioritize my wellness and really focus on taking care of myself, and for that I am grateful. Some newer changes and newer posts that came to be because of this loss:
The Big List of Things That Help Me Feel My Best
my favorite routines, my favorite systems, and my favorite things that healed me after a bigggg anxiety attack of 2017…and then a pregnancy loss of 2021.
Why I Joined a Gym with Childcare
aka I started swimming again. a lot. it was beautiful.
Our Sensory Tables + Our Sensory Play Favorites
not wellness per se, but throwing myself into KK was so helpful during this time. researching toddler activities, DIY-ing a play kitchen, and creating a capsule wardrobe for KK were incredibly healing for me. I discovered how much I love creating play invitations for KK.
