How It Felt to Lose Our First IVF Pregnancy: My Early Miscarriage Story

The first time I ever got pregnant after years of trying, I found out from a nurse who barely looked up from her clipboard. After years of trying to conceive, an infertility diagnosis, and our first IVF embryo transfer, I was sitting in an exam room waiting for a progesterone injection. Before administering the shot, the nurse asked me to take a pregnancy test. A few minutes later, she casually informed me that it was positive, and I walked out of the clinic in shock.

I stopped at Target on the way home and bought multiple boxes of pregnancy tests because I had to see it with my own eyes. When the second line appeared on all three different kinds of tests, I cried with joy and disbelief. I was finally pregnant.

A week later, I wasn’t.

My Journey to That Positive Test

By the time I got pregnant for the first time, I had already spent months grieving. My husband and I started trying to conceive with the same optimism that many couples have. We assumed it might take a few months, but we never imagined we would eventually find ourselves pursuing IVF.

At 29 years old, I was diagnosed with severely Diminished Ovarian Reserve (DOR). Although I was pretty young and healthy, I was told I had the egg supply of someone decades older. The doctor who shared the news with me said I should mentally prepare myself to never have biological children.

For months, our lives revolved around invasive appointments, painful injections, expensive supplements, and waiting…so much waiting. When the day finally came for our first embryo transfer, we allowed our hope to be stronger than our fear.

The Happiest Week

The days following our embryo transfer felt surreal. My husband and I watched every symptom like hawks, while still trying to guard our hearts. Then came the positive pregnancy test, and my guarded heart swelled with love. After all the statistics stacked against us, it had actually worked. I called my husband, my mom, and my sister. I took more pregnancy tests than I want to admit. Each darker line felt like confirmation that our dreams were finally coming true.

When my first official blood test at the IVF clinic confirmed the pregnancy, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. We knew nothing was guaranteed, but we couldn’t help picturing what the future would be like. I imagined finally becoming a mom, introducing the baby to our families, and decorating the nursery. For a few blissful days, those dreams felt real.

A Devastating Phone Call

A couple of days later, I returned to the IVF clinic for repeat testing to confirm that my pregnancy hormone levels were rising appropriately and plan for next steps. My husband was out of town for work, but we both expected another reassuring update.

Instead, I received a devastating phone call. The nurse explained that instead of doubling, my HCG level had dropped significantly. The pregnancy was no longer viable, and I was having an early miscarriage, commonly referred to as a chemical pregnancy. I remember sobbing and asking the nurse what I did wrong. I remember calling my husband and telling him that I hated my body. Most of all, I remember the crushing realization that I was no longer pregnant with the baby we already loved so much.

Grieving the Baby We Never Got to Meet

One of the hardest parts of miscarriage after infertility is how difficult it can be to explain the depth of the loss. To some people, it was “just” an early pregnancy loss. To me, it was the loss of a baby we fought so hard for and already loved.

Before that positive test, my husband and I had gone through months of disappointment, fear, procedures, and injections. There were countless moments where I wondered if I would ever see a positive pregnancy test at all. So when I lost that first pregnancy, I wasn’t only grieving the baby…I was grieving the future I’d let myself begin to imagine. I felt naive for believing the hard part might finally be over.

The Dark Days That Followed

After receiving the devastating news, all I wanted was to be with my husband. He was able to fly home early from his work trip, and when he finally walked through the door, we held each other and cried.

I spent a lot of time curled up in bed with our sweet little dog, questioning everything. Our medical team repeatedly reassured us that I hadn’t done anything wrong; the pregnancy simply wasn’t compatible with life. Rationally, I understood that, but emotionally, it was much harder to accept.

Having lost my dad very suddenly a few years prior, I was no stranger to grief, but this grief still felt overwhelming. For the first time in years, I even found myself thinking about breaking my sobriety. Instead, I found comfort in travel, exercise, and making (not very good) abstract art in my basement.

The baby we lost will always be part of our story.

For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with this loss. The pregnancy was brief; there was no ultrasound photo, no growing belly, and no baby shower…but that doesn’t mean this baby wasn’t real. It was a human life, created from my egg and my husband’s sperm, that implanted in my uterus.

That pregnancy changed me, my marriage, and how I view motherhood. Most importantly, it taught me that you can love someone deeply before you ever meet them, grieve someone you never got the chance to hold, and carry them with you long after they’re gone. We never got to meet that baby, but they mattered, and they will always be part of our story.