The Empty Crib: My Story with Vanishing Twin Syndrome

Jul 5

4 min read

It is a bittersweet memory - the one where I'm lying on the exam table at my midwife's house, holding my husband's hand, praying for just one baby. I just had a feeling there would be two babies and I was terrified at the prospect of going from a mom of one to a mom of three.

The ultrasound technician first said "Yup, just one baby" and I breathed a sigh of relief. Until, not 1 minute later, she stopped herself and declared that, nope, there was another. "It's small," she said, and my heart dropped. I wanted nothing more than to know that the baby was OK. She confirmed that Baby B had a heartbeat, but was measuring about 1.5 weeks behind Baby A.

I was flooded with fear, as my husband and I looked at each other, questioning WTF just happened.

I spent the next several weeks cycling through fear, worry, and complete excitement. I was terrified of having twins, but I loved them both so much. The thought of not having them both was too terrible to consider.

As I reached the 12-week mark, I began allowing myself to plan for our future as a family of 5. I had my 13-week midwife appointment and heard two heartbeats. That was my cue to go into prep mode.

I bought a bassinet and a twin breastfeeding pillow. I called daycares and put two babies on the waitlist. I was exercising what little control it felt that I had at that time.

Around 15 weeks gestation, I became sick with intense nausea, a fever, and an excruciating headache. It landed me in the ER where I spent 8 hours telling everyone who walked in the room that I was pregnant with twins. No one seemed to be worried so I let it go. They sent me home with the recommendation to alternate Tylenol and Benadryl to manage the pain.

I was bedridden for the next several days until my midwife told me I should go back into the ER. I fought to get in, this time adamant that someone needed to check on my babies.

The ER doctor ordered and ultrasound. The ultrasound technician turned the screen away and I held my breath, watching her face to see if I could tell what she was thinking. I couldn't.

The doctor came back in when the results were read. She read them aloud "Baby A is measuring at 16 weeks, Baby B is measuring at 8 weeks with no cardiac activity detected".

My heart broke into a million pieces in an instant. I wailed. I felt my chest tighten and it suddenly was as though I was underwater, unable to catch my breath. I can't describe it in any other way.

I asked to be discharged and was allowed to leave. I felt empty. Part of me was missing and I couldn't yet believe that I would never get it back.

The words the doctor spoke and that feeling in my body will never leave me. What followed was a deep depression. One that I thought I would never get out of.

I'll continue my story of prenatal depression in another post. For now, I can say this - it took time. I continue to process and heal. Some days are harder than others, anniversaries are particularly painful.

Remaining pregnant while morning a loss was a uniquely difficult experience. To hold two things at once - gratitude for the baby I was still growing and the emptiness I felt for the one that was not.

I was angry that I was made to love two babies, only to have one taken away. Angry at myself for "letting" it happen. I struggled with self-blame. I couldn't understand how something like this could happen and it not be someone's fault. Whose fault could it be if not mine?

I struggled to show up for my 3-year-old son. I was depressed, unable to take care of myself, yet continuing to parent and work full-time as though everything was OK. I was not at all OK.

I carried an immense guilt for my inability to connect with my baby during pregnancy. I loved him, but it was hard to feel that love through the sadness. I didn't want to talk to him, and in many ways, I think I wanted to ignore the fact that I was pregnant.

When I started to show, people would notice and inevitably say "how exciting!" and ask the typical questions "How are you feeling?", "When are you due?", and "What are you having?" to which I wanted to respond "F**king terrible", "None of your business", and "Please stop talking to me".

But I didn't. I answered politely and pretended like it was just a normal pregnancy. And every time I did, I felt like I was betraying Baby B.

I was fortunate to have supportive friends, coworkers, and family. Who did their best to ease the burden. My husband and I grew closer than imaginable as we grieved together. He picked up all of the slack, made sure I ate, and never made me feel guilty for losing my shit. I worked with therapist who specializes in perinatal mental health (resources below), which was truly invaluable in my recovery.

As the anniversary of that visit to the ER draws nearer, I can still feel the pain and emptiness that continues to exist. But I also recognize the beautiful life that I have now despite it. There's a special kind of power that comes from overcoming a hardship like this.

If you're reading this and have experienced vanishing twin syndrome yourself, know that you're not alone. It's a more common occurrence than many realize. Allow yourself to feel the emotions, to talk about it, and to find support.

This post is for anyone who has experienced vanishing twin syndrome, or any kind of pregnancy loss. You are not alone. Share your story. Find support. And know that even in the face of loss, love and hope can endure.

Resources:

https://psidirectory.com/ - find a mental health provider in your area who specializes in perinatal mental health

https://www.postpartum.net/get-help/psi-online-support-meetings/ - a list of free virtual support groups

Facebook Support Group Pages: