Facing Pregnancy Loss as a Surrogate
JA Surrogacy’s Accounts Manager and Surrogate Support Worker, Linsay Ambeault, shares her story of pregnancy loss in honour of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.
I’ll never forget when my brother and sister-in-law had a miscarriage at 16-weeks. How devastated she seemed, how angry he seemed. She wondered why no one talked about it and how painful it was. I tried my best to be a sympathetic ear. Having worked with surrogates for some time, loss wasn’t unknown to me. I’d seen my fair share of loss and my fair share of recovery from it. And as time went on, they too recovered - they went on to have my beautiful niece the following year. Other than an early twin loss, I hadn’t had one myself, but I was familiar with loss. I worked with loss. I supported surrogates through loss. I thought I was on good terms with loss.
And then it happened to me. Nothing could’ve prepared me for it. Nothing in the world.
My fourth journey has been my most challenging. Numerous failed transfers, clinic switches, shifting gears time and time again. Every minute has been worth it, because I genuinely love my intended parents and the connection we have is incomparable. My goal was never about having another journey under my belt, it was always to make them fathers. Attempt after attempt, the gut-wrenching pain of watching them hope and wait to have their family has been the biggest challenge of my life, but also the most worthwhile.
Then three years after our first transfer - our time had come. I knew going into it that this attempt was different. I even bought baby gifts - for a girl - the week prior. The perseverance finally paid off and we were pregnant. It didn’t even seem real. One of my intended fathers came for the 6-week ultrasound, not to see the baby he said, but so I wouldn’t be alone if there wasn’t a heartbeat. But there was. And so we told my kids and they loved this baby as they would their own cousin. Then we found out it was a little girl. And there was a heartbeat at the 8-week ultrasound too and they started looking at names. There was also a heartbeat at the 12-week ultrasound and so they announced the pregnancy to their parents. We slowly started to talk about the birth. It seemed surreal.
I’ll never forget the moment, at 19-weeks, when my midwife called and told me there was no longer a heartbeat. I remember where I was sitting, what I was doing. Suddenly life turned sideways and shifted into Life: Part II. I saw my intended father walking up to me like I was watching a film reel. For the next few seconds he was still back in Life: Part I. All I could do was hand the phone to him. The sound of him sobbing is something I will never get out of my head. It felt like my heart stopped beating. I was still carrying her inside me. For the next few days it felt like I couldn’t stand to be in my own skin. The world seemed like a different place.
Two long days later, I delivered their beautiful daughter. She was perfect looking. And peaceful. She looked like her dad’s twin. I spent three hours holding her, getting pictures, getting footprints, memorizing every feature. I cherish those three hours. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity to spend that time with her.
Following the loss of her surrogate baby, a cremation was arranged and Linsay was given a small portion of the ashes in this necklace. She can now continue to keep this little one close to her heart as she heals.
The cause for the loss was readily apparent - a rare issue with her umbilical cord. A fluke. I don’t know why but knowing that helped. A lot of people never get those answers. I had had a choice between inducing labour and a D&E, but there was never a choice for me. I needed to give birth to her and hold her. I knew it would be more painful up front than anything I’d ever done, but that if I didn’t, it would lead to a lifetime of regret and wondering what she would’ve looked like and what had caused her to pass. I could handle pain, and seeing her gave me strength. Within the span of a week, I had miscarried, gave birth, arranged a cremation, and picked up her ashes. I honoured her every way I could.
Her dads have very different grieving styles than me, which has been the biggest challenge. They opted not to be there, or see her pictures, and just move on from it. They’re dealing with it how they need to, and I’m trying to do the same. I hope time heals their wounds. I’m very lucky to see them regularly still and I’m happy to wait for when and if they want to move forward.
Since then…I keep waiting for when I’ll feel normal again, but I’m starting to realize that I may not ever. That adjusting to Life: Part II might as well be like learning to live with an amputation. Each day has been better than the last, but it isn’t linear. Bad days creep up. Even with the support of the surrogacy community around me, it’s hard not to feel alone.
Many of the resources out there are geared towards losing your own baby, and the emotions are so different. My immediate family is complete. I didn’t plan a life with this little girl, but I planned to be a part of it. Not as her parent, but as her aunt. Watching her dads fumble their way through those first days of parenthood, watching my daughters babysit her and play with her, hopefully one day being at her graduation, then her wedding. Watching their hopes dashed, yet again, when the finish line was almost in sight. The feeling of disappointing them. Worrying they’ve lost faith in me, or worse, in themselves as fathers. Not having control over if or when we move forward. Feeling guilty when I look at my own kids. Disappointing people over and over when they ask how the baby is, or comment how I must be getting big. Thinking of how hard it must be for my intended father’s parents, watching them struggle to have a family.
At the end of the day, would I change anything except the obvious? Never. Not a chance. Everybody was meant for something, and I believe with all my heart I was meant for this, with them. No matter what kind of twists the road took. So many things lined up. The entire journey has been life-changing. There was a time I couldn’t imagine getting through a failed transfer, but we did. There was a time I couldn’t imagine getting through a loss, but we did. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m here for it. No one ever promised the journey would be easy, only that it would be worth it.