My pregnancy began normally. I had gone through an IUI to become a solo parent, and thirteen days later, I took my first pregnancy test. I couldn’t wait the full two weeks. The test was faintly positive, but still positive. I went in for bloodwork, and it was confirmed: I was pregnant.
At first, my bloodwork looked great. My hCG levels, the pregnancy hormone, were excellent. I was asked to return in 48 hours for follow-up testing. The next result was still promising, though my levels hadn’t quite doubled. The nurse mentioned it could be due to using two different labs and asked me to return again in another 48 hours.
That was when the bad news came. My hCG levels had dropped slightly, and I was told the pregnancy was not viable. It was considered biochemical, an early miscarriage.
When I heard the words ‘biochemical pregnancy,’ I didn’t know what that truly meant. What I’ve learned since then is that it describes a pregnancy where the embryo forms and implants in the uterine lining, but didn’t develop as it should. It often happens before the fifth week and go unnoticed by people who don’t test early. Because fertility treatments involve close monitoring, it’s more likely to be detected through the regularly scheduled bloodwork.
Biochemical Pregnancies
Doctors often describe it as an early miscarriage, though to the person experiencing it, those few days or weeks of knowing can hold an entire world of hope. For many of us going through fertility treatment, that brief window feels monumental. You’ve tracked your cycle, planned injections, timed everything down to the hour, and then it worked. Even if only for a short time, you were pregnant.
There are several reasons why an early loss like this might happen. This includes chromosomal abnormalities, issues with implantation, or simply a pregnancy that wasn’t destined to progress. Most of the time, there’s nothing anyone could have done differently. It doesn’t mean your body failed or that you’re less likely to carry a healthy pregnancy in the future.
For me, the hardest part was accepting that something so monumental could end so quickly. I had celebrated quietly in my home, imagining the months ahead. Then, in less than one week, that version of my future disappeared. Understanding the biology offered some comfort, but it didn’t erase the emotional imprint of what was lost.
What is hCG and Why it Matters
hCG is a hormone produced by the early placenta (trophoblast) shortly after fertilisation and implantation. Its levels are used clinically because they reflect how well the placental tissue is growing/functioning in very early pregnancy.
In a healthy early intra-uterine pregnancy, hCG levels are expected to double every couple of days. A failure to rise appropriately, a slow rise, plateau, or a drop may be an indicator of pregnancy that is not viable (which could mean miscarriage, a failed implantation, or an ectopic pregnancy) rather than being definitive proof on its own.
Not always immediately, but a falling hCG in very early pregnancy is a strong indicator that the pregnancy may not be viable. However, hCG alone is not always enough to diagnose miscarriage and is often considered alongside ultrasound findings, symptoms such as bleeding, cramping, or other labs. What matters most is viewing the trends over time to help confirm resolution.
After that first hCG drop, my doctor referred me to the
Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit (EPAU) for monitoring.
Processing the Grief
That evening, I cried. I let myself grieve and reached out to tell the few people who knew about my pregnancy, family and close friends, that I was no longer pregnant. What no one had prepared me for was how feelings of failure intertwine with grief. Thoughts like I did everything right, why did
this happen? and Why am I not enough? ran through my mind. I questioned whether I was worthy of becoming a mother.
When I visited the EPAU, they immediately provided a therapist as part of intake. We talked about my feelings of inadequacy, but also about my belief that everything happens as it should—even when we cannot understand why. I shared that I trust that if I am meant to have a baby, I will, when the time is right.
Role of Support Systems
When I try again I am seriously reconsidering who I tell because of how emotionally devastating it was. Although, even though the feelings of guilt and failure can creep up, it was also important to share the news with a trusted few, because then they are there to lean on, to check in and make sure you’re okay, to sit in pajamas and watch a movie with you because you can’t be bothered to do anything else.
Not everyone responded in a way that was helpful. Most responded with deep empathy, while one close friend tried to fix the unfixable, offering reassurances like “it just wasn’t meant to be” or “you can try again soon.” I know those words were meant to help, but what I really needed was for someone to simply sit with me in the discomfort.
If there is one thing I learned, it is that it is okay not
to be okay. Miscarriages are a grief process. It is grieving the loss of what
could have been. It took weeks for me to feel normal again and gain strength
from this experience. We are all unique and we all experience things
differently, that is okay.
If you are Going through this Too
If you’ve found this article because you’re experiencing a miscarriage or biochemical pregnancy, please know that you’re not alone even if it feels that way right now. The quiet nature of early loss can make it invisible to the outside world, but that doesn’t make your grief any less real.
You might be moving through a mix of emotions: sadness, guilt, anger, confusion, or even numbness. There’s no right order or timeline for any of it. Some days you might feel okay, and then a small reminder can reopen everything. Healing from loss like this isn’t about forgetting or moving on. It’s about allowing yourself to feel, to rest, and to trust that over time, the pain will soften.
If you’re struggling to find your footing, here are a few things that might help:
- Give
yourself permission to grieve. Miscarriage is a loss, no matter how
early it happens. You’re allowed to mourn the version of your future that
you imagined.
- Be
gentle with your body. It’s been through a physical and emotional
process. Nourish it with rest, hydration, and comfort rather than
criticism.
- Find
one safe person or space. Whether it’s a therapist, a friend, or an
online community, connection can make a difference. You don’t have to
process this alone.
- Release
the idea of “what if.” You did nothing wrong. A biochemical pregnancy
is rarely caused by anything you could have controlled.
- Honor your experience. Light a candle, write a letter, keep a small token, something that acknowledges this brief but meaningful chapter of your journey.
Most of all, know that you still deserve hope. One loss does
not define your ability to become a parent, and it doesn’t erase the love or
intention that brought you here. Healing takes time, but it will come. Even in
this in-between space — between loss and renewal — you are already growing in
ways you can’t yet see.