Carrie Hauskens
Grieving, Healing, and Choosing Joy After Infant Loss: Carrie’s Story
When Carrie and her husband began trying for a baby in 2014, parenthood felt like the natural next step. From their very first date, Carrie had been clear: wanting children was a deal-breaker. They married that year and, full of hope, started trying immediately. But what began as an exciting new chapter slowly turned into a heartbreaking journey filled with infertility, loss, and eventually, healing.
The Painful Path of Infertility
In the early years, Carrie was surrounded by friends entering motherhood. Many got pregnant easily, sometimes even by surprise. She tried to stay hopeful, cheering them on at baby showers, often hearing, “You’re next!” But month after month passed without a positive pregnancy test. For five years, Carrie avoided seeking medical help, clinging to the idea that if others could conceive naturally, so could she.
Finally, around 2018, Carrie and her husband decided to consult doctors and were quickly advised to begin IVF. She responded well to the treatment and became pregnant on her first transfer. But at the eight-week ultrasound, there was no heartbeat. Though devastated, Carrie didn’t allow herself to pause or process. Instead, she dove headfirst into the next IVF round, still stuck in the mindset of “what’s next?” rather than “what’s now?”
The Loss of Clementine
The next embryo transfer led to a healthy-looking pregnancy, and Carrie slowly allowed herself to hope. At 20 weeks, she started to relax and embrace the experience. They had a baby shower, decorated the nursery, and prepared for their daughter’s arrival. Then, at 32 weeks, Carrie noticed she wasn’t feeling her usual kicks.
A rare pregnancy condition called intrahepatic cholestasis of pregnancy (ICP) had quietly developed, despite Carrie being on medication. The main symptom, itching, had seemed harmless. The doctors reassured her she was fine, but within five days of diagnosis, Clementine had died.
Learn more about ICP here: https://healingafterinfantloss.com/intrahepatic-cholestasis-of-pregnancy-icp-what-you-need-to-know/
Carrie delivered her stillborn daughter vaginally after a 2.5-day induction. The hospital staff were kind, placing a flower on her door to signal the situation, offering the opportunity to hold her daughter and take photos, which are gifts Carrie now treasures. “She looked just like my husband,” Carrie recalled. “She had his nose and my height.”
They chose cremation, learned that funeral homes often offer this service free for stillbirths, and began the long road of grieving.
Grieving Differently: Carrie and Her Husband’s Experience
Carrie chose openness. She shared their story on social media, left her door open to visitors, and invited connection. Her home became a revolving door of friends, old and new, showing up with love.
Her husband, however, grieved differently. He was painting the house, working on projects, retreating inward. At first, Carrie judged him, assuming he wasn’t “doing it right.” But over time, she learned to accept that people grieve in their own way. “We weren’t on the same page,” she said. “We weren’t even in the same book. And that’s okay.”
Attempting Pregnancy Again and Letting Go
Although Carrie was told not to carry again due to the severity of her ICP, she unexpectedly became pregnant naturally in 2020 while their surrogate was also pregnant. But her fear outweighed any excitement. She miscarried early, and although it was sad, she felt a sense of relief. “I didn’t want to go through it again,” she admitted.
Surrogacy, Miscarriage, and a Rekindled Friendship
Their journey into surrogacy was unique. Rather than going through an agency, they opened the conversation to friends and family and multiple women offered to help. Ultimately, a childhood best friend re-entered Carrie’s life and volunteered to carry their embryo.
It was a beautiful reconnection. But heartbreak returned. Their surrogate suffered two miscarriages, and after the second, Carrie knew she was done. “I was tired of being so sad,” she said. “I needed something to change.”
Despite the emotional toll, Carrie and her surrogate shared a deep bond. “It was terrifying watching someone I love go through something painful because of me,” she said. “But we were surrounded by support.”
Why They Didn’t Pursue Adoption
Adoption had been on the table early in their journey. They even signed up for foster care and explored it with support from a therapist who specialized in placements. But when they learned they might wait anywhere from three months to ten years for a child, and that foster placements involved a high chance of reunification, Carrie felt uneasy.
“I didn’t want to root for a parent to fail,” she said. The emotional weight of another loss, potentially handing a child back, felt like too much. Ultimately, they decided adoption wasn’t the right fit for their family.
Letting Go: Stopping in 2021
After eight years of trying, grieving, and healing, Carrie and her husband made the decision to stop in 2021. It was clear and decisive. “I just knew,” she said. “I felt a relief I hadn’t felt in almost a decade.”
She realised she didn’t have to keep doing hard things just because she could. “I can do hard things,” she used to say until a friend reminded her, “You don’t have to do them forever.”
Life After Loss: “I Have a Sad Story, But Not a Sad Life”
Carrie quit her job as a teacher mid-school year. Her parents were battling cancer. Her heart was broken. And she needed to find joy again.
Today, she’s a freelance writer, pursuing her creative dreams, finding happiness in small moments: her dog, her coffee, walks in the garden. “I thought I needed something big to fill the motherhood space,” she said, “but I just needed to come back to myself.”
She still celebrates Clementine’s memory on “Intergalactic Clementine Death Day,” she treats herself with massages, her favourite meals, and beautiful dresses. “I honour her by taking care of myself,” she said.
Advice for Others Experiencing Loss
Carrie wants others to know: there’s no right or wrong way to grieve. “Grief is weird,” she said. “It shows up in the grocery store or during movies or on holidays. And that’s okay.”
Therapy helped her immensely, as did connecting with others who had lived through similar pain. She encourages others to let go of the pressure to “fix it” or to grieve perfectly.
What She Wishes Society Knew
Infant loss doesn’t disappear. “It never really leaves you,” Carrie said. “There’s no timeline. No finish line. I still cry during movies. I still have hard days. And I’m still okay.”
She also urges friends and family of loss parents to simply show up. “Say something. Say you don’t know what to say. But don’t say nothing. That silence is worse.”
Redefining Happiness and Embracing Plan B
Carrie didn’t plan this life. She didn’t want Plan B. But she’s grateful for it.
“I used to think being childless would be my worst nightmare. Now I know that not choosing happiness would be,” she said.
Through grief, love, surrogacy, and loss, Carrie has found a way to live a beautiful life without children. One full of creativity, connection, and quiet joy. Her story is a testament to resilience, to choosing joy when the world gives you pain, and to the fierce love that never fades for a child who is no longer here.
Follow Carrie on Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bloomingwithcare