***Disclaimer: This post contains graphic details and sensitive content. Read at your discretion.
I don’t talk about my miscarriage often… or at all, really.
Not necessarily because it is a sensitive subject for me, but that it’s a sensitive subject for others.
It was late August of 2017 and I had noticed that I began to feel sick and dizzy during my workouts. I figured it was from poor nutrition, so I changed up my diet a little bit.
Nope, still on the verge of puking during every workout.
Finally, one day I decided to take a pregnancy test just to eliminate that from my list of potential causes of my sickness.
POSITIVE.
What? No. Can’t be. I’m not even late yet.
I peed on 6 different sticks and they all came back positive.
Well. Let’s do this.
My pregnancy was unplanned – a surprise, if you will. I was a whirlwind of emotions. Nervous, excited, happy, terrified, anxious, joyful, etc.
My plan was to not tell anyone until I was well into my second trimester. But Dave can’t keep a secret. Before long, all of our friends knew. However, my family did not. I had a well thought out announcement for my Mom, brother, and grandparents.
I sent the announcements on a Friday in October. Friday the 13th to be exact. I’d shipped them overnight and anxiously awaited the phone calls I would receive the next day.
That Friday was like any other, really. I’d had a job interview that afternoon that I had nailed (I ultimately declined the offer). Dave and I went out to celebrate with a few friends of ours. I was happy, jovial, and excited about our future.
The following morning was just like any other. Dave and I woke up and headed to the gym for the Saturday morning class. I recall the workout having running in it. The coaches all knew of my pregnancy and checked in on me frequently to make sure I was doing OK and still able to hold a conversation.
I felt fine throughout the entire workout and even felt proud of the fact that I was continuing to work out while being approximately 12 weeks pregnant.
Dave and I left the gym to go cheer on some of our friends who were competing at a local CrossFit competition. Again, nothing strange or out of the ordinary.
We got home early that afternoon and I walked upstairs to use the restroom.
Blood.
Wait, no. That can’t be right.
More blood.
No, this is OK. I’ve heard of women spotting during pregnancy. This is fine.
A lot of blood.
The tears started to flow.
I cried out for Dave.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Dave ran upstairs and saw the situation. He called his sister who is an RN and is familiar with pregnancy.
She advised we immediately get to the hospital.
The drive was a blur. I was numb. Scared. Uncertain.
Am I losing my baby?
No. This can’t be happening.
As I was sitting in the hospital, I got a text from my Mom.
She mentioned that she had received my announcement.
I texted back and said something to the like of … “Never mind, I’m in the hospital having a miscarriage.”
Within a few hours, it was confirmed that I had miscarried.
The doctor informed me that the baby ceased to live after 8 weeks.
That would explain why the morning sickness just seemingly disappeared one day.
She indicated that the embryo was still attached and that I would likely experience pregnancy-like contractions over the next few days as my body ejected it.
So basically, that meant that the nightmare wasn’t over – I had to give birth to my dead baby.
They sent me home that night and Dave and I made a pit stop at Taco Bell for some much needed comfort-food. $25 worth of burritos later and I felt a little bit better.
I was not prepared for what was to come the next day.
Depressed and numb, I woke up with mild cramps.
Oh, this must be what the doctor was talking about. This isn’t so bad.
Dave and I went to the store to stock up on some of my favorite go-to junk food.
Not even half way to the store, my cramps worsened.
By the time we got to the store, I couldn’t walk anymore.
Dave put me in a motorized cart and we made our way through the store.
Tears came as the cramping got worse. Jesus, how long will this last?! I thought.
We got home and I barely made it to the bedroom before I collapsed to the floor.
I was completely paralyzed. The cramping felt like a dozen knives stabbing into my stomach/ uterus.
I couldn’t stop the tears - which were more like uncontrollable sobs by that point.
I lied in the fetal position as Dave did everything he could to comfort me.
At one point, he had me change my shirt into one of his over-sized tees. It was just a plain t-shirt with the Superman logo on it. I recall him saying “because you’re a superhero.” (I still have that shirt and refuse to get rid of it for that reason.)
As I lied on the floor in excruciating pain, I remember thinking…why?
Why is this happening to me?
Why do I have to experience this pain? For nothing.
I get nothing from this.
I literally get a dead fetus.
Why?
I don’t know how long I lied on the floor for. It felt like hours.
I eventually summoned the strength to crawl to the bathroom.
I went, but something did not feel right.
I stood up to see blood.
And what was that……?
A small sack.
No more than 4-5 inches long and 1-2 inches wide.
That’s my baby.
Omg.
THAT IS MY BABY.
Floating in the toilet.
I cried out for Dave.
I didn’t know what to do.
I can’t flush it.
That’s my baby.
I can’t just flush it away down the toilet to become sewage waste.
What do I do?
I became hysterical.
Dave flushed the toilet.
I dropped to the floor.
It’s gone.
My baby is gone.
The pain I felt, it’s indescribable.
The mental and emotional pain I felt was far worse than the physical.
That image is forever imprinted in my memory.
Though I was young and scared, I had really embraced the idea of becoming a mother. I had begun “nesting” and reading books about pregnancy and stocking up on supplies. I had a long list of baby names (none of which Dave agreed to). I had adorable little onesies with cute sayings like “My Daddy can lift more than you” and “My Mom’s tattoos are cooler than yours” picked out for the baby to wear.
I know that my miscarriage is not an anomaly.
They happen all the time.
But my experience is unique to me.
Perhaps the universe knew I wasn’t quite ready to take on the Mom role.
I’d be lying if I said that I’m not grateful to currently be child-less.
But that doesn’t lessen the pain that I live with daily.
And looking back, I finally know my “why.”
I would not be the strong, willful woman that I am today without that experience.
Though I never got to hold my baby or name him/her or watch them grow before my eyes, I still consider myself a mother to an unborn spirit. And that spirit lives within me. I am never alone.
Today is the 2 year anniversary of my miscarriage.
My baby would be 1 year 5 months and 15 days old today.
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