Motherhood

SHAME

GUILT

PAIN

HURT

SHOCK.

MISCARRIAGE

“I’m so sorry. Your baby doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

My mind faded to black and I didn’t hear anything else the ultrasound technician had to say. As a relatively private person (with my emotions at least) I immediately thought about how quickly I could leave the doctor’s office so that I could process the news at home.

I couldn’t believe that I had a miscarriage.

Why me?

I already had 2 healthy pregnancies & children, how could this happen?

OH CRAP. I JUST POSTED MY BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT ON FACEBOOK YESTERDAY. I HAVE TO TAKE THAT DOWN.

I looked in my husband’s direction for comfort, but then the ultrasound technician hit me with more information my than my heart could bear. She gave me the option of having a DNC or passing the baby on my own. At that point, I could no longer hold in my emotions. The dam broke. My husband embraced me and the sea of emotions engulfed me.

Should I keep this a secret and pass the baby on my own?

Should I have the surgery and speed up the healing?

What time is it? Is my mom off from work? I need to ask her what to do!

The staff was so sweet and gave my husband and I some time to talk. They assured us that we didn’t have to make a decision that day, but honestly shared with me the pros and cons of handling the miscarriage either way.

Tearfully, I decided to have the DNC. On the way home, tears clouded my vision. I could barely think or see straight.

I prayed that I could make it home safely and not have to pull over.

As I drove down the road, I heard a still, small voice say “great is thy faithfulness” The harder I cried, the more I heard the voice of the Holy Spirit speak to me.

The Next Day

The morning of the DNC was physically and emotionally exhausting. I wore all black. Partially because I couldn’t find anything comfortable that wasn’t maternity gear, and partially because I was grieving.

As I sat at the hospital intake desk, I covered my head with my hoodie. It was my security blanket as  I hoped it would distract from my tear stained face.

As I finished the intake, I wanted to curl into a ball in the floor and die.

Yes, you heard me DIE.

The pain I felt inside was insurmountable. Yes, I know I have two beautiful daughters. I often get reminded of that. But the moment you find out you are a mother, you immediately do what a good mother does, love.

I loved my baby. I imagined what it would be like to bring him/her home. I imagined the moment I would see his/her face. I imagined what he/she would look like.

I imagined the texture of his/her hair. The complexion of their skin.

I know the nurses were doing their jobs, but every time they asked me “What procedure are you here for?” and “How far along were you?” my heart shattered into a million pieces.

I couldn’t figure out why all the hospital staff couldn’t be a little more considerate and empathetic.

The anesthesiologist came over and apologized to me for my loss. He explained what he needed to do, but my head was in such a fog, I couldn’t process anything he was telling me. Another nurse walked over and told me that they would be putting something in my IV to help me calm down. I’m pretty sure my wailing cries made the surrounding staff feel uncomfortable. Honestly, I could care less about their comfort.

As the nurse was explaining the medication to me, a pregnant student nurse stood in front of my bed rubbing her pregnant belly. Part of me was angry that she got to rub her belly with a baby in it, while I mourned the loss of mine. I told the nurse that I needed to turn away from the student nurse because it was just too much for me.

She seemed totally unfazed. I guess performing multiple miscarriage procedures like this makes you forget that people are human. Not only was I mourning the loss of my baby, but also that this nurse didn’t seem to have a sensitive bone in her body.

After the Surgery

My doctor was a Godsend. I could see the concern in his eyes.

Physically, I was okay. I had minimal bleeding & uncomfortable cramping. The worst part was the pressure. The same pressure I felt being pregnant at 37 weeks, ready to give birth. My body felt like I was giving birth, but was empty on the inside. The cramps reminded me of my emotional pain.

Every morning, I rose with tears in my eyes. I hoped that it was all a bad dream, but my droopy, empty stomach reminded me that I was awake. I wanted to push everyone away. I didn’t want anyone to see my pain.

I was embarrassed.

I knew the miscarriage wasn’t my fault, but it embarrassed me to tell the world that I was pregnant one day, and not the next.

I wanted to kick myself for announcing my pregnancy at 10 weeks.

I wanted to push everyone away. I didn’t take phone calls, I laid in the bed crying & didn’t eat for days. Honestly, I still don’t have the appetite I had before the miscarriage. I make myself get out of bed & keep going.

Oh, and my children. I look at my children differently. I always knew that birth was a miracle, but now I appreciate them so much more. I hide my tears when they are around. I keep them locked up until they sleep.

I hug them a little bit tighter. I wonder if I’ll ever get to experience pregnancy again.

How I Cope

When tragic things like a miscarriage happen, you realize who is in your corner. My family has been amazing. My husband holds me when I can’t talk. My mom came and cradled me like a baby when I thought I had no tears left.

My friends brought food and gift cards.  They called, texted & left voicemails.

My blogging community sent me the sweetest messages. They told me it was okay to take a break. I even heard some of your personal stories of loss.

When I thought I needed to be alone, I realized that I needed a support system now more than ever.

I try to pray & sometimes no words come out. I listen to worship music & I get angry. I wonder why God would give me this gift & then take it away.

I push past the feelings of depression, loss & anxiety. I keep myself busy with my children. I read my bible & have other pray with me and for me even when I don’t want to.

I was always a fiercely independent, strong woman. Now I am a fiercely independent, anxious woman. I know that pushing through my pain makes me strong, but honestly, I don’t feel strong. My mind wonders if I’ll get pregnant again. I wonder if I’ll have a healthy pregnancy. I wonder if these anxious feelings will leave & I’ll go back to “normal.”

I wrote this post, even though it was painful. So many women suffer from a miscarriage and suffer alone. If this is you, know that you aren’t alone. This wasn’t your fault, and you can try again if you choose. There is no time table on grief, and you are entitled to your feelings.

If you feel sad, cry. If you want to be alone, do that too. But not for too long. Allow others to care for you. To pray with you, talk to you, bring you food & keep you company. If you need a counselor to talk to, don’t feel ashamed. If you need anxiety medicine temporarily, know that you aren’t crazy. Crashing from pregnancy hormones & grief is a crazy ride that I wouldn’t wish on my worse enemy.

Most of all, give yourself time to heal. Don’t put pressure on yourself to be “normal” quickly. Believe me, I’m talking to myself right now too.

God will cover you with his wings.

 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.   {Psalm 91:4}

 

 

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