Miscarriage is something that we just don't talk about. It is a secret pain that exists in the shadows; so many women experience this heartbreak alone, although they are surrounded by others who have suffered the same loss. Tragically, one in four women will experience miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss. No woman, no family should have to hide this pain. A miscarriage is the loss of a child. It wasn't a just a "fetus", it was your baby, and the loss of that life is real, and raw, and absolutely heart wrenching.
Below is a blog entry I composed just days after losing my first pregnancy. If you have experienced a similar loss, I want you to know that you are not alone. The pain does ease over time but rest assured that you will never forget that little love. For me, opening up and discussing my loss eased the pain, and helped me feel like I was honoring my baby. I hope reading this can help heal your heart, too.
xo, Allison
"I started this blog, I believe, on Tuesday. Today it is Sunday, and our lives have changed by worlds since then... Wednesday morning at 3:30am I woke up with severe and painful cramping and bleeding. I was crying uncontrollably- I knew I was losing the baby. I called the doctor's emergency line around 4:30 and she said to call the office in the morning and come in for an ultrasound and blood work. I barely slept, getting up several times to go to the bathroom with more cramping and worse and worse bleeding. Scott got up with me and held me while I cried... and cried, and cried. Full body shaking, gasping, sobbing. This is what grief feels like, I thought. I slept for a few hours later in the morning, from 5:30 to 7:30, until Scott got up to go to work for an hour or two before the Doctor would see me at 10:30.
By the time I got up to shower, the bleeding had slowed down a lot and I was feeling more hopeful. Daylight brings comfort most times, and the sun made me feel optimistic. As I anxiously waited for Scott to return from work, I paced around the house, my mind racing. I had googled and lots of women reported spotting or even bleeding in the first trimester, and the baby ended up being just fine... And I prayed. I bargained with God, asking that he protect this innocent little one that He had created inside me. I would do anything, be anything, just let me hold and kiss my baby this coming October. Scott appeared on the doorstep finally and we hopped in the car immediately.
On long drive to Petoskey, Scotty and I didn't talk much. We were sadly silent together. We held hands and tried to stay positive. We talked about how, if everything was fine after all, that today would be the first day we'd see our baby and maybe get to hear its little heart beating. The thought of that cheered me up and made me feel brave. I would be brave for my little baby, I decided.
Scotty dropped me off at the door and I found the office pretty quickly. He parked the car and met me inside where I was giving my information cheerfully to the receptionist. The waiting room was quiet but several expectant couples and women at various stages of pregnancy filled the chairs. We were finally called into the ultrasound area and the nurse had me get undressed and said that they do these ultrasounds vaginally (SURPRISE!).
She panned the ultrasound wand thing around and clicked and pointed on her little computer- she showed me my uterus and ovaries and typed and measured things. I almost got lost in how cool it all was until she said....
"Well, I don't see any sign of a pregnancy."
Devastation washed over me. The next few hours, and days really, are a blur.
I did a urine test and then waited to see the doctor. Scott and I sat in the waiting room looking at each other, bewildered. We didn't know what to think or feel, we didn't have any real answers yet except that one horrible sentence that still hung in the air. When the doctor arrived, she was truly kind and wonderful. Such a blessing. She explained that they will do a blood test and see where my hormone levels were and that it could be one of several things, but that her gut was that I had miscarried. I broke down at that point. We had just told our parents the previous weekend, I choked out through tears, and I had been doing all the right things that an expectant mother should be doing. She sat down and seemed truly broken for us. She said this was not my fault and that this happens, at some time or another, to 50% of women. She ordered a blood test and Scott and I shuffled downstairs to the hospital's laboratory. They took a quick blood sample and we were on our way home.
I honestly don't remember much of the next day or so very much, between the grief and exhaustion. Scott and I took a nap together for several hours when we got home, punctuated by me waking up and sobbing myself back to sleep. The doctor finally called with the blood test results and we were surprised- my hormone levels were such that I could still be pregnant, but may be much earlier along than they thought. This would make sense of the bleeding and cramping, and even the ultrasound showing nothing. I hoped this was the case, and was told to come in on Friday again for a test so we could compare the results. If the levels went up, I could still be pregnant and all could be well.... If the levels went down then we had almost surely lost our baby.
Thursday passed quickly and Friday game too soon- the bleeding had not stopped and I had all but lost hope. I was begging, pleading, praying that God would give us this baby and we would deal with whatever sickness or deformity it had and just love it no matter what. On Friday I got up and went to the doctor, and then to the craft store. I decided I would get a pretty box to put away the things we had bought for Baby Buchman over the last 3 weeks- a little sweatshirt, hat and mitts, snowsuit and a little book for Daddy to read to him or her at bed time. I couldn't stand to see it all sitting in what would have been the baby's room, but the thought of stuffing it away in a closet made me a sobbing mess. I walked around the store for a little too long but finally found a pretty hat box- Round and smooth with a feathery pattern in metallic gold covering its sides and lid*. Perfect- Gold and joyful, and the feathers reminded me of angel wings. I know enough about the Bible to know that my baby has not turned into an angel, but he or she is in their company in Heaven and I firmly believe that, and take comfort. I tucked the box into the car and grabbed some Starbucks for Scotty and myself on the way home.
When I got home, we took our drinks and stood talking in the kitchen for a few moments. We picked up the pretty box and went to the baby's room to do what neither of us wanted, but new we needed to do. We gently folded the baby's four little articles of clothing and tucked them safely into the box, laying the baby's special book on top of the pile. We closed the lid. We sat on the guest bed in the baby's room for a while and were just sad together. It felt like the end. Even though we didn't have official news yet, we both felt the loss almost fully at that point. Eventually I put the box away and we left the room. I have since moved the box from the baby's room, hidden away, to the family room on a side table. I know it makes no sense but I don't want our baby's things to be lonely. I want the baby to know it is loved and part of our family.
That afternoon, we waited. and waited. and waited. I saw the doctor at 11:30am and was told to call around 2:30 if I had not heard anything. I called at 2:30.... left a message with the receptionist. And waited. and waited. and waited. At 4:30 I was getting really nervous and upset. I couldn't wait to hear until Monday. I couldn't hold on to hope for another 3 days. Scott had taken a half day Friday to be home with me when we got the news but still no news had come. I called again and appealed to the receptionist, explaining my situation, and she kindly said the doctor was just finishing with patients and would surely call today, if not very shortly. At 4:50 my phone rang. I gasped. I answered. The kind doctor explained that my levels had dropped. We had lost the baby. She explained what to expect over the next week or so and gave me advice on medication to take for the pain and when we could start trying to have another baby.
I felt numb.... I called my mom. I called my dad. I called my brother. All short but incredibly painful calls. These people were all excited for me, for us, for the baby, and all felt the loss, however differently. Nobody felt the loss quite like Scott and I of course, but we did know we were surrounded by people who loved us, and our baby, and would support us through this hard time. I e-mailed the few friends we had shared our exciting news with and then we sat. Scott did call his parents later that night, and I think we ate dinner eventually... but mostly we just sat in pain. Numb. Our baby, our sweet little blueberry-sized loved one was gone. It may have been sick, or in pain, but for whatever reason God had taken it from us. He or she, our baby, was lost.
People say "lost"... In a way, it makes sense. I do feel lost. Nothing in my life feels familiar anymore. I look around and I don't know where to go from here, or how I got to this confusing place. There are so many heartbreaking places that this touches my life... I whited out our 8-week appointment on the calendar, hid away the baby books, deleted the apps and unsubscribed from the e-mails, and those were just the things in immediate view. The emotional pain is intricate and pervasive. Apart from the constant, dull pain, there are stabs that hit randomly. Things that were signs of joy the last 3 weeks of "knowing" now brought with them an indescribable pain and feeling of loss. Knowing that I was a mommy, in a sense, for 3 short weeks, but my baby was gone. Knowing that I was growing a person, half me and half Scotty, inside my body, but that little person was now dead. The physical and psychological effects of that are overwhelming.
I don't know why God took our baby. I know God's plan is good- plans for hope and a future- but that is hard to see right now. It is easier some days than others. Today I barely moved from the couch. I know that although we thought this was the baby meant for us, it was not. We were never meant to hold this baby, to kiss his or her little fingers and toes, to stay up late at night consoling and cuddling. It feels like a cruel trick. We were overjoyed from the second we learned this baby was made. We loved it desperately for 3 short weeks. We talked about names, and we shopped for socks and onesies. We planned the nursery and rejoiced with our families- new aunts, uncles, grandpas and grandmas were made. Hearts were broken.
So here we are. This blog is not what I thought, not what I wanted it to be. I wanted to blog weekly chalkboard art about my baby growing, about morning sickness, about preparations and my ever expanding waistline. But that is not the hand we have been dealt. We are in pain, but we are healing. We have each other, my husband and I, and our families, and most importantly, we have our faith.
When Mary was visited by the angel and learned of her pregnancy, she prayed "May it be unto me according to (God's) word" in Luke 1. I have read and prayed that passage over and over in the last few days. God, show me your will, open my eyes and my hands to your plan for my life, and Lord please restore my heart. My pain is great. It is overwhelming and confusing and crippling. But Lord I know it is for a purpose. Make me strong in You in this time of weakness.
Here is my story. Praising the Lord in the sunshine and the rain.
Allison"
* The beautiful box that once held our first baby's few worldy belongings now sits in Felicity's nightstand. It houses her hospital bracelet, cards welcoming her to the world, and a few other keepsakes. I used the pretty box as a prop for her 6-month photos. Here she is, my gorgeous rainbow baby, my healing and my joy. God is good, all the time <3
You are very brave to be so open about your pain. I hope your story is able to help others who have lost their beloved baby <3
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