Miscarriage. Such an interesting word. The thing I hate most about it is the lack of “baby” or “infant” anywhere in the term. From a faith perspective, what does a miscarriage mean? If you believe in a life beyond, does that mean there was a baby that was supposed to grow but never really did, and you will see that soul in the next life? Does it mean that there was a perfect spirit, but the body that started growing inside just wasn’t good enough for that Spirit to come to, so your body needs to start over and try again? There is so much heartache in the unknown, in the unanswered questions.
I got married right after graduating Nursing School. I worked on a Labor and Delivery unit, where fertility, birth, and loss were part of every shift. I began to form my own vision of how my life would go in these matters. My mother had 6 children, neatly spaced 2 years apart (4 of us have birthdays within 3 weeks of each other), without experiencing so much as one bout of morning sickness. Not one. So of course, I will have my own neat and tidy road to motherhood. When the time came that my husband and I were ready to start trying for children, I went off birth control and got pregnant after 2 cycles. I was not sick, or even super tired. I felt like I was living my plan, just as I had conceived it long ago. On my hospital unit, we talked to each other about EVERYTHING. I’m not that type of person, but you had to be when you stepped on my unit. So everyone knew I was pregnant and was cheering me on. A good friend and coworker announced she was pregnant, and our due dates were a day apart. My plan, coming to fruition. I couldn’t have planned things better myself. Every shift we worked together, we would grab the portable ultrasound machine and find an empty room to ultrasound each other. Oh the joy! The excitement and the newness of it all!
Then things started to sour. As the weeks passed, my coworker’s baby got bigger and so easy to find. We would check out his spine, count his ribs, look for his tiny fingers and toes. This is all long before you generally do abdominal ultrasounds because the baby is still in the pelvis. Not every baby can be viewed this way. My baby was getting harder to find (in reality, it just wasn’t getting easier with the passing time like it should). Our portable ultrasound machine (which was meant only to check baby’s position on a full term, laboring patient) was not picking up my baby. Even my uterus was hard to find. We would call in the most experienced nurses and make them come in to check things out. They would throw out all the reasons why it could be normal. I told myself that they were right. I pushed away the feelings of concern, worry, and paranoia. I had my plan, and I knew that I would have an easy path to motherhood.
Then 13 weeks hit. This is not that far along to many women, but remember that pretty much everyone I associated with had known for 2 months already that I was pregnant. I woke up at 5 am to get to work on time, and noticed some spotting.
Spotting. What a tiny thing that can mean nothing, or everything. So many women came to the hospital with spotting. Some we would send home after monitoring for a time, never to see them again until they were walking in to deliver their baby. Others would remain on the unit for months under hospital bedrest, or would walk out a couple days later, their arms empty.
I was stressed and unable to focus. I went to work, because I couldn’t do anything else with myself. It was just a bit of spotting. While at work, I started cramping. I knew exactly what this meant, but I refused to accept it. It couldn’t be really happening to me. Not the “M” word. With one gush of blood, I lost it. I started sobbing. I told the charge nurse I was miscarrying and that I needed to leave. Bless my unit that day, they called my doctor’s office (which was next to the hospital) and sent me on my way. They picked up all the slack and sent me off with hugs and tears. My husband met me at the office, where an ultrasound confirmed that there was no heartbeat, the baby was measuring way too small for my dates, and my body was miscarrying.
Miscarriage. Where every contraction, instead of bringing you closer to holding your baby in your arms, takes you farther from ever getting to hold that baby. Ever.
Then going back to work, on a hospital unit where you are surrounded by pregnant women, trying to hold it all in. While it was difficult in the beginning, I was reassured by the fact that I had quickly gotten pregnant the first time. As the months passed, and each month my period came as normal, it felt like a slap in the face or a punch to the gut. More a punch to the gut, reminding me that I was empty. Still empty. No baby.
I wrote this as I neared my original due date. “It has now been almost 5 months. It still hurts terribly, and although the initial pain is gone, the ache seems to grow by the day now. It is a hard thing to long with all of your heart to become a parent and feel like that blessing is being denied you. I thought that I understood the heartache of trying to conceive before this; now that I am actively feeling the pain, I feel as if I am just beginning to comprehend. It is a very private, lonely battle. I feel so often, especially at church, that I have to put on a brave, smiling face when inside I just want to break down and sob.”
I got past my due date and was my friend’s nurse as she delivered her healthy baby boy. The baby whose due date was a day from mine. Once this mental hurdle was crossed, though, I felt a little bit of relief. Like I had made it past some milestone, and now I could forge my own path ahead. And with that freeing of my mind and heart, I soon found myself pregnant. Sick, tired, and very pregnant.
After my 13 week loss, I had 3 normal pregnancies. No difficulties getting pregnant, no issues during pregnancy to worry about. I thought the pain and worry from the miscarriage was a thing of the distant past. Then on my 4th pregnancy, I felt exactly how I had during my miscarriage pregnancy. Not tired, not nauseous, not sensitive to smells…none of the typical pregnancy symptoms like I had experienced previously. I spent the entire first trimester steeling myself for a loss. Three months, mentally detaching myself from the pregnancy, not letting my heart get too attached. In the end, I had a beautiful baby girl after having 3 boys. But I seriously struggled with fears that something was still going to happen, all rooted in my past experience. I cheated myself of joy by allowing the past to taint my present. But can we really avoid that altogether?
Now, after spending so much time expounding on the pain, I must admit that it is only a portion of my experience. Because I was vocal during and after my miscarriage, I have always felt love and support. I have found that many women have miscarried and never really talked with others about it. I have been able to talk with other women about their fertility journeys in a way that I would never have understood if I hadn’t experienced personal loss. I am grateful for the empathy that I can now experience. The bond that I can instantly feel with another woman who has also experienced loss.
It was reaffirmed to me, through my journey, that I am known and loved by Divine Parents. I remember in particular one experience. It was a week or so after my miscarriage. A girl I didn’t know very well, but attended my church congregation, knocked on my door. I couldn’t even remember her name when I answered the door, so I felt super awkward. She told me “I heard what happened. I don’t really know what to say, but I wanted to give you a hug.” And she hugged me. I awkwardly hugged her back, thanked her for stopping by, and closed the door. And fell to my knees in tears, knowing that she was prompted to come by to give me the hug that my Heavenly Parents couldn’t give me in person just then.
Do I understand everything about my loss? No.
Do I have unanswered questions? Definitely.
Do I still feel sadness? Sometimes.
Do I feel overwhelming love from my Divine Parents? Absolutely yes.
Am I grateful for my experience? Yes, I really am. Why?? Because I believe that Jesus Christ suffered pains and afflictions for each one of us. He suffered and died for me. In my meager suffering, I come just a little bit closer to the Divine. Understand just a tiny bit more. Feel love just a little deeper. Experience joy just a little more fully.