“I’m pregnant and I’m bleeding,” I said as I called the doctor.
Not exactly how I was expecting to kick off the 4th of July weekend.
Hours earlier we had just submitted an application for a beautiful house that would accommodate our expanding family.
As in a number of situations, your mind goes to the worst possible outcome. At least mine does. This situation was no different.
But in my case, the worst possible outcome came to fruition.
“There’s nothing we can really do at this point. Call back Monday if you’re still bleeding.” Each person I talked to wouldn’t tell me what was happening. Between Google and family members in the medical profession, I was able to piece together what was going on.
I was having a miscarriage.
It’s a new layer of parenting when you have to hide the loss of your unborn child from your living child. I don’t like pretending things didn’t happen but it’s not for the 2 year old to know. He doesn’t understand loss. But he will comprehend if his mother is laying on the couch crying all day.
So I do my best to grieve in secret.
As a parent you’re called to take charge of the little army you’ve been entrusted. Sometimes that means carrying on, regardless of how you feel. Sometimes that means shielding them from the woes of the world.
And sometimes that means still showing up for the 4th of July party and smiling for the family photo even though with every step I took, I could feel myself actively miscarrying.
Now am I advocating for you to run yourself into the ground and risk your physical & mental health for the sake of a photo? No way.
I’m just trying to find some way to piece together shreds of normalcy.
For me personally, I needed to get out of the house. My son has been asking to see his cousins non stop. We needed to be around family.
I needed a distraction.
As I’ve been told every time I call into the doctors, there’s nothing that can be done at this point. I basically just have to wait until it’s over.*
*it’s over. That seems like such a callous way to talk about a life passing from your body.
The time needed to pass. So I could pass it slowly by sitting on the couch or quickly by getting out and talking with people.
We were glad we chose the latter. I was able to talk about what was going on and get a little more clarity about what the nurses were dancing around on the phone.
And I get why they were being elusive. Who wants to tell someone over the phone, “you’re losing your baby.”
I’m holding on to the promise that His mercies are new every morning.
Grief is a weird thing. I find myself genuinely sad and genuinely happy at the same time.
Sometimes I feel like the condolences I’m receiving are misplaced. They appear more grieved than I am. Other times I get angry at the person vacuuming the common areas in our apartment building because they keep banging on the walls to our apartment.
DON’T THE KNOW WHAT IS HAPPENING IN OUR APARTMENT?! How could they be so insensitive. How can life move on?
But life has to continue.
While there’s this overarching doom hanging over me, I find myself smiling and laughing at the silly things my 2 year old does.
Though I question how that works, I’m deciding to take it for what it is. Instead of participating in the happy moments with reservation, I’m choosing to enjoy them as the small win that they are.
When I wake up, as of late, I’m met with blissful peace. That is, until reality sets in a few seconds later. The pit in my stomach returns. The pain washes over me.
But today was different.
Not because my reality has changed, but because I’m learning how to move on through the midst of heartache.
I’m choosing to praise God
for the grace He has given me
for the ability to smile through the pain
for this little one I hold in my arms
Anxiety tells me to be wary of these glimpses of happiness. The other shoe is bound to drop and another wave of grief will hit. Almost as if the happier I am, the harder I’ll fall.
But I’m choosing to delight in these little reminders that things are going to be okay.
Right now, I’m okay.
And that’s okay.
On Monday we finally got in to see my OB.
My husband and I were a funny pair walking down the hospital halls. We got a lot of stares. Not sure if people were staring because there was a black person, because there was a police officer, or because there was a black person walking with a police officer.
One thing I do know is that people weren’t staring because of the masks we were wearing.
And that is what was going through my head as we were about to be seen by the doctor for the first time since this all happened.
The OB checked me out and said it looked like I was nearing the end of the miscarriage. She couldn’t confirm until she got the test results back. 2 blood tests to measure my HCG levels. A downward trend would confirm a miscarriage.
But this was not surprising to us. We had spent the long weekend digesting the news and processing.
On Wednesday I went in for my 2nd blood test. A few hours later we got the phone call.
“I’m calling to tell you that your HCG levels are downward trending. Unfortunately that means you have had a miscarriage.”
Closure.
The news is tough but not surprising.
Over the past few days I’ve found multiple ways to process: video journaling (speaking my mind to the best listener.. my camera.. until I’m exhausted), praying, listening to worship music, creating art to honor this pregnancy, writing, going to therapy, and talking with my support system.
My therapist has been more and less helpful. She lets me know that I’m allowed to grieve in my own way. But she also looked me in the eye and said, “that was not a baby.” She used the term ‘cluster of cells’.
Am I surprised she thinks this way? No. Sin nature dehumanizes new life in an attempt to justify ugliness.
But I know the truth.
I took this photo when I came to terms as I was miscarrying. I knew I wanted to create something to remember this baby by. I had that ‘mama’s feeling’ that this baby was a girl.
Loss is difficult and grief is real.
“I don’t know how I could ever go through a miscarriage” is a thought that has passed through my mind a time or twenty.
But this loss doesn’t break me.
Why?
Because God’s promises are true.
Because at the worst moment in my life, I was not abandoned nor forsaken, even if it may have felt like that at times.
Because I have strength that comes from a source beyond human comprehension.
“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:18
I have questions and I want answers. But I’m learning to accept that some things are not for me to know.
One thing I do know is that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead is alive in me. And that power is the reason why I’m able to hold my head up. It’s the reason why I can still find joy in the midst of the suffering.
Through God’s strength and God’s strength alone.
I share this in the hopes that if you find yourself in a similar circumstance, you can be comforted knowing you are not alone. You will get through this. There is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no way you “should” be grieving.
How you choose to work through this loss is how you choose to work through this loss.
“Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, 4 who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
My prayer is that He uses these words, this situation, and this life for His glory.
“for it is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill his good purpose.”
Philippians 2:13
Here is a video I created to remember the highs and the lows of this pregnancy. They are both part of the story. It’s raw. It’s emotional. One day I’ll be able to look back and see just how far God has brought me.
Beautiful. Thank you for your openness and honesty! Wanting to learn how to serve couples who have gone through this.
Blessings!
Thank you for listening. I think that is the best place to start – providing an avenue & listening ear for couples to share. Miscarriage feels like a taboo subject but those that I have talked to don’t want to suffer in silence. But it’s also hard thing to bring up.