The M Word

Miscarriage. Approximately 10-20% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage. I am one of those 10-20%. Here is my story.

Thursday, December 5th, 2013, I found out I was pregnant. I woke up that morning around 5:30am and took a pregnancy test; it came back positive very quickly. When I woke Kevin (my husband) up to give him our news, he gave me a huge hug, and we both grinned with excitement. (This is a little different from his reaction when I was pregnant with Gideon. His response then was, "Great timing babe!" As if I did this all on my own...) We chuckled about his previous reaction and were thrilled that this time around, everything was starting on a positive note. (Side note: that first time, he quickly came around and was super excited -- quickly, as in later that morning.)

We were visiting family over the holidays, so even though it was still pretty early in the pregnancy (I was seven weeks on Christmas Day), we decided we would go ahead and spread the news to them and a few close friends. (It's way more fun to share exciting news in person, right?) Everyone was super pumped. There were a lot of surprised faces, hugs, and even tears. (There was also Kevin's Aunt Pam who was spreading that we were expecting before we announced it, and I am a terrible liar -- unless we're playing Mafia -- so that kept things interesting.)

Our first appointment at the OBGYN was on January 6th. My doctor's office calls this a "history appointment," which really just means a boring question and answer session about your health. The next appointment was scheduled for early February, and it was then we would get to hear our baby's heartbeat for the first time.

That Friday, January 10th, I started having some uncomfortable pain on my right side. I did some "research" (meaning I went to the internet and looked up every potential problem) and was surprisingly unconcerned because I found that typically one-sided pain isn't super concerning during pregnancy. The pain continued on pretty consistently throughout the weekend and into Monday. Finally on Tuesday, I decided to call my OBGYN. She suspected it was a muscle strain, and it would resolve in a couple more days. If it was still present on Thursday, I was to call back. The next day (Wednesday), I was convinced it was an ovarian cyst. (I had one in high school that ruptured, and the pain felt very similar to what I experienced then.) So I decided to call early, and they scheduled me for an ultrasound the next morning.

I went in for my ultrasound, and the kind done on my stomach wasn't showing up clearly, so I had to do "the other kind." Very quickly, the ultrasound lady (technical term) found a cyst on my right ovary. She explained this was likely why I was experiencing pain, but that they are normal during pregnancy, and it wasn't an issue. I could see relief on Kevin's face. Then about 30 seconds later, she explained our baby had stopped growing a couple weeks before and was no longer alive. I then needed to go meet with my doctor who would explain what was to happen next.

The minute she left the room, I fell apart. My baby was dead.

I attempted to pull myself together (keyword: attempted), and we went into an exam room to meet with my doctor. She came in and expressed how sorry she was and then proceeded to explain the medication I would be taking. Basically, my body was still holding on to the baby and would likely continue to do so for quite some time without help from medicine or surgery. (Proof of this was the only time I threw up from morning sickness was that morning. My body was still pumping the hormones attempting to keep everything in order.) To avoid surgery, the medicine would essentially cause my body to go into labor to then pass the baby. Talk about a big pill to swallow (pun intended).

Kevin picked up my four bottles of meds that afternoon, and I began the process that evening. I am choosing not to go into further details of what that whole process was like because, well, it's not pretty, and I'd prefer not to gross anyone out. Let's just say, it wasn't pleasant. (If you want to know the details, just ask. I am willing to share them, just not via the blog-o-sphere.) It took my body a good two weeks to recover. Emotionally, recovery has been a bit more up and down, but I think I'll save that for a different post.

So why do I share this? To scare you from having a baby? I hope not. To gain sympathy from you? Nope. To make you feel badly if you are pregnant with a healthy baby? No way!

Two main reasons I decided to share my story: One, I process through writing. In middle school, I wrote poems. In high school and college, I wrote songs. And now, well, I guess I'm turning to this, a blog. The second is because people don't talk about miscarriage as frequently as it happens. It is becoming more and more discussed, but if God-forbid it happens to you (or someone you know), I want to make sure you know you're not the only one.

The last thing I want to leave you with (if anyone is still reading) is that even in the midst of heartbreak and messy times, God is still good. The bridge of "Desert Song" by Hillsong United (see video at the end to listen) says it perfectly:

I do have reason to sing and worship. Despite losing the child I carried for ten weeks, the God of the Universe is still worthy of praise. He sent His Son, Jesus, to live a perfect life, a life I could never live, and died the death I deserve, for the purpose of giving me (and you) life. And for that, I will always have reason to sing.