Our miscarriage story
I was 7 weeks pregnant with our first baby.
I was getting dressed to gather with our church family, when Charles came into the room. He smiled, knelt down, kissed my bare belly and whispered “I love you.” It was one of my favorite memories during this short season of pregnancy. My heart filled with so much love as I imagined him as a father. I loved seeing his love for our babe grow in his heart with each day that passed. We were so excited, and I was filled with so much love for my man and for our baby.
Three hours later, we’re rushing to the emergency room. In all honesty, it felt like a sick joke. I was frantic and crying, but we sat and tried our best to not assume the worst. When they finally called me in, Charles had to stay behind as they performed an ultrasound. I stared at the ceiling, afraid and quiet. Our first ultrasound was scheduled later that week. This was not how I pictured our first one to go.
“You’re only 4 weeks along. The bleeding could be normal. If it gets heavier, come back.”
I stared at disbelief at the nurse. I know that can’t be right, but words escaped me. After they discharged me, we immediately called my OBGYN and explained to her everything.
At first there’s silence. Then she asked if I’m positive that I’m reading the test results correctly (I was). She wants to see me sooner than originally scheduled. I hear her struggling to offer some type of explanation, comfort and hope. While we tried our hardest to not assume the worst, we knew ultimately, we were not in control. We went home tired, worried and defeated.
Over the course of the next day, I began dispelling clots. I dreaded every single trip to the bathroom, which always ended with us hovering over the toilet bowl and crying over what we’d see. The day after, we visit the doctor and she confirms it. I passed our baby, and s/he already left my body.
We know that one day we will meet our baby, face to face. We’ve got so many questions that we won’t have answers to on this side of earth, but we have a solid hope that one joy-filled day, we will meet.
He chose me to be my child’s mother for seven weeks. He allowed my husband and I to learn to navigate the waves of grief together.