Trigger Warning: this is an account of my personal experience dealing with loss and grief due to the miscarriage of my second child.
Recently, a close friend/relative lost her child to miscarriage and as I prayed for her, I began to reflect on my own experience and what transpired with me. So I looked back in the archives and realized I'd never written any post about my own experience on my blog so I decided it might be worth jotting down a few memories to share with you guys while I was reflecting on it.
I know I am not alone in having to deal with such loss. Miscarriage is far more common that we sometimes realize. My doctor told me that 1 in 5 natural pregnancies end in spontaneous miscarriage (especially in the early weeks of a pregnancy) yet, despite understanding the biology and the medical side of things, nothing can prepare you for the overwhelming emotions and pain that comes with dealing with such loss….
Each story is different in that it is uniquely yours… No two stories are exactly the same. No two women handle the loss/grief the same. And that’s okay …. There is no predetermined way you must feel or act when it comes to dealing with such a tragedy. We all have different ways of handling such devastation and brokenness.
It is my prayer that by sharing my personal testimony, it will, perhaps, be an encouragement to someone else who may be dealing with similar circumstances. Ultimately, I pray that my testimony will bring glory to God— as a testament that He can still be trusted in the midst of trying times. Clinging to Him is the only sure way I know that will help you navigate through such a difficult time.
So without further ado, here is my personal story.
In January of 2012, we were overjoyed to find out
that we were expecting a second child. My daughter was 19 months old at this point (and she had been the ideal baby) so we were delighted to be adding yet another blessing to our family.
We immediately shared the joyous news with family and friends with no reservation. I was 5 and half weeks along at this point, blissfully unaware of what the future held in store for me in just a few short weeks.
Two weeks passed quickly. I kept busy by making list of possible baby names, perusing nursery ideas, just dreaming about this new addition to our family.
I made my first appointment with my OB/GYN and it was set for 10 weeks to do an ultrasound. We couldn’t wait to hear the tiny heartbeat and see the “little bean” size baby on the screen. Neither my husband or I had no real anxiety or premonition that something was wrong or that this pregnancy would be any different that my last pregnancy which was picture perfect.
But then….tragedy struck…
Fast forward until around midnight on February 9, 2012. I got out of bed and went to the bathroom. I relieved myself and when I went to wipe, I was shocked to discover there was a small amount of blood on the toilet paper.
I immediately began to worry and fret. Was everything okay? Was this normal? I told my husband and we prayed that everything was okay. I laid back down to sleep. I slept fitfully…without really resting…my mind was filled with worry and fear.
Very, very early that next morning, I awoke and return to the bathroom to check. Again, there was a small amount of blood present. I called my mom. She tried to comfort me and say that sometimes in the beginning, it can be normal but we could call my doctor to see what they said.
I called my OB/GYN and spoke with the nurse. She assured me that as many long as it was just a small amount and wasn’t excessive, I was probably just fine. I tried to hold on to this hope, yet, in my spirit, I just knew. Something was bad wrong.
As the day progressed, I dreaded going to the bathroom… it seemed like a death walk. Each time I went, more and more blood began to manifest on the toilet paper. At this point, it wasn’t like a full on period but it was enough that I was scared plumb to death.
By the time my husband got off work, it had worsened. My mom came back and agreed that she didn’t think this quantity was “a little spotting” —the term the nurse had used.
She called in my OB/GYN office for me (my doctor, at that time, was practically a family friend. He knew my mom well). The doctor’s office recommended I go into the Emergency Department at the hospital and let them do some bloodwork and maybe even an ultrasound to determine what was going on.
So we headed to the ER. The bloodwork showed that I was indeed pregnant. My HCG (pregnancy hormone) levels were perfectly within range for 7-8 weeks gestation. So that was hopeful news.
They put in an IV and gave me two bags of fluid. I was inquisitive as to why they were doing that. They assured me that it was perfectly normal. They explained that with such an early pregnancy, it is difficult for them to see the baby on an ultrasound because the bladder is usually covering part of the uterus (the uterus is still pretty small at this stage and hasn’t “inflated” to its full baby bearing size yet. So their solution is to give you fluids to fill the bladder up which causes the bladder to shift positions due to being full, thus allowing them to see the uterus more clearly.
As soon as the IV fluids were in, I was whisked off to the ultrasound. Thankfully, they allowed my husband to accompany me and hold my hand during the procedure. (I truly don’t know if I would have been able to finish the ultrasound without his support! He was my rock!)
I honestly had no idea that a simple ultrasound could be so painful! I’m assuming the pain was normal due to the fullness of my bladder and the technician cramming that ultrasound wand way up inside and looking around my ovaries/uterus but it felt as if I was being gutted from the inside out with a very dull butter knife.
The pain was excruciating. It literally made me come off the table, screaming in tears. It was the worst pain I had ever experienced, at that point. (My daughter’s delivery had went very smoothly—and yes! I had an epidural! Lol 😂)
My husband, a quiet man who didn’t speak much in public back then, spoke up with an elevated voice— You are hurting her! The technican apologized but explained that this was the only way to get a full understanding of what was happening up there. I grimaced through the tears and pain and agreed to proceed, ignorantly thinking that if they could find out what the problem was, that they could fix me.
The technician took lots of pictures and measurements but wouldn’t answer any of my questions, referring me back to my doctor. I did overhear the tech say (and I also saw it on the screen) that there was a sac present in my uterus. That ruled out ectopic pregnancy, which was a good thing.
I was returned to my ER holding room, following the ultrasound. My mom and dad were waiting there in the room. Mom was shocked to see how upset I was. What happened?! She exclaimed.
Bill and I explained the horrible procedure and how painful it had been. I needed to use the restroom at this point and I wobbled over to the restroom and was dismayed to discover even more blood. It was starting to discolor the water in the toilet (TMI, I know… sorry) I screamed for my mom. She appeared and after a quick glance, promptly flushed the commode to make it disappear. She helped me back into my bed and we waited for the doctor to return.
Meanwhile, our pastor showed up and prayed with us and spoke words of comfort but deep inside, I just knew—this wasn’t going to turn out well. Sure, I was praying and hoping for the best, but sometimes, you just know.
Some random guy (who was a relative to some people my parents used to go to church with) walked into my room…he talked with my family and asked why we were in there. They explained the situation and then suddenly, the guy started acting spiritual, praying over me, and waving his hands around. He proceeded to “prophesy” over me and said the baby was gonna be okay and it was gonna be a man-child. But I sure didn’t feel anything special while he was “performing”.
After he left, my parents and pastor assured us that he had a few marbles missing… lol 😂 and not to take it personal. (On a side note, please, please don’t ever say such things unless God himself speaks it to you and you are 1000% sure it’s Him speaking. I know people mean well, but when you are going through things, such false promises and hope is more hurtful than helpful!)
The doctor returned and said everything looked still intact and the pregnancy could possibly still be viable. He wanted me to return the next day for lab work to ensure my HCG levels were increasing. The doctor said in a typical pregnancy, the HCG levels double every 24 hours. So if my levels were still doing that, then this baby might have a chance. He recommended I take it easy for a few days and give my body time to do whatever it was it needed to do.
So that was good news. We went home, cautiously hopeful. Bill pretty much put me in bedrest. I laid on the couch or in the recliner for the next day or so.
Later that next day, we did return to the hospital for more bloodwork. My levels had, indeed, increased, although not quite double but still well within range.
We went back to my Mom’s. I resumed my position on the couch, but we had to walk a good distance in the hospital to get to the lab, and I had begun to cramp really bad. I was still bleeding and it was more and more in amount each time I checked.
At this point, I was an emotional wreck. I was so believing for a miracle but each trip to the bathroom, my faith was dashed upon the rocks of doubt. There is nothing- NOTHING that can prepare you or compares to the feeling of helplessness and horror as your body betrays you and you bleed out the precious life that you so desperately wanted!
Later that evening, I got up to go to the restroom and when I stood up, I felt something weird. I hobbled to bathroom and when I sat on the toilet, I felt something slide out of me. I looked down and literally screamed and burst into tears. In the commode was this large bloodclot with what appeared to be tissue, little strings and other matter attached. (TMI... sorry)
That’s when I instantly knew! My baby was gone. I was not longer pregnant … I had lost my child.
My mom and husband rushed into the bathroom to see what I was screaming about. One glance into the commode and my mom knew as well. My baby was gone. Just like that… all my hopes and dreams went up in smoke.
I’d like to say I came out of that bathroom, shouting and singing and worshipping the God "who gives and takes away." But that wouldn’t be the truth…
I came out of that bathroom, devastated, distraught, emotional, and broken— more utterly broken than I had ever been in my life.
My mom called my doctor and he agreed that my body probably had expelled the pregnancy at that point and that had been what we had saw. He arranged for us to return for more bloodwork to verify that my HCG levels were depleting now (if not, they would have to do a procedure to remove any leftovers of pregnancy in my uterus to ensure I could have a healthy pregnancy in the future)
As time progressed, I began to bleed heavily and began to pass clot after clot. I was confident that my baby was now in the arms of Jesus.
My mom kept my daughter for my husband and I as we tried to process this unexpected result. I remember laying in the arms of my husband that night and both of us weeping.
This baby was wanted. It was loved. Why? Why? Did it have to die?
My husband's strong arms of comfort were my rock when I was completely and utterly destroyed. His gentle and quiet strength enabled me to let it all out. I cried until I could cry no more.
Most of the time, he didn’t say anything. He just held me. That was exactly what I needed. I didn’t need words of platitude, or assurances that God knew what He was doing, or even promises of another baby in the future. ( there would be time for that later). Right then, I need to grieve! I needed to mourn for the life that was never to be (at least on this side of eternity)
At that moment, I need my husband like I had never needed him before — I needed him to be strong, yet vulnerable enough to weep with me. I knew he was hurting too. It was his baby as well.
As we lay there entwined together, holding each other, weeping, our hearts hurting and our spirits broken, God did exactly what He promised He would in His Word.
“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28
What we were going through sure wasn’t good but yet, looking back on it now, I can see good that came out of a terrible situation….
God used our brokenness to forge a stronger bond of love, trust, and dependency between the two of us. In that moment, my spirit truly became one with my husband. Our marriage relationship hit a pivotal milestone that night. We discovered a special "unity in spirit" that we had never yet experienced before that time.
When two become one…. It’s more than just a phrase said at weddings or a general idea in a marriage such as combining finances and goals, it’s when God puts two people together— for better, or for worse… when things go good and when life leaves you destroyed…. Its sometimes during the most difficult storm of your life that you grow the most! Both in your spiritual life and also in your marriage.
My husband recognized that I needed him— he knew that I needed to lean on him, both physically, spiritually, and emotionally. I needed him to be strong for us both for a time— I need a safe space to recover from this devastating blow….
Men are created to be the rock and the strength of the home. God creates men with the instinct to step up to the challenge when they are given the opportunity....When tragedy strikes, run to your husband. Lean on him. It may surprise you. He may just be a lot stronger than you ever realized he was. He was just waiting an opportunity to step up.
I went for more blood work and my levels had declined significantly but HCG was still present…the doctor assured me that this was normal and could take up to 2 weeks to fully leave my body. He arranged for me to return in 2 weeks to make certain all had been cleared.
I knew everything was over and I was not longer pregnant for sure. But the next 9 days were the worst! The constant bleeding and waiting for everything to go back to normal in my body was mentally, emotionally, and physically draining.
The next church service after losing our baby, we had a visiting preacher ministering at the church.
Per the pastor's recommendation, we arrived to church right at starting time to avoid a lot of small talk. I didn’t care for anyone knowing about our loss but I didn’t feel up to a lot of questions and talking about it. I was still an emotional wreck —prone to burst into tears at the slightest thing. But we wanted to come to church anyway— we definitely needed strength and help from God. I simply wanted to be left alone in the meantime.... I needed time to heal emotionally. I was fine as long as you didn’t mention “it”. I just wanted everyone to act normal, to treat me normal. I didn’t want everyone to pity me or cry over me or hug me. I didn’t want to be the center of attention at all.
That poor preacher that night… bless his heart. He found out about our situation during the service. I think the pastor may have requested continued prayer for us or something like that.
So when the preacher got up, he must have felt like we were his intended targets that night. He preached pretty much right to us (which isn’t bad, per say, but preaching directly in front of us and constantly referring to our tragedy left no doubt to whom he was referring to lol 😂)
He and his wife went through a miscarriage and he was telling us his story (again, not a bad thing but wait, it gets worse… lol 😂) he was talking about how God moved on them and they came out shouting. (Again, that’s great for them - happy for them — but everyone handles things differently and that’s okay! )
He proceed to lay hands on us and have the entire church pray for us. He laid hands on my husband’s head and tried his best to “lay him out in the spirit” or something. He shoved and pushed my husband’s head until I was a little worried about his neck. Lol 😂
My husband is not one to be pushed around and isn’t easily swayed, pressured, or influenced. He didn’t feel anything and he wasn’t gonna act like he did.
My husband locked his stance and refused to “lay out” or shout or whatever it was that the guy was attempting to get him to do— whatever it was, my husband wasn’t having it… (if you know my husband personally, I’m sure you can envision that!)
That poor preacher didn’t know what to do then. He thought we’d come out shouting and whooping and hollering I guess…. But we were still deep in our time of mourning….
“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; Ecclesiastes 3:1-4
I know the man meant well. But his “helpfulness” actually caused us more hurt than help in that moment. I specifically told the pastor and my family I did not want to be singled out nor have attention to us. They agreed. Yet, this poor guy’s actions caused exactly what I feared to happen.
Thankfully, enough time has passed and we are able to reflect back on it and laugh now, but back then, it was definitely a lack of wisdom. All of his efforts were in vain. He didn’t minister to our crushed spirits… he poured salt in the wound. He caused us to experience more pain when we really needed that "healing balm of Gilead."
Our poor pastor apologized profusely to us but it wasn't his fault. That poor visiting preacher needed to pray that the Lord would give him greater wisdom and discernment.....
Although looking back on it all now, I learned a very valuable lesson that night, even in spite of the preacher's misguided efforts.
What was that lesson?
That everyone handles miscarriage differently. What may help or encourage one couple may not work for the next. Everyone is unique. Every story is different. People handle things differently. Emotions may even be different. You may be a bluttering mess for a while and feel like all you do is cry. Or you may seem okay on the surface but feel completely empty inside. Or you may be able to look at it more biologically instead of emotionally and that may help you cope with your loss.
Whatever works for you is 100% okay and perfectly normal. We all have different coping mechanisms and ways we deal with grief and tragedy. It doesn’t make one couple lesser than the next (or less spiritual) because they handle it differently.
Some people are more open and are helped by an outpouring of support and encouragement. They are soothed by hugs and tears of those who love them. They are helped by being singled out and ministered to. That is what they need.
While some are like I was and don’t want to be made a spectacle or singled out. They want to do their grieving privately. They don’t want everyone crying and hugging on them. They just want be treated normally. They do appreciate prayers, a card, or text saying they are being thought of and prayed for, but don’t want to be the center of attention in public.
So here's a important Public Service Announcement:
Please, please if you ever find yourself in the situation where you are wanting to comfort someone dealing with miscarriage, please be careful and be mindful of what you say and do. In fact, less is probably more unless you are super close to that person and you know exactly what kind of comfort that person prefers. (A simple “I’m praying for you” works in most instances and is safe no matter what that person’s preferences are)
Your “helpfulness” can actually do alot of damage to a grieving mama's heart if you are not led of the Spirit.
Please use common sense and wisdom if you address a hurting mama.
I literally had one well-meaning person come up to me that night and say, “well… maybe God saw that that baby was not going to live for Him so He just went ahead & took it now.” Nope! I’m sorry that was NOT helpful. Am I supposed to be thankful for that? How do you know? Are you God?
Another well meaning person said… “maybe God saw that something was gonna be wrong with your baby so He took it home earlier”.
Again, not helpful! What about all the other kids with disabilities? Did God NOT see them? Or did He not love those babies enough to “take them home early”? I think not.
See what I mean? It sounds silly when you put it like that!
Or this one is super common --- "I had a miscarriage too. I know how you feel."
Even those of us, who have experienced a miscarriage in the past, can't not know exactly what that other person is going through precisely due to the fact that each of us handles things differently.
We react differently. Yes, we can absolutely empathize with the pain that person is going through. Yes, we can lift them up in prayer with a burden because of having experienced the same type of loss but we can't truly know exactly how that person is feeling because, in essence, we are NOT that person. We must be super cautious to remind ourselves of that fact. We can relate how we felt when we encountered it, but never, ever, say "I know how you feel"... while it is true, we know how we felt... but we don't know how THEY feel!
The truth of the matter is this… it rains on the just and the unjust. We can’t comprehend the reasons behind why some pregnancies go smoothly and others end in miscarriage. And we can not speak for God..... Ultimately, we know miscarriage is a result of man's sin at the Garden. When sin came into the world, so came death.
As my doctor mentioned, 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage in the first 5-8 weeks. It’s just part of life. It doesn’t make it any easier but the one hope we do have as believers is that our babies aren’t “lost” forever… we WILL see them again one day! We are promised that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord. When our babies’ lives are cut short of this side, they immediately begin their lives in eternity (of which there will be no end! ) They are waiting on the other side to welcome us home.
Oh what a day that will be!
Sharing my story and my heart....
Tiphanie 💕
Stay tuned for next week's post-- "What happens now? Life after miscarriage- my story part 2"