Sarah's Story (Miscarriage-7 weeks)

My husband came home from a 15 month deployment to Iraq, shortly after I got pregnant. It wasn’t a huge surprise. We weren’t doing anything to stop it. We were so excited! We were hoping for a boy since we already had 2 girls. Since I wasn’t on any short of birth control, I was tracking everything. I knew when I would start my period and when I was ovulating. I knew when this baby was conceived and when my due date was. I knew for sure how far along I was.

I wasn’t in a hurry to get to the doctor, since I wouldn’t get an appointment for several more weeks. It is just the way it works in the military sometimes. And since I found out at 4 weeks, I was fine waiting a few more. It wasn’t my first and I had never had any problems before, so why would this be different?

I had reached 7 weeks. I had plans on calling the doctor for an appointment, but I had to first go to the clinic and take a urine test before they would let me make an appointment. I started spotting. I knew something was wrong.

Let me rewind a bit. Before I got pregnant, I had a feeling that the next baby I conceived, I would not get to hold. I knew that something would happen. I kept trying to brush it off, but I knew. Why I knew, I will never know.

When I started spotting, I told my husband that I thought I was losing the baby. He told me to stop thinking that something was wrong. It wasn’t that he was trying to be insensitive; he was just as scared as I was, and he didn’t want to go there in his mind.

We were at Fort Stewart for the day and since the spotting was increasing, we decided to just go to the ER on post. We waited around for awhile, called our parents, played games with the girls and then my husband went to get something to eat. I was told several times that many women bleed during their pregnancies and it was probably nothing. I knew all that. I finally got my ultrasound; it said I was 5 weeks and 6 days. My stomach sunk. I knew that was not right, I was 7 weeks. Why was it reading wrong?

The next day, I drove back out to Fort Stewart to meet with an OB. They did another ultrasound; it said I was 5 weeks and 2 days. The doctor then turned on the Doppler so she could hear the heart beat. It was weak, slower than mine. Babies have rapid heartbeats. I looked at her hoping for her to tell me what was going on. She just told me, “Well, there is a heartbeat and that means your miscarriage rate it only 80% at this point.” She grabbed the images and rushed out of the room. My heart sank. I am not stupid. I knew what was going on. I wished so badly that she would have just said, “Your baby has a weak heart rate and it probably will not survive.” To get my hopes up seemed so cruel. But still, I tried to remain positive.

The next day, I began gushing blood. I yelled for my husband who just happened to be home early from work. I told him I had to go to the ER. We got the girls to the neighbors, and I put in a clean pad. I could feel the blood coming out. I knew what was going on.

When we got here, I told the receptionist what was going on and they got me back to a room immediately. I told the doctor that I was losing my baby. I had gone over what had happened the last few days and he was trying to remain optimistic until he got blood test and the ultrasound back. When we went back for the ultrasound I told my husband what to look for on the screen because I knew the technician was not allowed to say anything. She was so sweet. My husband looked down at me and shook his head. I knew that meant there was no heartbeat (it has been a year and a half since this has happened and writing this is not easy). The tech listened to my heartbeat and said, “That is your heartbeat.” Then she listened to the babies and said, “That is not your heartbeat.” It was nothing, no sound. It was her way of letting me know what was going on and I am very thankful to her for that. It made the several hours of waiting afterwards not so tense. My husband has a good sense of humor and when we are in serious circumstances, he likes to crack jokes. He did during this time. Most people may have not wanted that, but I needed that. He did too. It helped us cope.

The doctor came in to tell us what we thought. He told me was to expect over the next few days. More blood and clots, I may feel intense pressure and then relief. My husband and I walked out hand in hand not saying much to each other. What do you say? There isn’t much. I felt I was ok and while I was sad, I thought I was getting through this ok. I hugged my girls tight that night with so much more appreciation for their life. I took the pain meds the doctor gave me and went to bed. I was probably the only one who got a good night sleep that night.

My bleeding had let up a good bit and I thought I had passed much of the baby. On the day I would have been 8 week, we went to the store. I began to feel a lot of pressure and told my husband we needed to get home. I thought I was going to pass most clots and I didn’t want to bleed through my pad. I ran up the stairs when we got home almost doubled over from the pressure and the contractions. Not realizing it, I was in labor. All of a sudden I heard a plop in the toilet and a huge relief from pain. I got up and saw my child in the toilet and scooped it out and placed it on my counter top. I called my husband in there to let him know what happened. That is when all the emotions came rushing to me. I was looking at my dead child. I didn’t think I would see it. I thought it would be smaller and I wouldn’t know I had passed it when I did. I didn’t know what to do with it so I placed it in a plastic bag. I couldn’t go into my bathroom. All I wanted to do was take my baby and curl up in my bed and hold it, let it know how much I loved it. I didn’t want to let go.

The next morning, I told my husband I didn’t want to be sad anymore. So, we skipped church. I found a small wooden box and placed the baby in there along with a Bible verse. We loaded up the girls and drove to the beach. I had to explain to them that the baby had died and gone to heaven to be with Jesus. My oldest, who was 4 at the time, asked a lot of questions and cried. Once we got the beach, we walked into the sand dunes (which you are not supposed to do) and had a small burial for our baby. We said a little prayer and laid our baby’s body to rest.

I wasn’t prepared for all the emotions I would have with losing a baby. It hurt and I didn’t understand why God had done this to me. Why did he take my baby from me? Did he not think I could handle another one? Was I not a good mother? I just didn’t understand. Many people tried to offer words of encouragement, but it didn’t help. I knew they were trying to be supportive, but it didn’t feel that way to me. “50 % of all pregnancies end in miscarriage.”, “At least, you weren’t further along.” “A friend of my sister’s cousin had a miscarriage.” “Maybe God took the baby because something was wrong with it.” Nothing helped. Unless you have been there, you just don’t understand. You can try to imagine, but you just can’t…I couldn’t have before this happened.

I quickly tried to “get over it”. Thanksgiving was around the corner and I had dinner to plan. My family was coming into town. They had asked if I was up to it and I insisted they still come. I needed them to be around. It made that time easier. My husband and I had made the decision not to have any more kids, we didn’t want to take the chance of having that happen to us again. I didn’t think I could handle the emotions. But God had other plans. Little did I know that dealing with my miscarriage would be harder once I was pregnant again.

I tried to keep myself very distant from my child. I didn’t want to fall in love with my child just to have it ripped from my hands again. I braced myself before every appointment, because I knew something would be wrong. I hated the question, “What number pregnancy is this and how many live births?” I had to relive the loss all over again.

I wish I had drawn close to God during that time in my life, but I didn’t. But that didn’t keep Him from holding me. I always thought that something tragic would draw me even closer to God, because I knew he had a plan. I didn’t push Him away, I just didn’t rely on Him to get me through it all.

September 25, 2009, I gave birth to a very healthy baby girl. As much as I tried to stay detached from her the whole time, the moment I saw her, I loved her. She taught me how precious life really is. What a wonder! I still look at her and tell her I am sorry. It wasn’t that I didn’t want her, I was just still hurting. I wanted her very much, but I was trying to protect myself.

It has been a year and a half since I lost my baby. It is still hard and I still think of my child in heaven, especially when I see children that are about the same age as my child would be. Then I look at my youngest and it is bitter sweet. When people ask me how many children I have, I want so bad to say that I have 4, but I don’t. Most people don’t want to hear my story. But these stories are important to tell. Women need to know they are not alone in their feelings. I heard a Hallmark commercial writer say that she was writing a card for someone who had lost a baby. This is what it said…Miscarriages are hard, because you have already fallen in love.