This morning I woke up and felt very pregnant.
Nausea, exhaustion, breast tenderness.
As I have for weeks now.
Made my way downstairs and grabbed a cup of coffee.
Painstakingly ate my doughnut flavored protein bar little by little as I read Laura Ingalls to the kids out loud.
I ran to the bathroom and vomited up the protein bar. I vomited violently 4-5 times until my stomach was void of all liquid. Never again will that protein bar ever taste well on my palate. Pregnancy does that to food.
This was my life since five days after conception. I was sick from the get-go. My gut told me this was a boy, possibly twins.
The morning went on, my breasts were especially sensitive that day, and my nausea felt like I was in my 6th week already.
Then I went to the bathroom and wiped…. PINK!
My stomach twisted.
I wiped again, pink.
My mind started racing. I relived my last two miscarriages over and over in my head.
Was this how they started??
Was this how I felt?
I recalled spotting when I was pregnant with my twin pregnancy.
This must be implantation bleeding!
Something inside me knew it wasn’t.
But I feel SO pregnant!
Obsessively I kept using the bathroom wiping over and over. Then bright red blood appeared. That’s still okay right?!?
My lower back started to ache.
I called my midwife.
I probably took 15 trips to the bathroom before my sister came to sit with my kids.
That final wipe before she walked through the door revealed a very small clot… that’s when I knew. Clots only happen in a miscarriage.
I braved myself. I told my sister. I had a momentary break down in her arms as I told her “I don’t want to do this…” I knew this would be painful: physically and emotionally. But I knew there was nothing I could do so I dried it up and headed to the birth center.
As I drove to the center I felt the cramps become more rhythmic and more intense. I began to grow increasingly dizzy. This was sadly familiar.
I explained to the nurse I was certain it was a miscarriage and as I described my symptoms, she was thankfully very blunt with me. She was gentle, but truthful. She was willing to coddle me but saw that I needed blunt truth, facts and a plan for how the next few weeks were gonna go. I was very grateful it was her to have her to talk to because she assisted in the delivery of my last baby.
I called my husband on the drive home and briefly cried again telling him we were losing the baby. I apologized since I thought this was his boy he wanted so badly. Then I got home and sat on the front step with my sister as she smoked a cigarette. We joked back and forth grasping the air for all the positive things to fix our minds on as is our Connors-way of coping with trials. This helped me so much.
My other sister drove up and we went into the kitchen to get coffee. “Well should we pray?” She asked.
“Only if you want to see me cry.” I replied gratefully.
WE stood in the kitchen near the coffee pot, three sisters, arms around each other, heads resting on each other’s shoulders and with one heart we thanked the Lord for His will as tears streamed down our faces. We thanked Him that He takes my three little babies that have lived a very short life in His loving arms and I will meet them one day. We praised Him that I wasn’t further along having announced this pregnancy and having a larger baby or more painful experience ahead of me. And we expressed gratitude that God would use this baby’s life, as short as it was, to bring Him glory as He is always so faithful to take our trials and turn them into hope and praise for His name.
We sat on the couch to talk, but my cramps became increasingly severe so I asked them to leave and retreated to my room until my husband came home.
We talked a little and he held me. I cried again. We reminisced about the plans we had made around this little ones life including the announcement we were anticipating, the vacation we were saving so he could be home after the birth, the creative ideas we had as to where this baby would sleep and what we would name him.
I felt ready to tell the kids as I knew the pain was soon becoming more then I would be able to handle. We told them and they saw how much it hurt me when their dad explained we were no longer going to be welcoming their little sibling into the family. The little ones were shocked that the baby died already. The older ones teared up and hugged me, but they seemed to understand.
I was familiar with how this process would go and I sensed it was going to pick up in intensity so I asked everyone to leave and lock the door. The next several hours would be brutal and my maternal instinct wanted to face it head on in solitude.
This miscarriage was by far the most painful of the three physically.
It was quick, unannounced, violent and extremely painful. I was pale and shaking in pain. I was tempted to call the ambulance and ask for a shot of Morphine toward the end of it. I drank a lot of water, took Tylenol and breathed through the constant yet wave like pain for hours. I was flipping around moaning on my bed begging the Lord for it to be done quickly. The heat pad would help but I couldn’t stay still enough to rest on it.
Finally the cramping ceased almost instantaneously. I got up to use the bathroom and PLOP the baby came out.
I reached into the cold bloody water and held him in the palm of my hand as I do after every miscarriage. The baby came out with umbilical cord and placenta all intact looking much bigger then only 6 weeks. His little heart probably beating just hours before I held him far too early in the palm of my hand.
In that moment, looking at his form, a mother can’t help but feel guilt.
Guilt for something she could In no way control.
But the last month or so races through your head regardless and you question every choice you made, every herb you drank, every medicine you took, every strenuous activity you partook in.
What could have caused this?
Why does this happen?
Could I have changed the outcome?
I asked my husband if he wanted to see the baby. He said no, but hesitated at the door. “It’s okay” I said. Reassured, he came in.
When he laid eyes on the little mass in my palm he was shocked. I think that was the first time he felt it. He never felt the other miscarriages. How could he? He didn’t form life within himself and then have his body reject it. He didn’t feel the nausea, the sleeplessness, the cravings, the aversions, the changes. All he had was a faint pink line on a piece of cardboard. Now he had a visual.
I thanked the lord for my baby’s life and flushed the toilet.
Emotionally I am doing alright. Peace has overwhelmed me. I am sad and feel like I am missing somebody, but I know where he is. He is in the arms of my loving and gracious Father.
I pray that others never have to experience a miscarriage. I know there are others in my life who have had much more traumatic and gruesome events, including my own mother who had a miscarriage as late as 12 weeks, and others who have very real struggles when it comes to miscarriages and having children.
We all cope differently. We all struggle differently. But God is good to everybody. God is faithful to everybody.
I recount these events as they happened at the close of an already difficult week for my family. We seemed to have gotten hit on every front, But we still stand strong. We are founded on the Word of God and rest confidently and securely in Him.
And my baby now rests in peace.
Read my other miscarriage story: