A Miscarriage

January 2021

“I’m sorry again about all of this. .” The doctor said several times as I nonchalantly shook my head. “It’s okay. There is nothing you can do about it.” 

I had been sick for about 5 weeks now. I had thrown up, had extreme nausea, fatigue, and my anxiety had already caused one major panic attack. Unfortunately, that’s just what happens when I get pregnant. This was our fourth pregnancy, and we felt pretty prepared for it.  Even though I was early pregnant, I was sick enough, so I stayed on top of medications that helped with my nausea (unfortunately they also knocked me out for a good part of the day).  Life seemed a little bit rough, even without the pregnancy.  Our water heater had given out, and we only had one working shower.  Our kind neighbors let us come over each night to shower, but our lives still felt a mess. Because of my anxiety and sickness when I am pregnant, we decided to hire someone in our neighborhood who could come and help Rhett out in the evenings. I was finally ready for my first official doctor’s appointment for the pregnancy. 

I headed to the doctor.  We talked about the medications I was taking, and then it was time to take a look at the baby.  This was all so routine, as this was my fourth pregnancy.  I laid back and waited.

The doctor had a small ultrasound machine and there was the baby—the funny little squishy looking jelly bean.  The baby measured to about 9 weeks 3 days. But there was no noise. No heartbeat. Nothing. I kept waiting for the machine to work and to start hearing the loud, quick thumping noises, but it was silent. 

The doctor tried a minute more but it was no use. I know he felt bad. I had miscarried. For once, I was grateful to be wearing a mask (Thank you Covid-19.) I felt like I could hide behind it.  Hide any emotions or tears or sadness wanting to seep out. I stayed very matter-of-fact as he tried to comfort me. “It’s okay. There is nothing you can do about it.” 

We decided to do a small surgical procedure early the next morning. Everything felt so unreal. The doctor told me I could go. Even though no one was looking at me, I felt like everyone knew and that all eyes were on me. I just wanted to run out of the office and hide. I don’t remember if I cried. I just kept my wall up, trying to breathe as I drove home. 

Telling Rhett and the kids wasn’t easy, and everyone else that we had already told— I felt stupid. I felt overwhelmingly stupid. Why would you tell everyone you were pregnant with it being so early? As I look back on it, I think I felt so stupid because deep down somewhere, I was blaming myself. That was what I felt. Absolute stupidity. What will people think? Here we have been having people help us because I have been sick, and now what will they think? It’s amazing how your mind can beat you to a pulp without you even entering a boxing ring. 

I laid in bed and cried for hours, watching the sunlight slowly leave the room. All of the plans I had made, the things that would be lost, everything running through my head. My little daughter cried when we told her about the baby, and I just sat on the stairs and cried too. 

The next morning, I was given anesthesia, and had all of the “stuff” removed. I woke up from the procedure and reached down to my stomach. It was done. I no longer had a baby inside of me.  It happened all so quickly. The day before I was pregnant, and now I wasn’t. I was empty. That evening I threw up my dinner and was so angry and sad inside. I should not be puking anymore! I’m not even pregnant! My brain was yelling at me. 

That night after we got the kids to bed, Rhett held me and I just bawled.  The emotional sadness I was feeling was truly unlike anything I had experienced before.  Why did it hurt so bad? It was like an overwhelming ocean of grief hit me and I couldn’t come up for air. This is never going to get better I thought. It was the saddest night, full of tears and not understanding all of this anguish that I felt.  When I hear about Alma the younger in the Book of Mormon talking about being “wracked” with his sins, I finally felt “wracked,” not with sins, but with grief.  The emotional toll from having a miscarriage was making itself known. 

I felt very similar the next morning. Rhett took me out to breakfast, trying to distract me from the grief. I was very sad still and didn’t know how I was ever going to feel better. My parents offered to take the kids for a week while I dealt with all of these painful emotions. We dropped them off that afternoon and went to stay at a secluded place near Zion National Park. The next day, I felt like I was floating. Floating on peace. Nothing seemed to hurt. It was a miracle! It’s all gone! I thought. When we arrived back home, the sadness did come back and it hurt again, but luckily it wasn’t as overwhelming. Why did I have peace during that day and a half? I kept wondering to myself. 

Over time, I have realized that the peace I felt came from several sources. I had many people praying for me, and I honestly believe that their prayers were heard in Heaven and that they held me that day. They lifted my soul into a realm where I could be content. I felt safe and at peace and so relaxed, in comparison to the wracking painful grief I had been experiencing. Those prayers and the comfort that I felt, none of that would be possible without my Savior, Jesus Christ, and I thank Him that I could experience the peace of the Holy Ghost and the atonement working in my life. 

Having a miscarriage is hard, no doubt about it. It doesn’t matter if you were 6 weeks along, or 26 weeks, or full term—it still hurts. People can look at it all they want and say “Oh well she wasn’t very far along,” but that made no difference. It was the saddest emotional pain I have ever been in in my life, and I have had some doozies. I’m very thankful for the meals, the prayers, the flowers, the kind cards and texts that I received. They lifted my spirit and gave me hope. Hope. Hope that life does get better. Hope that the ice leaves and spring makes everything anew. I’ve been finding that peace as I have watched the flowers slowly break out of the ground, and the buds on the trees burst into blossoms. 

Life isn’t perfect. We all go through ups and downs, and we need to remember that. The wounds that we receive in our lifetime are real and painful. Right after I had the miscarriage, I saw a quote that I think sums up a lot of what happens when we experience sadness and grief. A quote by Rumi, who was a 13th Century Persian Poet and Islamic Scholar. He said “The Wound is the place where the Light Enters.”  The pain and grief that we feel doesn’t have to just be a hole inside of us.  It can be an opening for the light to come through, a hole that will eventually heal. Life’s journey is intended for growth and change, and unfortunately heartache comes with all of that. What do we choose to do with our grief? It will break us, but if we let it, it can make us. I have hope that life is good and despite the hard things that I go through, I have all of the power within myself to heal and feel God’s love. He has blessed me with a body and mind that can experience pain and growth and become stronger because of it. For now, I take deep breaths during my moments of sadness, and remember that “hope springs eternal.” Because it does.