We Had a Miscarriage – Unique, Sacred Grief: A Story of Pregnancy Loss

October 15, 2015

We Had a Miscarriage

Andrew

We never thought we would have to utter the words, “We had a miscarriage.” My tendency is to say, “this is not my story, but rather my wife’s story.” Although I believe that it is her story and that she had her own journey through grief with our miscarriage, I also need to honor my own grief. The excitement of having a second child was something that we were so ready for. We wanted our oldest daughter to have a sibling. We wanted a sweet little family of 4. What we got instead at the time was the news that our beautiful new baby that Katie was going to bring into the world, was no longer a viable pregnancy. Getting in the car to head home was beyond difficult as we had visioned our lives one way and it was quickly stripped away.

Here is the latest episode of our podcast on miscarriage.

Katie

As I approach the one-year mark of loss, of my miscarriage, I reflect. I remember the pain, the grief, and the uncertainty. I sit here with a big belly, full of life, and I am thankful, but I also am reminded of the miracle of it all, the sovereignty of God, and that life is a gift. I share this story not to highlight my story, but to shed light on the story of so many women. Miscarriages are common, but we tend to not talk about them and the reality of the scars we are left with. Since my loss, I have spoken with so many women who have been through a miscarriage or multiple miscarriages. It’s a highly emotionally impacting part of who we are. As women, it’s important to be real with each other, to carry each other, to honor each other. Writing is healing for me, but I also hope my story may also help another who may be going through a similar situation. Know you will never get over your loss, but you will learn to live with your loss. It changes you, but it does not define you.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014 was the day we had been long awaiting for weeks. We were excited and a little nervous for our first appointment. Andrew even got to come this time around because of his more flexible schedule. We were all prepped and ready. The doctor did a few seconds of looking around before turning the screen toward us and then it dropped like a huge bomb out of her mouth…”I’m not finding a heartbeat. I see a small something there, but I’m not sure this is a healthy pregnancy. It’s measuring only 6 weeks.” What in my mind had been a baby with many hopes and dreams suddenly became reduced to “it.” I didn’t cry at first, but sat numb and frozen. The doctor continued to talk and I asked a few questions, the tough ones about the high possibility that this pregnancy wouldn’t be viable. That this baby was not living. She then explained the procedure from here and that I would have the option of waiting a week and coming back for another ultrasound just to make sure vs. having my hormone levels drawn over the next 3 days to see how they were trending, which would give us a pretty strong indication if the pregnancy was progressing as it should or not.

Photos by Hailey Faria Photography

That night I cried. I cried so hard I didn’t know if I would ever stop. The grief washing over me and pouring out, washing over and pouring out. I cried with Andrew, I cried alone, I cried with Afton. She was so compassionate for a 2-year-old. She acknowledged my grief and I was immediately thankful for the blessing I did have and for her genuine spirit. I was bewildered, grateful, angry, and overall confused that I would feel such a deep pain in my soul for a being that I had never met, that I had never even really seen, or physically felt, but oh how I had already connected with that little being. I never expected to feel the grief I was feeling. I immediately begin to think about the two patients I had taken care of earlier that day who were told they both had metastatic cancer in their late 50’s with months to live, and my perspective shifted for a moment to say to myself, “this is nothing compared to that, you will survive, move on.” But I couldn’t listen to myself, the pain was too great, and it wasn’t going away anytime soon. I then was reminded by a dear friend and chaplain that we cannot compare our griefs, not with each other, and not even with ourselves from loss to loss. Each grief is unique and sacred. Grief has purpose in all of our lives. It teaches us things we never knew we had…resilience, compassion, and love. The truth is, grief brings us closer to our maker because there is no one’s heart that hurts worse than His when his dear children are suffering.

Photos by J.Brooke Photography

Thursday, October 9^th was my day of much needed rest. My coworkers sent me the most amazing flowers. We spent some time with Afton in the morning and then had an awesome plan to go up to Craggy Gardens for an evening hike, picnic, and tinker bell photo shoot. It had been beautiful all day, but as soon as we started on our adventure it became overcast and began pouring rain all the way up the mountain. We debated about not even going at all, but something inside us kept telling us to keep going, to trust, have faith, plus we decided we didn’t have anything better to do. When we got to the top it had stopped raining, but the fog was “as thick as peanut butter.” We sat in the car for a few minutes, I helped Afton to the bathroom and then on our way back to the car, the sun peeked through the clouds and a tiny sliver of blue sky appeared. Then, all of sudden, the fog started rolling out of the valley like smoke. We could slowly start to see the beauty before us. The fall colors peeking off the mountains, the promise of beauty in the mess. Within 30 minutes everything was completely clear and the sun was shining. We proceeded with our family time on the mountain and witnessed one of the most beautiful mountain sunsets I have ever seen. In the midst of all of this, I felt my heart still and a sense of peace and comfort saying “I have you and I will not let go.”

Photos by Lindsey at Salty Siren Photography

Friday, October 10^th I called the office to follow-up on my lab results. There was a little confusion at first as to my values but then I received the final confirmation that my hormone levels had not increased enough to indicate a healthy pregnancy. My heart sank and I became instantly frantic again. A feeling I don’t think I will ever forget, a feeling that hits me still like a wave. The nurse walked me through the next steps. We would go in again on Tuesday, October 14^th for one more ultrasound just to confirm.

I’ll save you my gory details, but the next week was spent confirming a final pregnancy loss by ultrasound and beginning the treatment to have the remains expelled from my body. The physical pain lasted only a short time, but the emotional pain was long lasting. Though the pain is less, I’m not over it today. I am continuing to learn to live in the hope of life; cherishing the joy that is present, but easy to overlook.

Ways to help someone through a pregnancy loss:

Don’t expect everyone to handle this type of loss the same way
Don’t compare their grief with yours or anyone else’s grief
Don’t use phrases such as “well you can try again,” “at least you weren’t far along,” “your young and healthy,” or “were you trying to get pregnant?”
Don’t assume everyone will want to try again right away. Grieving can take time and being ready to try for another baby can be a very emotional decision.
If you are expecting yourself, be sensitive. Don’t assume your friend/family member is going to react the same as she would prior to this loss regarding your pregnancy. It’s a very exciting time for you, with many hopes and dreams, but a very painful time for your friend/family member with many lost hopes and dreams.
Do acknowledge their loss and grief. Allow them to share their story and to talk about their grief.
Do offer support: a meal, to babysit if they have other children, a listening ear, send them flowers or a nice card, a care package
Do give them permission to grieve and time to heal (this could take days, weeks, months, or even years)
Do be patient with them as they work through their grief: it has many stages
Do realize that men and women both grieve the loss very differently
If you don’t know what to say, it is okay to not say anything. Hugs are good, the world needs more hugs.