Where to begin...? Miscarriage is one of those things that you just don't know what to say, and that's ok. Even now, a few days beyond my very own, I still struggle to find words. It is something that is so very intimate, completely heart breaking and physically, emotionally and mentally taxing that... what do you say? Where do you begin? At this point, I don't know, so I'll start here:
Hi, my name is Nikki and I had a miscarriage. My baby should be entering its last week of the first trimester tomorrow, and instead it has been washed down the toilet... Literally. There was no going in after it, even though I did consider shoving my hand in for a moment. That was the most difficult flush of my life. I just kept saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over again as I forced myself to push that stupid little button. That was the last time I would have any physical, tangible connection to this being that never was.
You see, this baby never really "took off," if you will. While the scan (ultrasound) was unclear, the fetus most likely did not progress beyond just a few weeks gestation. Either that or something was so terribly malformed that it was incompatible with life. Whatever the cause, I knew in my soul from conception that the pregnancy just didn't feel right. Hearing doctors and midwives tell us something truly was wrong made it so much more real, though. Up until that point, I think hubby and I had held onto some little glimmer of hope that our instincts were wrong - and, the pure fact that we had made it to 10 weeks gave us more hope each day.
Week 10 began with absolutely no symptoms whatsoever. Pregnancy seemed a feeling of the past. No more morning sickness, sore boobs; I had energy again and wasn't my grumpy self like before. It was refreshing, although slightly concerning. But, I figured I would just appreciate the reprieve. 4 days later, I started spotting. Apprehension began to set in, as my body never ever spots... I told myself that plenty of women have spotting during pregnancy. It's probably nothing to worry about. But 36 hours later, when it wasn't getting any lighter, we booked a scan (ultrasound) to take a peak and make sure everything was alright. It wasn't. The picture was difficult to discern what was what, but one thing was for sure - things didn't look right. And, there was no heartbeat.
"Well, here we go," was what I thought to myself. "The day I have always dreaded is here." I've always felt/ feared that I would endure a miscarriage for some reason. So, there I was, living my nightmare.
Even though the news wasn't all that shocking, it still hurt. We couldn't handle our overwhelming emotions in the place where all of our responsibilities live, so we fled 2.5 hours north for the afternoon. Sometime during that drive, numbness set in. We were laughing, joking, not talking or thinking at all about the baby we were losing. It was weird. But good. I think that short escape helped prepare us for the mental, emotional and physical marathon we were about to embark upon. It took another 4.5 days of worrying, wondering, waiting for our babe to pass. We didn't know how to act, what to say, what to do... It was agonizing.
In a strange way, I felt relieved once the babe passed. There was no more worrying, wondering or waiting. It was done. I was free to grieve and accept that we would never hold this baby. One day we will meet in Heaven, but until that day, all I have to hold is a small, hand-carved lamb that called out to us in our favorite café the day we learned what was happening. For now, it will do, but I feel so empty. My body is returning rapidly to its pre-pregnant state and I can't stop it. Part of me wants to hold onto any remnant of this baby that I can, even if it's a couple extra pounds; but I know we need to move on in order to heal.
Right now, we own the grief when it comes, but we have this peace that I believe can only come from a higher being. It makes no sense for us to feel calm and peace just a few days after we lost a baby, unless you believe that there is a God. And, we do. We have seen His hand in every step of this heart breaking process. For example, Layna was quite sick last week, which meant that she just wanted to sleep and couldn't have cared less that we were in the car for over 5 hours the day we got the news. And, while her illness did add stress to our week, it gave us an "out" of things that we just weren't up for tackling, but also weren't ready to divulge the real reason. Her ever-evolving virus also brought up very necessary conversations at my work that may not have happened otherwise. The day of the scan, we heard that the owner of the house we rent had decided to reduce our rent by a significant amount, out of the goodness of her heart (she had no idea what we were going through). Just a few hours after our babe passed, hubby received his new work visa, meaning that he can now stay in NZ for the next year. And, most notably, the worst part of the miscarriage happened on a Sunday night, after Layna had gone to bed. Hubby was home and it was a night of the week when we had no obligations, so no one was asking why we weren't at this or that. We could just lay on the sofa together and let it happen.
The pain was so intense. There was so much blood. When babe passed, it was a bit traumatic the way it happened, as everything came at once. And, yet, I have smiled today. Not all day long, but I have smiled. Because my God is good and He works for the good of those who love him. He has provided me with invaluable friendships and family that carried me through this dark, confusing time. They picked me up when I could go no more on my own, gave me advice, treats, flowers and so much support. I wouldn't have made it through this in one piece without them and He knew that. He knows that. I worship a God who is all mighty, all powerful, all knowing. And, He will make good come from this horrible thing. I anticipate seeing how He uses this for His glory in the future.
Just to be clear, not feeling at peace or calm and more like a total mess when going through a miscarriage is ok. In fact, I think most would say it is normal. Grief and healing take on many forms, so there is no shame in not being "okay." If you're reading this and experiencing the loss of your unborn child, know you are not alone. I'm here for you. You can do this. It sucks. So bad. So, focus on what you can control and cling to those around you, because not going it alone is key. I send my love and hugs to you, friend.
