What Becomes of the Broken Hearted: My Pregnancy and Miscarriage

This story is not an easy one to tell. It’s probably not an easy one to hear either. However, I have found that reading other women’s stories of their own miscarriages has helped me a bit in my healing process. I feel telling my own story will help me in the process of moving forward and perhaps if some woman stumbles across this blog after suffering her own miscarriage, I can help her too. This will be a long story, but I am not just focusing on the miscarriage part- I want to also focus on the happier times before we got that devastating news…

I remember sitting there looking at my Natural Family Planning (NFP) chart with a huge smile. All the signs pointed to me being pregnant. It used to be a guessing game when my period would start, but after learning about my cycle by using NFP I knew that I should have started my period four days prior. And my basal body temperature I took every morning was remaining high- another sign of pregnancy.

After taking the pregnancy test I was expecting to see two very bright lines announcing the glorious news that I was indeed pregnant. Instead I saw one bright line and a very, very faint line beside it. It was so faint I thought I was imagining it. I decided to wait at least five more days and take another one- surely by then the line would have darkened up. Of course me being the very impatient person I am, I couldn’t wait five days, so three days later I purchased one of those Clear Blue Easy tests- the one that digitally say “pregnant” or “not pregnant.”

With a huge smile on my face I called my husband to the bathroom. I had always imagined a very grandiose and special way of telling him that he was going to be a Daddy, but all I did was hand him the test that said “Pregnant” on it. I hadn’t seen my husband smile like that in a very long time!

I wanted to stand on top of a tall building and announce with a megaphone that I was pregnant- I was SO incredibly happy. I had always dreamed of being a mommy and was excited for all the fun (and not so fun) stuff that came with the job. I knew this is what God designed me to do.

We told our very close friends and parents the happy news. Then the news started to slowly spread and leak out….to grandparents, uncles, aunts...co-workers…..old high school friends. But we were fine with that. We were bursting with happiness to tell everyone.

During my first OB appointment the doctor did an internal ultrasound and the gestational sac measured around four weeks. My doctor was a little concerned because according to my last period I should have been about seven weeks. He set up an appointment for the following week to check the baby’s progress. I was a little freaked out at first, but after studying my charts, I knew exactly when our little one was conceived. Four weeks was about right. Sure enough, the next week at my appointment our little one measured five weeks, six days. The doctor informed me that we were a couple days shy of seeing a heartbeat, so he scheduled us to come in after two weeks. All we could see on the sonogram screen was this little round circle that was nourishing and growing our baby. I LOVED that small circle.

Those days were filled with excitement. Ryan and I immediately started “arguing” whether it was a girl or a boy. My best friend , Ashlee, and I started coming up with in-utero nicknames. Some we came up with where Clarice, Gizmo, and Hoss.

I started rubbing cocoa butter lotion on my belly every night because a friend had told me the day she found out she was preggo she started rubbing it on and she didn’t get stretch marks. (Who knows if it was going to work for me, but I was still going to try it!)

I was definitely experiencing pregnancy symptoms. They weren't very comfortable, but I welcomed them. I felt blessed to be pregnant.

We received congratulations cards in the mail and a little package from the doctor’s office with a newborn baby diaper sample, prenatal vitamin samples, brochures and magazines about pregnancy. I would hold the little diaper and just marvel at how small it was and how I couldn’t wait to meet the little one whose cute little bottom would grace this diaper.

Out went the caffeine, deli meats and hot dogs and in came lots of water, healthy food and prenatal vitamins. I started doing some exercises on my Wii Fit- I was determined to get healthy for my baby!

I started reading What to Expect When You’re Expecting. Each week that passed I read of the amazing changes and growth our baby was going through. I would skip ahead and read about the months filled with baby kicks, hiccups, and being able to tell the gender of the baby. I was really looking forward to those days. I poured through the pregnancy magazines we got from the doctor’s office.

I knew that my next doctor’s appointment would be around the time my baby would be eight weeks old. The book said my baby would be the size of a large raspberry. I didn’t think I could make it a full two weeks to see my little berry on the sonogram screen, but thankfully my mom planned a trip for her, my oldest niece Emma and I to go to Colorado to visit my cousins during that two week wait. That would occupy my mind to think of other things besides sonograms and heartbeats.

While we were out there I decided to tell my Colorado cousins that I was expecting. In a couple of days I would have my sonogram and once we saw the heartbeat we were going to tell the rest of the family, but I figured that since I was going pee every five minutes and had occasional bouts of nausea they might suspect something was up. They were thrilled. My cousin Sara would come and rub my belly. I know some women hate when people do that, but I welcomed it.

The Colorado trip was amazing, even though I couldn’t ride the 100 ft. tall “Skycoaster” that swung people out by a harness mechanism over the 1200 foot Royal Gorge since I was pregnant. But I was OK with that- I didn’t want to do anything to harm my baby.

I came back to Waverly on Monday and was excited for the next day- that was our sonogram day! I had just had an amazing time with my family and now was excited to focus on my own little growing family.

We went into the doctor’s office on Tuesday. I was so excited- I knew I was pregnant, I had the symptoms, I saw the little circle on the sonogram screen before, but I didn’t really feel pregnant. But I knew once I saw that heartbeat that it would change my life forever. I sat in the examination room and the doctor came in to say, “Our sonogram machine is broken.” I was SUPER annoyed. We drove 25 miles to go to an appointment just for me to pee in a cup and have my blood pressure taken?! And we didn’t get to see our baby?! He asked if we wanted to wait a week to come back to his office or schedule a sonogram at the hospital the next day. Of course I opted for the latter. I was very disappointed. But at least I didn’t have to wait a week- in less than 24 hours I would get to see my baby.

The nurse told me to have a full bladder when I did my sonogram so the next day I drank my weight in water and juice. Driving to the hospital was an unusual experience- I was SO excited and happy yet I felt uncomfortable because I needed to go potty but I wasn’t allowed! Of course the wait before we went into the room where they did the sonograms seemed to take an eternity but finally I was lying on the paper-covered exam bed. This was a day I had dreamed of. I was so excited when the sonogram tech squirted the goo on my abdomen and started moving the sonogram device around and the screen displayed black and white grainy images.

I was expecting to see my little raspberry sized baby right away and was looking anxiously for the little fluttering heartbeat. The tech kept moving it around and taking pictures of my ovaries and different views of my uterus. “OK lady, let’s get to the good stuff!” is what I kept thinking, but she was just doing her job. “There’s your bladder,” she said. Wow did it look big and I thought if she kept focusing on ovaries and my bladder I would pee myself! I was starting to get worried/annoyed/uncomfortable when she said that she couldn’t quite see anything and she would do an internal sonogram.

I went to the bathroom (sweet glorious relief!!!) and wrapped a sheet around my waist. I was a little worried, but the tech didn’t seem too concerned and maybe my little Gizmo was just hiding. And surely with an internal sonogram I would REALLY be able to see my baby and the heartbeat.

I laid down and she inserted the wand. And there it was- the gestational sac. But it looked EXACTLY the same as it did two weeks previously. There was no raspberry-sized baby, no fluttering heartbeat- just that same circle I had fallen in love with weeks before. “You’re measuring 5 weeks, 3 days. Does that sound about right?” NO, NO, NO… this was NOT right at all. I was supposed to be eight weeks. NO, NO, NO….what on earth has happened? The machine must be broken….NO, NO, NO….

I calmly said that 5 weeks, 3 days was not right, I should be around eight weeks. She then informed me that I was either still really early or I had a miscarriage. I knew in my heart which one it was.

Instead of the happy words of “Congrats, here’s your baby! Here’s the head, the heart, you’ll be due to have it on such and such date…” it was the cold, steel-like words of, “I’ll have to have the radiologist take a look and call your doctor.”

We sat in the waiting room to see what our next step was. I was in pure shock. The sonogram tech came in and said, “I’m not a doctor, so I can’t say what has happened for sure, but your doctor will see you tomorrow morning at 8:40 a.m.”

The twenty-five mile drive back home I was a sobbing, blurry mess. I was screaming in anger. I wanted this horrible nightmare to vanish. I had never EVER felt so heartbroken in my entire life and I felt this crazed, scared lack of control in myself. I truly wanted to disappear.

I could in no way call my mother to tell her the news that I may have lost the baby. She had been so excited of our baby news and couldn’t wait to tell everyone that she was going to be a grandma to her fourth grandchild. I couldn’t bear to tell her so my husband (God bless him) called her up for me. He also called my father and had to tell his own parents the sad news.

That night my husband and I prayed a rosary together, held each other and cried. However, we both had a little hope that perhaps we could get a miracle. No one had said for sure that I had a miscarriage. We hung on to that very slim chance of a miracle.

The next day we went to the doctor. Instead of the usual exam room I had been in they took us to a sort of “meeting” exam room. The doctor came in and said, “Well, I don’t think it’s a miscarriage.” I asked for clarification- “You DON’T think, or you DO think?” “I DON’T think…” he said. However as he kept talking it seemed that first statement was a load of bull. “I hate to say it, but there’s about a 95% chance that you have had a miscarriage.” What the heck? Make up your mind, Doctor!

Our next step was to do a blood test that day and another one the next day to see if the pregnancy hormone in my blood was declining. He said he would call me the following afternoon.

The next day after my second round of blood tests I was an anxious mess. I cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom. I prayed a lot. I knew in my heart I had suffered a miscarriage, but since I still hadn’t received the “official” news I was in agony of thinking perhaps there was a chance I was still pregnant. The waiting was horrible.

My doctor said that if he didn’t call by 3:00 p.m. that I should call. At 3:01 p.m. I made the call. “You knew I’d forget, huh?” he joked. Enough with the wise-cracks Doc- I am in NO mood for funny. “Yeah, it looks like your pregnancy hormone levels are going down.” Instead of breaking down, I calmly asked what the next step would be. He suggested that since I was so early naturally miscarrying would probably be the best way. If the miscarriage hadn’t occurred in a couple weeks then I could have a D&C (a surgical procedure where they scrape away the remains of the baby and lining of the uterus.)

I had already made up my mind the day before that if God forbid I did lose the baby I would do this naturally. I have never had any kind of surgery before, so the thought of even a minor procedure scared the crap out of me. I knew it was going to be a very difficult time emotionally and physically but I was prepared (or I thought I was) to deal with it. I believe my womb is a sacred place and I felt for my unborn baby’s sake that I would do this in the least abrupt way. (I know that makes no sense…but in my own warped way it makes perfect sense to me.) Miscarrying naturally was the best option for me.

I hung up the phone and was too shocked to sob or even move. Ryan came to hug me and being in my beloved’s arms- those strong arms that take care of me, that work hard to provide for us- I broke down. It’s hard to describe my feelings. I had never felt this kind of pain before. I felt empty, my heart was broken and I felt like I would never again feel happy. I was experiencing the lowest of lows. To borrow a quote from Theodore Roosevelt: "The light has gone out of my life."

Ryan again made the calls to our family confirming the news. I pathetically text messaged my friends and threw my phone in my purse, not interested in answering it for a long time. My mom dropped everything and drove the three hours to Waverly to be with me. Ryan was in agony if he should call into work. I told him to go, and that I would be fine with my mommy with me. She came and spent the night. The next day we explored Lexington's Civil War battlefields and drove to Richmond. But then she had to leave, and the sadness crept back in. While she was there I barely thought about the miscarriage.

However the next day my best friend Ashlee came to bring me comfort and spend the night. She taught me how to make home-made noodles, apple crisp and salsa. Such wonderful comfort foods to get my mind off of all the horrible events that had taken place. We watched movies and chatted. When she left I bawled. I had to face what was going to happen.

We received sympathy cards and were assured that people were praying for us. A lot of people expressed that “They just didn’t know what to say.” And I completely understood where they were coming from. What do you say to someone who’s had a miscarriage? It’s all so heartbreaking. I only have two close friends who have babies, and they never had a miscarriage. I felt so alone, until we posted our news on Facebook. Many wonderful women sent me private messages telling me of their own sorrow of miscarriage. Some girls I barely even knew, but hearing from them gave me great comfort. And I thank you all who wrote me emails, prayed for us, stayed with us, and grieved with us from the bottom of my heart. God bless you.

I really don’t want to get into the nitty gritty details of the actual miscarriage. I choose to focus on the good rather than the bad. The entire natural miscarriage lasted about twelve days and could be described as a really long and heavy period. Praise be to Jesus that I never had a high temperature or passed too much blood to have to go to the E.R. There were two days that were particularly horrible. Around the fifth day the bleeding and cramping suddenly went away. I thought it was over and thought “Hmm, that wasn’t too bad at all.” Oh boy, was I wrong. I woke up around 2:30 a.m. with extremely horrible cramps. They came every ten minutes. I never have gone into labor but these cramps weren’t the run-of-the-mill cramps I’ve had in the past with my period. Nothing helped the pain- I tried ibuprofen, a heating pad, a warm bath. I was so exhausted but lying in bed made it worse. I camped out in the bathroom begging for this whole thing to be over. I finally crawled back into bed around 6:30 a.m. and that was the last time I remember looking at the clock.

The next morning I promptly called my doctor for some pain meds. I got some Vicodin and while it didn’t take away all the pain, it did take the edge off and made me laugh hysterically at a car commercial. Best of all it helped me to get some MUCH needed sleep that night.

Somewhere in that blur of days I realized we found out about the miscarriage on August 28th- the feast day of St. Augustine. So Ryan and I decided to name our little one Gus.

I never went back to the doctor. He never ordered a follow up appointment or weekly blood work to see the rate of my falling pregnancy hormones. He was a nice guy, but as soon as the miscarriage occurred he had a “Well, you’re not pregnant, so we’re done with you” attitude. I was OK with not going back. I don’t think I could handle being in a waiting room full of pregnant women.

It was hard enough to see all these women putting up belly pictures and sonogram pictures up on Facebook. I swear days after I found out about my miscarriage four women found out they were pregnant. I immediately "hid" them and prevented their status updates being shown on my Facebook homepage news feed thingy. Whenever they would post their joyous news I’d immediately get so upset. It wasn’t fair. How come my own joy had been taken from me?

My 25th birthday was a bit of a sad one for me. I would have been past my first trimester on that day.

But slowly, things are getting better. There was a point where I never thought I’d be happy again. I was in such a dark place of depression and despair. I still have that pain, and I believe I’ll carry part of that pain the rest of my life. But now I’ve found that I can unblock those pregnant women’s statuses and congratulate other women who have recently found out they are pregnant.

Some days are better than others. During the miscarriage I didn’t talk to ANYBODY- not even my own mother about what was going on. Now I feel like I can bring it up and talk about it, but on my own terms. Some days I think I’m doing just fine, but then something comes up, like seeing my pregnant neighbor’s baby shower, and I fall apart. But the next day comes and I look to the cross for strength and guidance. Our loving Father never fails in helping me through the bad days.

Of course I clung to my faith. I plan to write an “epilogue” sort of thing in a couple days to explain how I’ve used my Catholic faith in the healing process. This is quite long already, and I don’t want to drone on any longer. Thanks for listening to my story.

“Mommy, please don’t cry.

The angels are always singing.

I love to sing with the angels!

You’d be proud of me.

I have a pretty good voice. I must have gotten it from you.”

-Mommy Please Don’t Cry…There are No Tears in Heaven.