Miscarriage I: A Story About Loss

Preface:
I wrote these blog posts shortly after my loss.  I am grateful that I wrote them down, and I wanted to have the experience on record for myself and for my children.  But it has been a difficult decision as to if I should post them for the whole world to see.  However, I found a lot of strength in friends who were willing to write about or share their losses with me.  For this reason I am going to post my entries over the next couple of weeks.  I feel so nervous about this that sometimes I feel like I will throw up.  Please be gentle, this is still a sensitive issue for Brandon and me.  Also, our children do not know; please keep that in mind.

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It was 7:00 am, Wednesday, February 20th, the morning of my first ultrasound.  I sat up sharply as someone in my dream yelled at me, "Bethany, you're bleeding!"  I got out of bed and went to the bathroom for the check, nothing.  Deep breaths, I told myself, it's going to be fine.

The anxiety of miscarriage had been very present during my first 9 weeks of pregnancy.  In the bathroom that morning before my appointment, I looked at myself in the mirror and repeated the words I had been telling myself for weeks, "It's going to be okay.  No matter what happens up there today, everything is going to be okay."  Then, like every time before, I said a little prayer the spirit sent me peace.  Everything was going to be okay.

The ultrasound tech was young and very pregnant.  Brandon sat next to me on a bench in the small dark room, Sterling was milling around, breaking things.  I took a deep breath, held Brandon's hand, and watched the screen.

I'll never forget.  I knew right away.  The kidney bean baby was solid.  No flickering heart beat in the middle.  The tech moved quickly, taking some measurements, but said nothing.

"Is there not a heart beat?" I asked.
"There's no heart beat." She said, with a sad face.

Then it was over, and the screen went dark.  I wanted her to leave it up, the still image of a tiny baby that was mine.  It was the only time I would ever see my baby.  I wanted to reach out and hold my baby, or  go back 2 hours to when I was pregnant and there was hope of something different.  I wanted it to be different, anything but that still baby.  But it was over and she left.

"I am going to go tell the doctor what I saw, you can get dressed."

And then we cried.  We cried as I got dressed, we cried when the moved us into an exam room, we cried as the doctor explained our options, we cried as he talked about the statistics, and the facts of nature.  We would have a D&C.  We cried while Brandon canceled his plans for the rest of the week, and when Brandon cried, then I really cried.

I had to cancel my maternity appointments through June at check out.  Then I had to leave the office, I had to make my way through what felt like a sea of pregnant bellies.  It was obvious what had happened, I had seen the women take these walks before; tear stained and heartbroken.  And we cried hard in the parking lot.  Really cried, deep sobbing cries for something different.

We spent the rest of the day making plans for surgery in the morning.  Julie, I called first, and it was a horrible mess...

"There just wasn't a heartbeat," I stumbled through the words, gasping.
"I will be there," After I asked her to be at my house at 5:45 am the next morning.

We got through the rest of the calls with a little more, but not much grace.

Before bed on Wednesday, I looked in the mirror.  My eyes were blue, the kind of blue that I only see when I cry.  My face was puffy and the skin around my eyes was raw.

A deep breath, and Heavenly Father blessed me with a very sound night of sleep.

Read: Miscarriage Part II: Surgery & Miscarriage Part III: Processing