I woke up this morning to my husband’s phone buzzing wildly with incoming texts.One buzz after another after another.
“What is going on?” I asked him.
“Allison had her baby last night,” he said.
I had my baby last night, too. But there were no congratulatory texts. No celebratory phone calls. Just me sitting in my bathroom for three hours in excruciating pain wishing for it all to be over.
I decided to have a natural miscarriage, not real sure what it would entail, but just knowing that it was the right thing for me. I found out on Tuesday I would be having a miscarriage. I went to work on Wednesday, just hoping for a sense of normalcy. But I left after an hour, thinking about it and being scared it would start while I was there.
Later that evening, my husband, Steve, came home. I had been in the house all day and wanted to get out. We decided to go to the Vitamin Shoppe, where I could get some natural vitamins to help speed up the process. We then went to Lowes, where we began to look for stones for a fire pit we were building in our backyard. I was helping Steve take the stones off the shelves and arrange them in circles when I felt the first real pains of the process. It felt like bad period cramps, like the doctor said it would.
We purchased the stones, then brought them home. I asked Steve if we could start building the fire pit right now. I wanted the miscarriage to be over, and I felt that this was speeding up the process. It was about 7:30 p.m. We carefully arranged the stones, making sure they were level. I got through about five stones when the pain got worse, and I went inside. I took three Aleves – the only medication I had on hand.
Steve came inside, and we decided to watch an episode of “The Walking Dead.” It was about 9:30 and 5 minutes through the second episode when I got a contraction. I felt something come gushing out. I ran to the bathroom and saw a huge clot of blood on my pad. I sat on the toilet.
The contractions were coming every two minutes or so. Huge clots of blood were coming out. I stood up in an attempt to go to the upstairs bathroom where there was a shower. Excruciating pain and a sudden gush of blood forced me to sit back on the toilet.
“Breath, just breath,” I said to myself. I took a deep breath in and exhaled. Another deep breath in. Exhale. As long as I focused on my breathing, the pain seemed to subside. Soon, I was given a momentary break from the pain. I used that to my advantage, quickly cleaning the toilet and the surrounding floor, then ran upstairs. I just wanted to take a shower.
But I couldn’t even turn on the shower before the next wave hit me. I sat on the toilet and out came another gush of blood. The pain was getting worse. I focused on my breathing. I prayed. “God, help me through this.” I provided myself with encouragement. “Kelly, you’ve got this. It’s almost over. You’re doing good.” Another wave of pain. “Focus on breathing, Kelly. Focus on your breathing.”
I had read that a miscarriage feels like labor. I wasn’t really sure what to expect. I’ve never had a baby before. I still don’t know if it feels like labor because I have nothing to compare it to. But I do know that the pain was tremendous. I had no doctors by my side telling me the baby was coming. I didn’t have anyone there to hold my hand and help me through. I was on my own. Me and God. I relied pretty heavily on Him to help me through, talking to Him and praying and meditating like I never have before.
Then, for some reason, it hit me. I was giving birth to a baby who would never grow up. I would never see him take his first steps or hear him speak his first words. I wouldn’t even feel him moving inside of me. I was experiencing all of this horrendous pain for nothing.
I began to cry. I just sat on the toilet and sobbed. I told the baby that I loved him. “I’m sorry,” I kept crying. “I’m sorry.”
The cramps were getting worse. I began to feel like I would pass out. I called for Steve and asked him to get me a wet, hot rag. I lay down on the bathroom floor, curled in the fetal position, rocking myself through each contraction. The pain would momentarily subside, and I would breath a sigh of relief. Then it would start again. I would focus on my breathing and just rock myself back and forth, back and forth. This continued until about 12:30 when it finally just stopped. I was waiting for another contraction, but it never came.
I did not think the miscarriage was finished because people had told me I would see a gray sac, which would be the yolk sac. All I had seen were massive amounts of blood. I looked around me. It looked as if someone had been murdered in the bathroom. Blood all over the toilet. A crimson-colored floor. Blood streaks trailing down my legs.
I began to clean up. I took a shower. I felt my stomach. Nothing in there anymore. No hard mass to push down on. That’s when I knew it was over. It was 1 a.m. I was exhausted. I had Steve grab me some Midol PM, and I went to bed feeling numb. The emotions blindsided me the next morning when I woke up to the chirping of the texts. I spent most of the day crying.
For now, the physical pain has subsided. The emotional pain is still there. It will probably be there for some time. But I will pick myself up. I will continue on. I will be okay.
Kelly Isaacs is a special education teacher and currently works with students in an inner-city school. She has also worked with children with autism and used to be a reporter. She still loves to write, finding the process very therapeutic and comforting.