Disclaimer: This story includes images of miscarriage that may be triggering to some.
“It’s so strange to be sitting here, typing these words. I don’t think any woman ever thinks they’ll become that 1 out of 4. We all quietly hope it never happens. From the moment that test reads ‘positive,’ we are overtaken by a rush of emotions. In the mist of these emotions, perhaps the one we feel strongest, but refuse to give power to, is fear. So, we choose to stay positive, to focus on the good. We pray that absolutely nothing go wrong…and then it does.
Let me start off by saying that I understand many women experience this worse than I have, and I fully acknowledge and respect your pain and journey. Others have experienced it exactly the same as I, or maybe in a quicker and calmer way. Again, I acknowledge and respect your pain and journey as well. This is my story and the way that I have chosen to honor my Little One, no matter what they were ‘medically’ known as.
Mama prayed for you day and night. From the moment I was told I was pregnant, you were mine. And that will forever be the only thing that matters. On July 2nd, my prayers were answered after what seemed like forever. I sat in the immediate care room with my baby boy and oldest niece, Sofia. I had been feeling sick to my stomach for over 3 weeks, getting constant migraines and sudden fevers. I felt awful but the realization that my period was also late brought me joy in the middle of it all.
We waited after the nurse took a urine sample from me (I had barely been able to pee at all I was so anxious). The doctor came in after about five minutes. I felt so much calm when I saw her. She had treated my son before and was a ‘strong sweet’ kind of woman.
‘Well, I think based on your symptoms, it will be best for you to head over to the hospital, hun,’ she explained. ‘They can run deeper tests to give you some reassurance.’ As I agreed, the nurse peeked her head into the room and quietly let the doctor know about a test that had come back ‘positive.’ ‘Oh! And you’re pregnant! That’s probably why you’ve been feeling so lousy!’ I’ll never forget this moment. It was perfect.
I couldn’t help it. I began to cry (much to my nieces dismay, haha). The doctor closed the door, came over to me, and put her hands on my shoulders. ‘Are these happy tears???’ she asked. I looked up, ‘I’ve just been trying for so long…’ She threw her arms up. ‘Happy tears! Well, congratulations Mama!’ After that, I was discharged and headed over to my regular doctor’s office and once again got tested. Another clear positive. I was on cloud nine.
I had decided to not tell anybody until I was about 3 months in, including my husband. However, it was impossible to contain my happiness. You could see it all over my face! And so that same night, I gave my husband the news. He was in complete shock. The good kind. The best kind! He cried his eyes out as he hugged me.
The next person I told was my older sister Val. I’m so happy I did. She needed some happy news that day. Her reaction filled me with even more joy. ‘No way!’ she exclaimed. She knew how long I had been praying and trying. We hugged and began talking about the excitement of bringing a new member into the family. The announcements continued on the next two weeks. The last person I needed to tell was my mom.
She was out of the country and I wanted to surprise her with the news in person. This would never come to happen. Three weeks after I was given the news, my husband and I had an argument. Looking back at it now, I realize how pointless it was. We had been doing awesome and, with the good news, even better. But I guess that’s why we argued. You see, I am a Christian worship leader. Because of this, I am a strong believer that there is an evil that doesn’t rest, that works overtime to destroy our faith. And that night began the battle that would change me forever.
I went to bed that night, only I never went to sleep because about an hour after our argument, I felt a pain strike my pelvic area. It was horrible. I lifted up in a panic. This wasn’t a normal pain. It shook me. I went to the bathroom but there was no blood. That gave me some calm. But not enough. Two days later, I was put through an ultrasound. The nurse who conducted it was silent. Her face was blank. She finished up and told me I would get my results the next day. ‘Will I be getting any pictures today?’ I asked. ‘No. There’s nothing there.’
‘What? I thought you said you’d be printing out some pictures?’ I could feel my heart start to race. I’ll never forget what she said next. She was so heartless about it. Her tone dry. ‘If there had been anything there, I would’ve shown you.’ I started to feel dizzy. My baby isn’t there? What had happened to my baby? All my symptoms were still there. But my baby wasn’t there.
My hurt quickly turned into prideful anger (a defense mechanism). I told my husband we were to never speak of this pregnancy again. I called my sister and, after explaining what had happened, told her the same. My husband left me and my son at home and headed off to work. I cried. I cried like I’ve never cried before. My son came over to me. He put his little hands on my face and his forehead to mine. I cried even more.
That day, I made my baby boy his favorite for breakfast. I played with him, danced with him, laughed with him. I submerged myself in my son. I called my mom and cried my heart out to her (this was how she found out the news). I needed so badly for her to be there with me when that call came. A call I had mentally and emotionally been preparing myself for. A call I had convinced myself would be bad news. Then something happened.
The call came, but the news was different. ‘…So, basically this means the pregnancy is active. There IS growth. Now, all we do is draw blood to make sure your hormone levels are rising and an ultrasound in 2 weeks to check on the growth.’ I have no words for this moment. My baby wasn’t gone and that’s all I cared about. After this, I put on what I call my ‘spiritual armor’ and went to war for my baby.
I prayed and fasted with a faith so strong I felt I could literally move mountains. I focused on staying positive and healthy. On doing everything on my part to keep my baby safe. During this time, battles formed all around me. My church was going through a battle, my older brother was causing problems and bringing our entire family hurt. One night in particular, he pulled a stunt while I was in church and I was unfortunately put in the position of handling it. I was so angry with him; I wanted to hate him, but I knew that was negative energy my baby did not need. I fought on in faith.
Two weeks later, I got up to go to the bathroom. Red. There was red on the toilet paper. ‘No. I rebuke whatever this is.’ I held on to my faith. Three days later, my husband and I went to another ultrasound. Full of hope. Full of positivity. We were in such a good mood that day. We waited like usual for the doctor to call with the update. ‘Hello, Dr. *******!’ I answered. This was the moment my world stood still.
‘Your body will reject something that isn’t safe…’
‘I am so sorry…’
I calmly replied, ‘Thank you.’
I hung up, turned to my husband. His eyes full of question and hope, still smiling. I held his hand tightly. ‘We need to be strong.’ His smile faded. ‘There’s no more baby.’ Tears came rushing down his face. ‘No!’ I held him close to me as he cried, tears rolling down my face, remaining calm and as strong as I could. The same nurse that had seen us moments earlier, laughing and happy, came in. I felt so bad for her. I could tell she didn’t know what to say. I smiled with the tears still rolling and asked for a minute alone. We walked out that day, hand in hand, my husband and I. No more hope to hold onto.
When we got home, there was a lot of silence. We embraced our son and prayed. The following weeks were some of the hardest I’ve endured as a woman. I tried, I promise you all, I tried so hard to be strong. To fill my time with good thoughts and positivity, but somedays it was futile. There was a moment in particular when I had been icing a cake I’d made to distract myself. I had it too close to the edge of my counter and it fell to the floor. I looked at it, destroyed, on the floor and dropped to the ground. Screaming. I wasn’t just crying anymore. I was screaming in pain. My heart was literally broken. And it had nothing to do with the cake.
My husband rushed over and held me as I was knelt on the floor, breaking. This moment to me is the exact definition of what going through this miscarriage felt like. I can’t put it in words but that moment, that was it. That same night, my sister, brother-in-law, and her kids came over and brought me a cake. They stayed for awhile and kept me company. As we talked and laughed, I realized something that brought so much gratitude to my heart. My family was the most amazing blessing.
Through those weeks, my mom and dad had been coming to my home in the afternoons to check on me. And although my dad never spoke about it, his hugs and presence were his way of letting me know he would be there, always. My mom (this woman deserves the world!) was with me every single day through the weeks that followed. She’d rush to my home whenever I called her, breaking or full of anxiety. She was there at whatever time I needed her. She was my rock. Mama, I will never be able to say enough how grateful I am for you. How much I absolutely I adore you. And to my brother (who I hadn’t spoken a word to since his incident) whom I ran into while picking up some stuff at my mom’s house: That hug you gave me, that was a big brother hug. I will cherish it always.
After this realization, I had a new peace. I was gonna be okay. It was going be very hard, but I was gonna be okay. I held tight to this same peace on the day my body fully released my pregnancy. At a nail salon. Yup, that is where it happened.
My husband had convinced me to get my nails done to distract my mind. I got up from a pedicure and headed to the manicure chair. And at that exact moment, I felt a strong pain and movement hit my lower stomach. With that, a heavy substance dropped onto my underwear. I knew what it was. I stood still. I tightened my legs together and rushed to the bathroom.
As soon as I pulled my underwear down the ‘substance’ dropped onto the ground. There was blood everywhere (I know this is a bit graphic but bear with me). I picked up the heavy substance. Tears filled my eyes, but strength filled my heart. I cleaned up everything and went back to the manicure chair. As the lady talked and laughed, I politely smiled and nodded my head along. During this time, my body continued to reject the rest of my pregnancy. It’s amazing the strength us women can dig deep to find sometimes. And even more amazing the strength God gives that we ourselves don’t know we have.
When the nail technician finished, I briefly dried my nails. My husband who I had already texted picked me up and helped me to the car. I didn’t sit completely in our car, but the blood rushed out regardless. We got home and the car was left looking like a horror scene (again, graphic, I know). We went upstairs and my husband helped me into the shower to clean myself up. Bless his heart. I know it was something he wasn’t prepared to see. But he assured me he was there and to not feel embarrassed.
He took care of me as amazingly as any husband could through that. The next 5 hours, my body continued to do what it had to do. 4 days later, it completely stopped. And I was no longer pregnant. It has been a little over 2 months since then. In those two months, I’ve had my bad days. The days where I think about what my little one would be like. How she’d look (I know with my entire heart it was my little girl), who she’d be like. The days when my motherly emotion takes over and all I can do is let myself feel what I need to feel and cry if I need to.
But I’ve also grown softer in many ways. My faith has grown through my healing. My process in understanding that God is still good. Through this process and now. He is still so so good. I don’t blame anyone, anything, or any situation for the loss of this baby. I pray everyday that God have my baby in His embrace. That she know in His way that Mama loved her no matter what.
I also now am able to personally understand other Mamas that have experienced this. And can tell you that every woman is different and is 100% allowed to FEEL and HEAL however they will. Whether you were 6 weeks or full term, feel what YOU need to feel, Mama. Surround yourself with goodness. Don’t let his defeat you. You are a Warrior. And your journey is a BIG part of your testimony.”
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This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Viviana Bedoy of Melrose Park, Illinois. You can follow her journey on Facebook and Instagram. Submit your own story here, and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories.
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