My Miscarriage Story {Part 2}

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I was numb as we waited in the small waiting room for an exam room to consult with my midwife, but then a couple walked in with a giggle as they memorized the silhouette lines on the black and white photo just printed out for them. I realized I didn't have a photo. My black and white ultrasound photo went straight into a thick, numbered folder instead of heading home with me for the refrigerator. I'm sure my sobbing made them uncomfortable, but I just couldn't hold it in any longer. The dam of my heart broke and heartache flooded the very ground I walked on.

I know my midwife meant well, but as she explained the story the ultrasound told, it just didn't sit well with me. The vocabulary word of the day was "blighted ovum" and she explained that the parts needed in the egg sac for a baby to develop weren't there. The egg was empty. Then, she said the words that haunt my dreams. In an effort to make me feel better, she said, "So you see, there wasn't a baby. There never really was a baby growing." I know she meant well and was trying to explain the scientific part of things, but you just don't say that sort of thing to a lady that is finding out she is losing a pregnancy.

As I searched Ray's face for comfort through my tears, the only words I could seem to muster were, "I will still praise Him." I said it more as a reminder to myself than anything else. A reminder that God was the same as He was last Tuesday. Just because my circumstances were different, He hadn't changed. He was still in control even when my world felt like it was spinning topsy-turvy.

The next few days were filled with more pain that I had ever imagined. I'm not really sure what I expected a miscarriage to be like, but it wasn't what I had imagined. Looking back, I realize that so few people talk about their miscarriage that I really didn't even know what would happen. Sure, I knew that I would bleed and cramp, but I do that monthly. I didn't know I would feel like I was in labor and my insides were being ripped apart at the same time. And the blood...oh, the blood! Worst of all, nobody ever talked about the moment that your baby, or what would've been your baby, quietly slips out into the toilet. No one prepares you for the moment that you ask yourself whether you are going to look, not look, flush or fish it out and bury it.

To say that Saturday night was traumatic would be an understatement.

The next morning, I numbly got ready for church. I know I probably should have stayed home that day because of the physical things still going on, but I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be that morning than praising my God. I needed to be in the middle of that worship service that morning like I needed to breathe. Looking back, I think it was the only thing that helped me keep going.

Little did I know, the physical parts of my miscarriage were still continuing. I began to get worried about the amount of bleeding and the intensity of the pain. It was just too much. After calling my midwife, I headed to the emergency room and sat for what felt like an eternity.

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