My miscarriage

I want to share with you both the physical and emotional aspects of what I've experienced so far. On the physical side of it, I felt strongly that I needed to share the story of my medically-induced miscarriage using the drug Misoprostol for two reasons. Number one: because I didn't find many stories like mine online. I think sometimes the worst-case scenarios are the ones that people feel compelled to share, for obvious and understandable reasons. My story, though, is one where it went better than I could have ever hoped for, and so I felt like I should put it out there as well. Yes, it is scary and will most likely be very painful, but there's also a chance it may not be all that terrible. At least physically-speaking.

Number two: Miscarriage is something that isn't talked about a great deal, also for obvious reasons. I didn't know squat about it before it happened to me. I probably half didn't want to know and half didn't want to ask. So I feel compelled to share my story with the hope that it could help someone else. Even if you never suffer a miscarriage, you will know someone who has or is currently. Maybe this will help you to help them. 

On the day an ultrasound confirmed my miscarriage, when I sat in a chair in my doctor's office, she sat beside me and offered me three options: miscarry naturally, which would need to happen within 30 days or infection may set in; miscarry with the help of medication, which would take place, hopefully, over the course of one day; or have a D&C, a surgical procedure for which I would be under anesthesia. 

I hoped to avoid a D&C if at all possible, despite it being the more pain-free option (or so I'm told), because I've had a few surgeries in my day and didn't want to add one to my list if I didn't absolutely have to. At first, I thought I'd prefer to miscarry naturally, but suddenly the thought that it could start at any time of day or night, and may not happen for thirty days, didn't appeal to me. I actually had no idea there was an option to take medication to bring it on. So that's what I chose. 

I read a lot about medication-induced at-home miscarriages after leaving that office. It was such a complete unknown to me, as someone who had never had one and isn't in the medical field. I assume that's how it is for most people who have never lost a pregnancy. Even if we know someone who has gone through it, the details - the real details - just aren't discussed. 

Accounts of using the drug which I was prescribed - Misoprostol - are easily found online and vary widely. The stories included women suffering from flu-like symptoms, extreme pain, extreme blood loss, trips to the emergency room, pain starting after two hours, after eight hours, the pills not working at all, pain three days later...it goes on and on.

I started to feel as if I was about to go in front of a firing squad - an event to which I was driving myself - with no idea how long the entire scary ordeal would take. Would it be slow and painful? Quick and painful? Because, surely, it would be painful. 

What I took from all the stories was that it was going to hurt, it was going to be messy, and it would hopefully be over in one day. I'd probably get chills, I'd probably vomit, and it would feel like labor, at least on some level. I prepared myself mentally for something resembling a home birth that would end with no baby and no rejoicing. And I took some comfort in the thought that I'd be birthing this baby, even if it was six-and-a-half months earlier, and with a much different outcome, than I had hoped. 

Now, this next part deserves its own post, but I also need to include it here because it's a big part of the story. The day I learned my baby had no heartbeat, my sister Amy insisted that she and her husband, Joe, would be driving down all the way from New York to take care of me and my family through my ordeal. They took two days off from work, kissed their two kids goodbye, arrived Friday morning and took over. They bought us meals, fed my children, changed diapers, bathed them, sat with me, bought me a heating pad, folded laundry, and purchased items to wrap and place the baby in. They waited on me and completely took care of my babies.

I cried when my sister explained why they came to help. She said if I had gone full-term and given birth to a healthy baby, everyone would be reaching out to us. There'd be presents and meals and people there to help. So why should women who miscarry not receive the same care, especially considering they don't have the joy of a baby at the end of it all? That just blew me away. And if that's not truly being Christ to others I don't know what is. My sister is amazing. Words will never express my gratitude for what she and her husband did for us.

Ryan had to work the day of the actual miscarriage (it was a huge day in VA politics and I chose not to wait until he was off), so my brother-in-law took the kids to the movies while my sister hunkered down with me to wait for the firing squad to begin.

I had been spotting all week, since first seeing the blood on Monday night, and on Friday afternoon I saw some of the largest clots I'd seen yet and had some very slight twinges of pain. I called the doctor to see if there's a point at which a natural miscarriage has begun and the pills become unnecessary, or possibly even dangerous. The doctor said yes, it sounded like I may be miscarrying on my own and to not take the drugs. Disappointed (a natural miscarriage could be drawn out over many days), I asked if things slowed back down if I could still take the pills. She warned me that if I took the pills when it was already happening, the pain could be extremely severe but, ultimately, it was a judgment call.

Things did slow down, almost to a trickle, so I decided to take the medication as planned. I was nervous, but focused. I still wasn't feeling too emotional. I needed to push through this and get to the other side.

On Saturday morning I woke, showered, ate breakfast, and drank some water. I nervously took the pills at 10:20 a.m., along with four Advil, and laid in my bed to allow gravity to assist. I snacked while my stomach felt okay and tried to relax. 

Hours went by. I moved to the living room and watched T.V. with my sister, with my new heating blanket in place. I felt okay, but had begun to bleed much more, and thought I felt some flutters of pain in my abdomen. At 4 p.m. I was still hungry and wasn't nauseous, so we had subs delivered. I was doing well, but too well. I was starting to worry things may not happen at all.

At 5 p.m. I went to the bathroom, passed some more clots, and noticed two of my pills among them. I couldn't believe it. I texted my aunt, who is a labor and delivery nurse, who assured me I probably absorbed some of the medication and told me to try to put them back in. I did, but officially became frustrated that seven hours had passed and nothing had happened.

By 6:30 p.m. Ryan was home from work and the kids and my brother-in-law were home from the movies. My abdomen felt tight and I took four more advil. By 6:45 I felt I needed to move into my bedroom. The tightness had increased and had become uncomfortable. I didn't want to be around everyone any longer.

Around this time I passed the largest clots I had seen yet, and wondered if it was the baby. How would I know? But I remembered that everything I had read and heard assured me that you'll know. My sister and I considered starting to save some of it, though, just in case.

In bed, I googled Percocet. I had the pills at the ready but feared feeling loopy. I called for my sister to come in and break one in half, and asked her to be prepared to give me it soon. I didn't think I was in enough pain to really need it at that point, but I had read stories of women who regretted waiting too long.

I ate a cookie as the tight feeling turned into contractions. They were constant - tighten, release, tighten, release - just like early labor with Luke (I reacted too strongly to the Pitocin, so the contractions were similarly constant). But they were, all things considered, fairly mild. I felt them, but could still eat a cookie. The pain was nothing in comparison to endometriosis pain I had been rushed to the hospital for in the past.

At 7:30 I felt like I needed to use the bathroom, but didn't want to get up. That's when I felt a gush of something and ran in. After more clots, I passed something much larger, something completely different than anything I had seen. It just can't be, I thought. I hadn't had any real pain! I had felt completely fine for eight hours, and had only slight cramping for the last hour. I had read accounts where the person said the pain would be so bad that I would feel like I was dying and would want to die. There was no way it was over.

But it was. The cramping immediately stopped. And my sister and Ryan agreed that what we were looking at was the sac. My aunt and my mom, both nurses, also agreed over the phone, based on my description.

I was in disbelief.

That's where I'll stop that part of the story for now. There is much more that happened next with the baby, but I just don't feel like I should share that all here. But I know I had a lot of questions about every aspect of it, so if anyone is going through it and would like more information, please feel free to email me. Hopefully I can help.

I am still in shock at how well it went. I really feel strongly that it was due to all the prayers everyone has been saying for me and my family, and I think it was just another way that God has been showing me that He is right here with me through it all. I also have guilt, though, since so many women have much worse experiences with the medication. My heart goes out to them.

Physically, I'm still doing well. On Sunday, the day after the miscarriage, I even went to 8:30 a.m. mass. I never expected to bounce back so quickly. I feel bloated, like after I gave birth to Luke, but on a smaller scale.

The emotional pain, though, began in earnest Sunday night. The baby was in the house with us but the reality was starting to set in that she would soon be leaving. Forever. And that broke my heart. We are beyond blessed to live in an area where there is a program that buries miscarried babies free of charge. Once a month there is a service and burial in a local cemetery, and we made it just in time to be included in the one being held tomorrow.  The program is offered thanks to a local funeral home, the Diocese of Richmond and the Knights of Columbus, and I just think it is one of the most amazing ministries I've ever heard of. And in all the interaction we've had with those who run it, they've only ever referred to our "baby". Talk about respecting the dignity of all human life.

It's been painful, though. I struggle with the finality of it all. I wept as I wondered what we should include with our baby in the casket. What we should name her. If I should look again. Nothing seemed good enough and I was distraught at the possibility of regret. I soon began to realize that it was my attempt at mothering her, and it was going to be impossible to cram a lifetime worth of love and care into a measly 24 hours. And while the body is sacred, that wasn't our baby anymore. She (or he...we don't know) is with God.

On Monday, we took her to the funeral home. It was hard. Really, really, really hard. We named her Catherine Gerard Nobles. We'll never know the baby's gender on this side of Heaven, but as I prayed the last few weeks I always found myself referring to "her" and "she." So we put Catherine first. And both names come from the saints I had a devotion to this pregnancy. Very early on I chose her a patron saint through a saint name generator, and St. Catherine, patroness against miscarriage, was the result.

Tomorrow is the service, and I have no idea how I will feel. I wish I didn't ever have to go to one of these, but at the same time I'm so glad that there is such a thing. And that our baby will have a final resting place that we can visit, even though she was so tiny. A person's a person no matter how small.

I have many more thoughts swirling in my mind that I'd like to get out, including how the kids have handled it all. I hope you don't mind me continuing to share my experiences here, because it's been helpful so far. It's also been incredibly helpful to read all of your supportive comments and I can't thank all of you enough for all of your prayers. We have felt them in a real way and we are so appreciative.

Baby #4 was only with us a short time but will always be part of our family.

Our only family photo with all four of our babies, taken before our first u/s when Catherine Gerard was still growing ever-so-slowly