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Miscarriage is a part of my story that I never anticipated. I know that may sound foolish and perhaps it is. Please note that this is my very personal story. I’m sharing it here hoping that perhaps it will encourage one person in knowing that they are not alone in the grief and sorrow that follow miscarriage. I’ve been hesitant in sharing about my miscarriage publicly because, in a sense, it invites others into my pain. I’m not sure yet if that’s an aspect of my grief that I can bear. While salt ought to be the mark of Christian speech (Colossians 4:6), I’m fearful that it will just contribute to my already painful wounds. Yet I am willing to take that risk if it causes those who love Jesus to see Him as increasingly beautiful and if it causes those who don’t yet know Him to want to. In searching for a miscarriage story similar to mine to feel less alone I was disappointed that I couldn’t find one from a Christian (while I’m certain that they exist, I just wasn’t able to find any at the time). I’ve gone back and forth in my mind about the timing of sharing my miscarriage story publicly. While part of me feels like it is too soon, there’s another part of me that can’t bear the thought of a woman experiencing a miscarriage and feeling alone knowing that my story may serve as a beacon of hope. Like Job, I desire to have my words recorded so they may testify to the faithfulness and goodness of my Redeemer (Job 19:23-27). Please note, since this is my miscarriage story, it is representative of what occurred to me. Each story contains nuance so please don’t read with the notion that what I experienced is true for every case of miscarriage. While there may be some general characteristics that apply consistently, each story is so unique and I would hate for my story to minimize that in any way. In the days ahead, I will share some resources that have comforted me as well as some truths that have helped me grieve in a way that (I hope) is honoring to God and will help others know how to care for those who are grieving early pregnancy loss. If you come across this post as one who has experienced or is experiencing miscarriage, please know that you are loved, you have been prayed for, and you are not alone. If you’re looking for some immediate comfort and encouragement, I highly recommend this podcast about miscarriage which has been a balm to my aching heart.
On the morning of Sunday, April 18th at two o’clock I woke up to use the restroom and decided to take what had been one of many pregnancy tests. I was starting to grow concerned with my health since my period was late. I was on day 39 of my cycle (mine average 31 days) and none of the pregnancy tests I had taken thus far had been positive. I started to have trouble swallowing and whenever I ate, I could feel my food coming back up and dwelling in my throat. For me, a struggle with my gag reflex is always the first sign of pregnancy. I also observed that I was having to use the restroom with increasing frequency and that my urine smelled different (I know that’s an odd element to share but it’s true, nonetheless). The experience was very similar to when I found out I was pregnant with Ava. I had struggled with my gag reflex at two weeks pregnant and it took a while to receive a positive pregnancy test so I knew this time I had to be patient while my HCG levels increased. That morning, I begged God for mercy as the clock counted down the three minutes it would take for a test result to develop. I was hoping to see a positive on the test so I would have outward proof of what I knew was already occurring inward. As the clock wound down, I was delighted to see a faint second line show up on the test result display window. I think I typically would have been shocked but since I had suspected it for a while, I felt relieved knowing that I wasn’t crazy for thinking I was pregnant.
When Derek woke up that morning, I told him the exciting news and his response was, “Yay!” Although the pregnancy was a surprise (I hate the term unplanned because life is always planned by God), he believed it was God’s will for us. Derek had to travel to Louisiana last year to help with relief efforts after Hurricane Laura. We had plans for him to get a vasectomy but that trip caused them to be thwarted three times. Although we frequently spoke about a vasectomy, we never felt one hundred percent certain that it was the right move for us and we never moved forward in that direction. Now we knew why. Pregnancy in this season just made sense for our family. The girls had just begun sharing a room weeks prior and Ava has been a champ at potty training. I felt especially excited that the baby would come right before Christmas, my favorite holiday (I even sent an announcement to one of my closest friends who had been praying for me with a picture of the positive pregnancy test and music note emojis accompanied by the words, ‘Do you see what I see? A child, a child . . . coming this December apparently.’). I was not necessarily excited to start a pregnancy at my current weight but I determined to make healthy choices and do my best to remain active. Normally, I would have been super anxious but I was peaceful, excited, and hopeful. We’re in a season where we have our own home and already possess the necessary baby items so we wouldn’t need much. Derek also receives eight weeks of paid paternity leave and is able to use it throughout the year. We’re also blessed to have incredible health insurance which we’ve had to do without for most of our marriage. The timing of the pregnancy just made sense.
The days following the faint positive pregnancy test, I continued to take additional tests. I was just waiting to have one with a darker line so we could announce it to family and friends. Any hopes of receiving such a result quickly disappeared on the morning of Tuesday, April 20th. I had just stepped out of the shower and used the restroom before proceeding with my morning routine. I noticed bright red blood in the toilet and from what I can recall, I think my body went into shock. I called for Derek to come immediately and he couldn’t get into the bathroom because I had locked the door – I don’t remember why. I fumbled to quickly unlock it and through sobs told him that I lost the baby. He seemed shocked and confused and asked how I knew. I didn’t have words and felt like I barely had oxygen. I pointed to the toilet and sank to the floor sobbing and begging God for mercy. I remember feeling nauseous and like I was going to pass out. I also started shaking. The first thing I said was that I deserved this. I know it isn’t true but at that moment, it seemed like the only logical explanation. I had made so many remarks out loud (and in my heart) about how I couldn’t have another kid because parenting the two I have is already so difficult and exhausting in more ways than one. Derek quickly reminded me that God doesn’t punish me because He punished His own Son on my behalf. I know that’s true but at the moment, it didn’t provide much consolation. “If God doesn’t punish me, then why is my baby gone?” I wondered. I know the answer is because of sin and I know the hope I have in Jesus. That hasn’t minimized my pain but it has helped me grieve with hope.
Later that morning I called my OB to set up an appointment. I was now very concerned that something was wrong with my health. Since I was setting up an appointment for miscarriage, the receptionist informed me that I would have to answer a set of questions from a nurse. The nurse had placed the call on hold as she was with another patient and it eventually dropped. It was incredibly painful to keep repeating the details of what was happening so I opted not to call back for the time being. I’m thankful for my husband who called back later and worked on setting up the appointment for me. I still had to be the one to answer the nurse’s questions though which was emotionally exhausting. We had called late in the day and since she wasn’t able to provide my OB with my information prior to the office closing, she encouraged me to go to the ER for blood work. I didn’t understand how my case was an emergency especially since I wasn’t displaying any signs of having an ectopic pregnancy. While we have insurance, I didn’t want to unnecessarily spend $200 on a copay (not including the cost of blood work) when I had the ability to go to a local lab and get blood work done at a much lower cost. I also didn’t want to unnecessarily risk placing us around COVID patients so we decided to stay home. I was relieved when I received a call back from a different nurse in the morning who advised me that the OB said it was unnecessary for me to go to the ER. However, she did feel it necessary for me to come in for an ultrasound and a follow up right after.
Trying to determine when I could come in for an appointment was stressful because the receptionist informed me that only one healthy patient was allowed in the office. This meant having to find child care or at least figure out a day so Derek could take time off work. The receptionist remarked that she suddenly had an appointment open up for one o’clock that afternoon and how crazy it was that the appointment suddenly became available. I knew it wasn’t crazy. I knew it was God being merciful and kind especially since Derek happened to already have taken that day off work. I was surprised and very disappointed when I showed up for my appointment and learned that I would be having a vaginal ultrasound. I had no idea that was a thing and really dreaded it. The sonographer informed me that it wasn’t as bad a Pap smear though, so I was grateful for that small consolation. I watched as she scanned my uterus and ovaries. The gestation age on the monitor taunted me as it read 6 weeks and 0 days. “No,” I thought, “my baby didn’t even make it to 6 weeks.” There was a moment when the sonographer paused and kept reexamining one area of my ovaries. Prior to that, she explained what she was photographing but only after I had asked. She had remarked about how the lining of my uterus should have been thicker. She then informed me that she couldn’t tell me anything else. She had a look on her face that seemed to indicate that she saw something and it terrified me.
After the ultrasound, I sat in the waiting room waiting to see my OB. A nurse escorted me back to a room and entered my info into the computer. I was relieved when she clarified that I could have Derek come into the room with me. He had been waiting in the car due to confusion about their COVID policy which doesn’t allow for guests in the waiting room but does allow for one to be present during appointments. I asked her if she was making me aware because there was bad news coming. She politely explained that the reason was simply that it was the policy but I had a hard time trusting her. Shortly after Derek joined me, my OB walked in. She confirmed what I already knew – that I was experiencing a miscarriage. She used the term “chemical pregnancy,” which I despise, to explain what was happening. She was so gentle and supportive which was really sweet considering she’s likely not a Christian. Through tears, I asked her if there was something wrong with me that caused the miscarriage and she said, “No.” I was hoping to have some sort of conclusive answer that would give me direction. Perhaps knowing what was broken would give me the means to fix it. The irony of my asking isn’t wasted on me. It was odd to be the one sitting across from an industry professional hoping she could give me an answer when I am the one who has it and she’s the one who likely doesn’t know she needs it. I realized too that any answer she could potentially provide me with would never bring my baby back.
It’s an odd place to be in after the loss of a life so short. I feel confused, scared, and lonely although I know I’m not alone (Matthew 28:18) – that is the hope that initially carried me into the doctor’s office without Derek. There will always be who I was before and who I am now. There is no in between and there is no going back. I don’t know how to reconcile all of my questions and it is hard having many that I know will not be answered in this lifetime. I know that miscarriages occur because we live in a world stained by sin. Even so, my first two pregnancies produced healthy babies – why not this one? Why was the baby’s life so short that I don’t even have the knowledge of their gender? Why did the pregnancy end before I could even have the opportunity to receive testing to determine if chromosomal abnormalities were at play? Why do I care if such testing were even an option? Having answers won’t bring my baby back.
I know in my head that God is working this out for my good and His glory (Romans 8:18, Romans 8:28), and His ultimate glory is displayed in me as I am transformed more into His likeness (Romans 8:29, Philippians 1:6, 2 Corinthians 3:18). I am more fully convinced that this isn’t really my story, it’s His story and it is a profound privilege that I even have a role to play. I don’t take that lightly and I certainly don’t take it for granted. I suppose this is primarily what compels me to share this painful part of “my” story.
Following the loss of DuPrez #3, there hasn’t been a day that’s passed without tears both many and few. I’m thankful that I serve a God who not only sees them but holds them in a bottle (Psalm 56:8). There isn’t a day where I wake up or fall asleep without asking, “Why, God?” Part of me feels wrong for asking that considering He is the potter and I am the clay (Isaiah 64:8) but I know that He is easily pleased with me because of Jesus. He knows my understanding is so limited and He is compassionate toward me (Psalm 103:14) as I draw near to Him for comfort. At the encouragement of my pastor, I’ve begun journaling again (in total honesty, I will find any excuse to purchase a cute journal and I suspect that those who know me aren’t the least bit surprised). Sometimes it feels like a pointless endeavor and sometimes it feels like complete catharsis. Considering that personal journals can serve as evidence in court, I am hopeful that mine will serve as evidence – not as I put God on trial and see if He comes through as faithful – I already know He is regardless of my circumstances and feelings (Hebrews 13:8), and that is so precious to me. Perhaps this journal can serve as evidence that although my baby’s life was brief, it matters – to me, certainly and to God, especially. He, after all, is the One who created it. I don’t fully know why He did, but I remain hopeful as I experience the spiritual life He is producing in me at the expense of this death. It already serves as a reminder to me of another mother who once wept as her Son died to bring forth spiritual life for those who would place their hope for salvation in Him (John 14:6, 1 Corinthians 15:3).
Physical death in my body produced a spiritual life that is now and forever in the presence of Jesus and I know there is no greater joy than that this side of heaven. I look forward to the day I can be with Jesus too. Until then the refrain of my heart echoes David’s in Psalm 27:13, “I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living!” When my heart feels heavy I am hopeful knowing that the glory I will one day experience greatly outweighs my current grief (Romans 8:18). Miscarriage doesn’t have the final word because it was spoken by the Word made flesh when He said, “It is finished” (John 19:30). I don’t know that those three words have ever been more precious to me and I am thankful that in these painful days following my miscarriage, the One who holds the keys of Death and Hades (Revelation 1:18) is the One who holds me.
“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” John 12:24
