Saturday, March 9, 2019

A Miscarriage Story

I had a miscarriage last year. It really was only a few months ago, four to be exact, but being able to say last year makes it easier to breathe. It sucked. That doesn’t sound eloquent or reflective, but it’s pretty much how I feel about it. It just sucked really bad. Or as my 3-year-old Payton says, “This is really bad, mama.” She says it about most of the things she doesn’t enjoy like getting her hair brushed, getting a shot, or having the hiccups.

I was having spotting that wasn’t too concerning but then it got worse and my heart knew it was not right. It was the day before Thanksgiving break, which is the worst time to get coverage for a classroom, but my co-workers made it happen. I called my husband to tell him what was happening and he was right by my side to drive me from scary appointment to scary appointment.

She sent us immediately for tests and more tests and then left us waiting. 5 o’clock came and went. Then 6. Then 7. We finally got a call around 7:30 pm. She confirmed things didn’t look good but nothing was definitive. I might still be pregnant. I didn’t know miscarriage was so grey. I felt like she should have been able to tell me whether or not I was pregnant. But, no. So, yeah. It didn’t look good but there was hope… She said a lot more to me, all of which Josh was trying to figure out based on my facial expressions, but all I heard was that the baby and I were in limbo.

Then she told me I was not cleared to travel. The major, deathly situations were ruled out but she deemed it unsafe for me to board a plane. You guys, we had tickets to visit my parents in Florida who had been there for months waiting for and then getting a new liver for my dad. She also said she understood if I didn’t take her advice.

I “slept” on it, which should be read as I laid in bed wide awake praying for an answer to come. My answer didn’t come before our children woke up. Our normal morning routine involves sippy cups with milk, cartoons, and snuggling on the couch. I went through the motions, but as I sat on our couch I was mortified by the idea that I could bleed out and stain it. We didn’t have any supplies, so I put a folded towel down under me. My daughter decided she wasn’t “cozy” and wanted me to move. My husband walked out of our bedroom just in time to witness me sobbing while trying to tell our daughter that I couldn’t move off of the towel. She asked me why and I just cried harder. Josh and I tried to talk but I couldn’t get much out. We were both in pain. This was the first time we were grieving together. The hardest part was that we weren’t sure if we were allowed to start the process. Was our faith weak? Did we not believe in hope?

I wanted to be anywhere else. I imagined that situation repeating itself for the entire week ahead and decided that being extremely uncomfortable on a plane was worth it. Also, my husband went and bought the supplies I needed. It’s kind of a blessing that hard, earth-shattering situations always call for practical things. My husband is the kind of man who needs to do something to make it better and he did all the things he could.

We texted our people. The people who we’re sharing life and meals and prayers and hurts with. We said we decided to stick to our travel plans but we needed help. Friends came with airplane snacks and toys, donuts and free hands to keep our kiddos busy while we threw things from the dryer into the suitcase, took showers, and packed the car.

When we purchased our tickets we decided to fly out of Vegas, which is 4 hours away because the money we saved was worth it. My husband powered through that drive doing everything he could to make us all comfortable. You want to stop for the 3rd time? No problem. You don’t want to grab something from the drive-thru? Cool. Starbucks drive-thru? You got it! The kids want to run around, again? Let’s do it.

So, after an 8-hour drive, we made it to the airport. We parked the car and got our crazy selves situated. Did I mention Josh had ruptured his plantar fascia ligament and couldn’t fully walk? We were a sight! It was interesting walking/rolling through the airport as people gave us looks and sighs that communicated their being impressed with us. No one knew we were losing a life as we were living one.

Looking back, I know I passed that little life at the airport before we got on the plane. The bleeding didn’t stop but I knew what the doctor couldn’t tell me; we were never going to welcome this baby, this life into our family.

We boarded the plane, kept two children alive on a red-eye, and I didn’t yell at anyone even though I desperately wanted to tell the passengers and crew to tread lightly. You think a pregnant lady is bad? Try a woman having a miscarriage who has two unconsolable toddlers on a red-eye flight. I looked at my husband at one point, as I was uncontrollably crying along with our kiddos, and wanted to be able to tell him how he could help but there was nothing. The look on his face told me he would have cut off a limb if it would have helped. We were both surviving these things- miscarriage and flying with toddlers without a manual.

We were hurting and confused and exhausted. Josh texted my parents something about us landing and them getting the grumpiest version of us that had ever existed. You know what though? My husband never lost his cool. He too was experiencing so many of the same feelings I was but he held us together. He made traveling through the airport like crazy people an adventure for the kiddos and put a positive spin on us being the grumpiest.

Before getting our luggage, we went into one of those family restrooms and wiped ourselves down with baby wipes and changed our clothes so we could present our best selves to the Florida sunshine. We embraced my parents, who were experiencing new life as we were experiencing lost life. It was beautifully heartbreaking.

We spent the week laughing and crying and exploring and cooking and resting and living our best life, which looked pretty good alongside the help of our family and friends. Josh and I also clung to each other like nobody’s business. As each night came we curled up in bed as close to one another as possible and cried and talked and tried to think about other things.

I hope to one day write about what I’ve learned about God’s goodness and faithfulness from this experience, but for now, I’m just grateful I got it out for myself and for anyone else out there who needs to hear it. Hearing the miscarriage stories of so many women gave me hope and made me brave. Seeing so many women live brave lives after miscarriage allowed me to believe that I would, too. And now I am. One day at a time.

Let's all share our stories for the women who need to hear them.


  1. Think you for sharing your story. Reading your story reminds me all to well of my own miscarriage. It was also the first time my husband and I learned to grieve together. Your vulnerability will help women 💕

  2. Awe, this is so sad! Sorry to hear that you had such a tough time. It takes a lot of courage to write what you wrote from the heart and I bet there are so many women who can relate and can find comfort in your story.
    Elozabeth | Tired Mom Supermom