This is the very long and detailed story of two miscarriages and the things that rose in their wake. It is explicitly detailed and not for everyone. Please skip it if you are not up for it. That said, when I was going through this, I was searching for more detailed accounts of what actually happens. This is my and my family's story. It is far longer than I intended. I'm sorry for that, but it feels like it is time to post as it is. I hope it may help others who are in a similar situation.
This year we started trying for the third and final child of our already vibrant and rambunctious family. In September, we learned we were pregnant. Until the 8 week checkup, I had been glowing, exhausted, and also slightly doubtful of what my body was telling me. There were no baby dreams this time. Following Korean tradition, the tiny being had a nickname for its time growing before birth, 바람, Wind, so called for the exciting typhoon that hit when conception was taking place.
I had a reason to be holding back some of my certainty and excitement. In the spring of this year we had moved to a new house and a few days later, lost a pregnancy at over 12 weeks which, it turned out, was nothing but an empty embryonic sac. It’s called a missed miscarriage and though a baby is not growing, or stops growing at some point, the pregnancy is real. Utter exhaustion, hormonal mood swings like crazy, nausea and the tremendous excitement of growing a life. I had been getting up early to walk, and eating too much because my body was telling me it was hungry all the time. I fear I was rather terrible to my sweet husband, especially at night when my energy plummeted by 8 or 9pm and I couldn’t do another thing. He worked extra hard to support us, cooking gorgeous dinners on the nights I worked and doing more than his share of the heavy lifting and housework.
Spotting started after 12 weeks. Three days later, I started having light contractions that increased in intensity overnight. It was a miniature version of being in labor, and I willed it to be not so, and tried to lie still to suppress it. In the morning we went to the clinic. We had expected to see a baby without a heartbeat on the ultrasound screen, but instead there was an empty oval. It was both shocking and a relief because now the sorrow and guilt of a life that had begun and ended possibly because of something I did, like carrying moving boxes, was gone. The sorrow was still there, strongly, but its nature was slightly changed for me. I think for my husband, S, it was more difficult in that moment because it was confirmed that we had lost the pregnancy we thought we had. But in my heart, I already expected there was nothing living. We walked by the riverside and watched the water flow. We hugged and cried. He picked a boquet of beautiful yellow and green seed pods for me, which I still keep in a wine bottle atop our family display items chest. We gave the dream baby who maybe was never even really there 공기, Air.
Following the doctor’s recommendation, we had a D&C to take care of the remaining products of conception. It’s a relatively simple procedure which is done under general anesthetic with your arms and legs tied to the bed just in case you flail around while sedated. That detail remains clear in my mind as a symbol of how I felt powerless at that time.
The physical recovery was not tremendously difficult for me, and a day or two later I was comforting myself by sweating to break the soil and dig a new garden, and sipping red wine at night. My mom happened to be visiting at the same time, and S took time to travel and process his emotions while I was surrounded by love and care from her and our two sweet kids. Three days later, our cat disappeared, never to return. To say it was a depressing moment is putting it lightly. And the whole time I kept having to go back to the clinic to check and get shots in the butt and more antibiotics, and it’s like you’re having the longest period you’ve ever had. But, hey, I could drink wine.
A couple months later, I was drinking to to smooth out the rough spots in daily life and also to avoid interacting with my feelings. Sometimes I was treating a drink as a reward, definitely sometimes as a coping mechanism when I couldn’t take a real break and the work was piling up. (Cue the rolling stones’ Mother’s Little Helper). It was not a daily thing for me, but it was growing to be weekly or more often. Once I’d had that first drink, another one seemed like the best idea. One night after drinking myself to bed I woke up in the middle of the night and talked with S. The words came out of my mouth seemingly before the thought rose in my mind, “I think I am the kind of person who needs to avoid alcohol 100%.” And that was it. In retrospect, I’ve always struggled with alcohol, and I’m not the only one in my family to have such struggles. I wasn’t an all the time drinker, but when I did drink, I didn’t have control over the brakes. It lead to some riotous good times and really awful moments, which are all part of my story. Now leaving it was a huge gift to myself and my family, and I’m deeply grateful to have been able to receive it. I don’t know when it would have come up if not for the loss of that pregnancy. Being able to discover this has been fantastic. I feel I’m getting back to the me I was meant to be, and certainly have a deeper capacity for love, patience, creativity and connection, which can only be gold for me and my family.
An already fairly established yoga practice became nearly daily routine (shoutout to yoga with Adrienne on youtube!). Cultivating this practice and waking up early for some alone time has made a huge difference in how I handle everything that arises. If anyone wants to talk about sobriety, I am here, dude. If you’re even thinking about it, go for it!
With some new, healthy vibes flowing, we got pregnant again in September! We were excited. I walked in the morning. I modified my yoga according to how I was feeling, and when I breathed I knew my breath was supporting more than just me. What a magical condition to be in! But I also didn’t write to this baby right away, as I had with all my others. I finally started writing to them at around 6 weeks. I started tracking their growth on our fridge whiteboard because I wanted everyone to be part of that process. I tried to extend my heart fully despite my doubts, and anticipated our 8 week checkup.
The morning of the 8 week checkup, I was having the worst nausea and headache of the pregnancy so far. I think I was quite nervous, even though I was telling myself that no matter what the outcome, I am grateful for the incredible family we already have, and we are complete whether or not there is a baby growing here. S took the kids to play, and I waited nervously. My blood pressure was high, which concerned me, as it should be lower than usual in early pregnancy. I figured I was stressing hard, and I always have a higher reading at the doctor’s office than elsewhere. I tried to focus on breathing and calm down.
As soon as the ultrasound started, I could see it. A shadowy figure with movement! The doctor turned on the sound, and there was the heart beating 174 beats per minute (which sounds quite fast but is normal at this gestational age). The kidney-bean size embryo was measuring at exactly 8 weeks, and everything looked good. I don’t know how your heart gets so attached to a tiny thing that isn’t even a baby yet, as it grows. Tears popped to my eyes as soon as I saw and heard the heartbeat. I had not realized how much this meant to me.
I was so excited to tell S face to face. There were a hundred hugs and kisses and more tears from hormonal me (I am not that much of a crier usually, but during pregnancy my tear ducts get a run for their money). We enjoyed a picnic and a walk with our kids, and later we told them the news. J (3 1/2) and G (2) were happy, though I am not sure how much G understood. J said she wanted a sister.
Two days later, on Friday night, I had what can not even be counted as spotting, but was a sign that there had been a tiny bit of blood that was now dried. A little bleeding after a checkup is totally normal, so I tried not to worry. Saturday, we called and told my immediate family the good news. Right after the news was shared, light bleeding started. I tried to be chill. Helped the kids paint boxes for their bus Halloween costumes. We took them to a puppet show at a library and read books together. The bleeding slightly increased, but the clinic was closed until Monday. So my strategy was to take it as easy as possible and wait. Even if we could have gone in, there is nothing they can do if you are in the process of miscarrying. We stopped by the playground and I mostly rested while S threw himself 100% into catching billygoats, which is a favorite game we have recently developed at the playground. I felt so grateful and blessed, watching them.
Overnight the all too familiar toned-down version of labor started. I have read from some online sources that miscarriage is like bad period cramps, and some may experience it that way. In both of my experiences it was a less painful version of contractions you would have if you were giving birth, and still quite uncomfortable. Some people experience severe pain during this process. For me, the emotional pain was greater than the physical, but the physical sensations were enough to keep me awake most of the night. I wasn’t ready for this to be happening, so I tried to lie as still as possible, as this helped slow the contractions. If I even so much as turned over in bed, they came again.
I got up at 7:30 and started painting faces on the bus costumes to give me something simple to occupy my focus. Heavy bleeding started. From the time I woke up until S took the kids out in the afternoon, the bleeding was so heavy and cramps painful enough to keep me doing laps and spending much of my time over the toilet. I was looking for something that might be the embryo to pass, but it was hard to tell. They say your uterus is just the size of a grapefruit, but it seemed like more than double the contents of a grapefruit had already come out. The only good news was, I had very little doubt of what was happening and I could just resign my mind to it. S was a champion, making seaweed soup and playing cars with the kids so they could have a beautiful day even while this was going on. By early afternoon, it seemed the worst of the cramps and bleeding had slowed down. We sat outside watching our chickens and the kids tickled us with tufts of grass.
S took the kids out to try to give me a nap, but I couldn’t sleep. I had collected any large clumps that came out because maybe I could save them to be tested. I searched through the things I had collected for any sign of a baby. I didn’t know what the embryonic sac would look like and could find very little practical information on the internet. I knew it would not be wrong to just let it go, but I wanted to see the baby and say goodbye, to find some closure. But everything was dark and obscure and the searching just made me feel worse. How could I not even find my tiny baby? I lay in the hammock and wrote, in the place where I relished watching the wind whipping around in the storm on the day the baby was conceived. It was a peaceful moment that I was really grateful for. S brought pizza, as per my request (no wine this time, so I turned to comfort food) and we ate together sitting by the chickens again in the beautiful autumn light. That evening we were back at the playground. Watching them kept my heart happy and my mind occupied.
The next morning we went back to the clinic and did another scan showing the heartbeat had stopped, but the embryo was still inside. The doctor recommended another D&C, which I strongly wanted to avoid. He felt it would be ok to wait up to 48 hours, but if it hadn’t completed by then, he would want to do the procedure to avoid infection. For emotional and physical reasons, I strongly preferred to do this at home. I asked for medication to help speed up the process, and also asked if I should save what passed for testing. They said no, and I was relieved to be able to keep it for our own little memorial. I thanked the doctor and the staff and left to tell Warren the sad, but expected, news.
I explained it to J, that something went wrong with the baby, and the baby’s heart stopped beating so the baby couldn’t grow and live. To make sure she understood, I said the baby is dead. She said, “oh no.” I explained that’s why I felt a little bit sick and tired and sad. But we will all be okay. She asked as if to clarify, was I sick? And I assured her that I was already getting better and would be all better soon. She seemed glad to hear this and to give and receive a hug. For G we just told him the baby is “All gone. No more baby. Bye bye baby.”
I know that using the word the dead when talking to a not yet 3 1/2 year old may seem a little harsh, but I wanted to make sure she clearly understood. I also believe that death is a natural part of life and if we treat it with a very open attitude, it may be easier to understand and less frightening or sad. She knows, from her observation of insects, what dead and alive look like. I didn’t want to confuse her or scare her with euphemisms about sleeping. She seemed to take it in stride. Showing some concern and then when reassured that I would be ok, playing wildly and joyfully as usual, including a recently trending behavior that my husband and I hope disappears quickly: taking off her pants at the playground. At least it made us laugh.
We spent time at the playground, and I gave S some needed time to refresh himself at the sauna while I had a coffee date with the kids in a fancy cafe with a garden where we could play cars. There were cattails growing in a pond there, and I collected some of the dropped fuzz from one of them, recalling that the native people in both the US and Korea used this fuzz to line beds for babies. It was soft and warm. When I was a kid I made fairy dresses out of flower petals. It felt like I was doing the same kind of thing now as I collected beautiful fallen leaves and things for our baby’s bed. I didn’t even know if I would have a chance to use these things, but picking them up was part of my healing process, I guess.
Overnight, not much happened. I couldn’t sleep. I wrote and sat with our kittens (two orange kitties we got in early August and vowed to keep only indoors so they wouldn’t disappear like Sunny cat had done). Finally I snuggled with Warren around 4am and slept until 7-something or 8. When I got up, the kids were also ready to be up. I put finishing touches on their bus costumes and made a nice breakfast. I messaged my friend who is an OB/gyn doctor for her opinion about waiting longer for a natural miscarriage. I was well aware that 24 hours may not be enough. I did yoga, hula hooped, did some pushups, trying anything to get the process going.
S got up and played with the kids, then we ate a late breakfast together. The morning is a bit of a blur, but around 11am, the miracle I had been waiting for occurred. I had been taking care of the kids and probably was either helping G brush his teeth or stop playing with the water in the bathroom sink, and I picked him up and, making a funny face in the mirror, lifted him up and down a number of times, which makes him laugh. I think this was the final thing that helped get things moving. A minute later I sat on the toilet, I could feel something larger and rounder than the usual coming out of my body. I pushed gently and caught it in my hand. It was the size of a lime and looked like a small heart, or a dead bird (why I thought like that I’m not sure, but it’s one of the immediate comparisons my mind made), or a ball at the top of a piece of kelp. It was ovular and very firm and round. I collected it in the container I was saving for the occasion, and went to tell S. We hugged. I was so relieved. It felt like an instant weight had lifted. I told him that I intended to attempt to open up the sac and see the embryo before burying it. We had decided to bury it, if we could, under the trees at the foot of the small mountain behind our house. I asked if he would like to see it too, and he said he didn’t want to. I am glad we were able to support each other while choosing different ways of processing.
I had been mentally preparing what I might do next for a full day. We had some homemade paper given to us by an artist friend who left Korea a few years ago. I made a very simple box. I lined the bottom of it with red and orange/yellow leaves I had collected the previous day, then filled it with the cozy cattail fluff. S helped the kids pick little red and orange chrysanthemums and they placed one each in the box.
I took my grandma’s scissors (old metal scissors that remind me of her hands and all the things she made, using them) and the little box into the bathroom and locked the door. I was really hesitant about what I intended to do. On one hand, my body had made this perfect little room for the baby, and it seemed it would be respectful to bury it as it was. On the other hand, I had this instinctual, primal feeling that I needed to see my baby (as I thought of it, though it is still classified as an embryo at this stage). I felt I would always have some questions or regrets if I didn’t see it. So I channeled my high school biology lab courage, and gently, so gently, started removing the outside layer of tissue. The sac was quite strong and well made. I had imagined a much softer and more watery thing, but the walls were firm, requiring some effort to cut. I almost stopped, worried I might harm the tiny thing inside, but I knew I could do this gently and I worked slowly, cutting a little, then stripping tissue away from the outside. Soon, a window formed. I could see through a clear spot in the sac something tiny and peach colored floating in the fluid that was still contained inside. Finally, I cut through the last layer, and clear fluid came out. I widened the hole I had made and gently tilted it, and the tiny embryo came out and into my hand.
It was exactly what it should be. A tiny, seemingly perfectly-formed embryo, a little bigger than a large kidney bean, the head accounting for about 1/2 its length. It had little black dots for eyes, a small projection where the nose and mouth were forming, and what must be developing ears, lower down on the sides of the head. Its body was mostly translucent, with more opaque areas where the brain was forming and the arms and legs looked more white in color. It had tiny webbed fingers which were held close to its body, touching its chest and belly.
The wonder of it floored me. 8 weeks pregnant actually means conception occurred just 6 weeks ago. In 6 weeks and 3 or 4 days, it had gone from a fertilized egg to a dividing ball of cells, to gradually take a human form. All of its organs were beginning to form, and brain cells were being created at a rate of 100/minute. When you’re in early pregnancy, you read about all of this, but somehow trying to visualize the miracle that is occurring might be pretty tough. You know it’s happening, but it is too incredible to be real. Like all that knowledge we have about the solar system, the galaxy and the universe. We see pictures, we try to comprehend sizes and distances and how it all dances around the tiny speck that is us on our little planet, but we can’t really grasp it. Here it was, a tiny piece of the cosmos in the palm of my hand. It was incredible to see. It was also sad. I took pictures for myself to keep. I talked to the tiny baby. I can’t remember my words, but they expressed love, gratitude and apology. I so wanted to keep that little one alive. I kissed the baby, by which I mean one of my lips oh so lightly brushed its tiny head, and then I put it in the bed we had lovingly made for it. I tied the box lid on with twine, and moved it to the top of our family keepsakes display cabinet, with a candle burning. It sat next the bouquet of dried seed pods from our other loss, and in front of a picture of the two of us holding hands and sitting face to face by the river at Varanasi on our honeymoon.
My mother instincts and hormones made me sentimental about every single thing related to the baby. All the tissue that I had collected before I knew what the baby would look like, which could not be tested, along with the egg sac, I buried under some trees. I could have flushed it, but my emotions were running high and there was a voice in my head telling me that was my baby’s bed, which somehow crumpled me in tears more than the moment of seeing the baby. The tears return even now, more than two weeks later, recalling how I felt. So, I used that stuff to nurture green, growing things and that helped my heart.
I hugged my family. We sat outside a bit. We had lunch. And then we picked more flowers, S brought some sticks of incense and carried the little box up to the woods. The kids love digging, and S helped them take turns digging the hole while I took pictures and dug a little bit, too. Then S placed the box in the hole, the kids added some flowers, and we each said some words of love and gratitude. We all put handfuls of soil back in the tiny hole until it was buried well. J declared the ceremony “all done,” and started walking back by herself. S followed her, and I stayed to watch the wind dance and listen to the birds while G played with leaves and was fascinated by the smoke coming from the incense. When we were ready, we went down to join them in the recently-harvested and still fragrant field of sesame. J and G played with the dried stalks, and J found a “rainbow plant” growing and showed us the stem with red, yellow and green running up and down it. The kids were soon laughing and tackling or tickling each other or some such joyful nonsense. Sitting with my husband and watching them play, my heart was full.
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I was lucky to have just one last visit to the doctor that same day which confirmed everything had been expelled, and at which they gave my prophylactic antibiotics for three days.
I took one week off of work for my first miscarriage (I only work two days a week right now) and found it really helpful. For my second one, I was back to work two days after it “completed” (more on my use of quotation marks in notes below) and found getting back to the routine right away to be really helpful in this case.
While having a miscarriage again was not what we had hoped for, doing it at home and being in charge of our experience was empowering. I faced something I had never experienced before, and took care of it as well as I could. I felt both more vulnerable and stronger than ever, going through that experience.
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And then, the cat. That very same evening, after dark, our kittens got out. The door had been left ajar, we were all tired and distracted, and it just happened. I heard the neighbor dogs barking and went to check, and when we realized they were out, we quickly went about corralling them. An alarm was sounding in our brain, telling me the pattern is we have a miscarriage and then something bad happens to a cat. I was able to grab one right away, and S saw the other one climbing down the wall that separated our house from our neighbor’s house. I ran around to the other side of the barrier and found the cat in a face off with our neighbor’s dog. Both growling. A speck of blood on the dog’s ear. I held the dog and waited for S to grab the cat.
I don’t know how a sweet old three legged grandma dog can be so fast, but she is still an adept hunter of rats. She had bitten our cat just once, but it was serious. He couldn’t move one leg at all, and had a puncture above one hip and a lump protruding from his belly. We decided quickly that although it meant an hour drive for S, we needed to get him to the emergency vet. I made sure I gave the kids a chance to say goodbye to him because I was honestly worried that depending on the seriousness of his condition, he might not make it back home.
On the phone, during the drive to the vet, I asked S to do whatever needed to be done to save him, if the prognosis would be good. I said, “I can’t handle another loss right now,” and then immediately backed it up and said I could, of course, handle it if that’s what was happening, but that I really hoped we could save him. I felt really bad for putting pressure on S, who was already dealing with way too much. We were immediately talking about how we need to restructure our home and life to focus on safety. I felt like our lack of organization and structure was causing everything to crumble, and suddenly felt fear for the safety of our children, if something like this can happen so fast to the cat. The wildness and unmanageability of life was rearing its head. We already knew the fragility of life and our limited power to control our family’s safety, but now we were really feeling it.
It took a couple hours, but after helping hold the cat during his treatment, S finally was able to call and tell me that his prognosis was pretty good. The punctures were extremely deep, going almost through his entire body, but the kind and competent vet had cleaned and sutured him. The bite barely missed his bladder, and all bones and internal organs were spared. The lump on his stomach was a hernia, which would need a surgery the next day, but he had a good chance of full recovery.
It felt like a huge mercy poured down on us.
The cat spent three days at the vet and then came home, thinner, bandaged around his midsection, but able to slowly walk around. After a week of antibiotics and gentle care, he went back to the vet. The surgery site was healing very well, but the puncture near his hip had lost its stitches naturally, and needed to be stitched again. This time he got staples and a cone to wear, and the bandage was able to come off.
Ten days after that visit, and almost exactly three weeks from the incident, the stitches were removed and his recovery has been amazing. It is so good to see him healing and feeling like himself again.
It has been a bumpy ride, but we have so much to be grateful for. Our family is so wonderful just as it is today. Sometimes I think we are insane to even want to add another person to the chaos. I mean, we barely survive being jumped on by two toddlers as it is! How would we ever keep up?
And I, while not pregnant anymore, kind of am pregnant. This time is is with a book. It may develop much slower than a baby, though I’m trying to set deadlines for myself to keep my fingers moving. During our most recent pregnancy I was reminded of the importance of making time to do your art, and I realized that I owe it to myself to write in a focused way toward a project. This writing has taken me away from that, but this is also essential.
Our losses this year came with incredible gifts. Some tangible, like sobriety and writing with focus toward a goal, but others intangible. The closeness that is deepened in loss. The vivid appreciation of our humble lives which we are all so fortunate to live. It makes me all the more grateful for my children, my husband, and all our parents and grandparents and great great, etc. grandparents spanning back and back through time. It zaps me into my senses and helps me see the miracles in every ordinary thing. Seed pods. Dying plants returning to the earth. Trees reaching ever upward toward light and swaying in the wind.
I’m also grateful to whoever may be reading this for taking (so much) time to share our story. Sharing our stories is connection. Connection is everything.
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General Reflections that may be helpful to others who are facing a miscarriage:
I never imagined a miscarriage to be this long, drawn-out thing, but the process is often really long, and physical symptoms hang around for days or weeks afterwards, reminding you of what you’ve been through. It takes time for your hormones to readjust, and the highs and lows that come with childbirth can also strike in this situation. The emotional toll was harder than the physical toll, for me, but weird stuff came up, including tendonitis in one knee, due I think, to the fact that hormones have started stretching all the tendons and ligaments in your body to prepare your hips to open during the birth process. Nausea and aversions to scents continued off an on for about a week. We all have different bodies, and the physical recovery can take quite some time. Combined with whatever you may be going through emotionally (and this can also be very different for different people), you need to be gentle and allow yourself to heal in whatever way feels right for you. Future periods may be heavier or more painful. If you have any question as to whether what you’re experiencing is normal, it is probably best to check it out.
Recovery was not a linear process for me. Overall, I felt much better the very next day. I was able to go back to my normal activities pretty much right away. But there have been some days when I felt great, and other days when I just felt really tired, or the old pregnancy nausea came back to hit me and gave me the blues a week later. Emotionally, I felt great sometimes and really low at other times. I was also more sensitive than usual, crying or getting mad at something that usually would just flow around me like water of a duck’s back.
Partners are also going through a lot in this process and need love and support, which may take different forms than the love and support you need. My husband had some moments of being very open with his feelings, and other moments where he needed to avoid getting too deep into it and DO whatever he could do to serve our family. He reported feeling helpless and useless while this was happening, because there was nothing he could do to change the outcome. It was a terrible feeling tinged with anger and sorrow, and I tried to help by expressing my deep gratitude for the many many things he was doing every single day to support and take care of us, but feelings need space and permission to roam. The morning after it happened, he was running back and forth to the hardware store, securing doors with latches that kids can’t reach to keep the cats in, and working on other projects with intensity and focus. He almost wanted to avoid eye contact with me because he didn’t want to get stuck in the sorrow. He wanted to move forward. This was a little hard because while I was also with him on those goals, I wanted some moments of connection and permission to share feelings as part of our recovery process. But I understood this to be his way of processing and working with what came up. And he also did give me those moments to hug and cry, or whatever needed doing. He also cooked favorite foods and made lots of fun moments of play and connection with the kids when I was taking a break.
If this is happening or has happened to you, you have my heart. Whether it’s your first attempt to have a child or your family is already overflowing with kids, it’s a difficult thing. My heart especially goes out to people struggling to have their first child. Having my two kids to snuggle and play with and just the sheer business of taking care of them kept me focused on life. Without them, I would probably spend more time in the grieving process. My wish to anyone reading this is that what you are longing and striving for will find you somehow. It may not be a direct path, and it may not be the path you originally envisioned, but I hope the path has other gifts to offer and you eventually create the family you long for. Even if I don’t know you, you have my love.
Supplies I found useful for going through a miscarriage at home:
- Large, long pads
- Overnight panty-style protection (basically, adult diapers), which was my go-to for three days, not only overnight. I hate wearing pads and feeling sticky and humid all the time. But you’re not allowed to insert anything while it’s going on or up to two weeks after. I felt so much more secure wearing these, because when the bleeding was at its peak, I could fill a large-sized pad in one unexpected gush. These also felt tighter and more comfortable than my loose underwear with a pad bunching up down there. It’s a small splurge and not totally necessary, but ever so much more secure-feeling.
- If you are trying to collect the tissue that comes out, I recommend keeping a plastic container or bag somewhere in the bathroom, and refrigerate or freeze if it’s going to be a while before your appointment. You may also want something that has holes in it like a sieve to help you catch stuff so that you’re not fishing it out of the toilet. I repurposed something from our recycling bin. If you do not need to collect tissue for medical purposes (they may not even consider testing until 2-3 consecutive losses) and you don’t feel a need to see what passes, then you don’t need to do any of this.
- Over the counter pain relievers may or may not be necessary. They weren’t for me, but I read many a story where people needed them.
- A project to keep your hands busy and your mind semi-occupied in between rounds of hanging out in the bathroom. Something you can do while sitting down and easily set down and pick back up would be ideal.
- Something to write with. Documenting your experience and your feelings can help you understand and integrate your experience. I think talking about it with a trusted family member or friend can have a similar effect.
- Connection to others who have been through this. For me, reading stories on the miscarriage association website and elsewhere was helpful.
- A treat, or some kind of self care/comfort measures. Something to drink or eat. Something to wear that makes you feel comfortable/beautiful/powerful (whatever you need). A comfy pillow and blanket on the couch. Candles or incense to burn. Family memorabilia that reminds you of your deep connection to a long line of powerful women. A movie to watch. A new music playlist to get some positive vibes flowing. A walk alone or with someone you love. Whatever it is, for you.
- Knowledge that you can do this, and that as terrible as it may feel right now, you will be okay. And the willingness to reach out and seek help if you need it. Seeking help is strong, brave and kind to yourself and others.
Sending love and light to everyone.
