My miscarriage story began even before I knew I was pregnant. To see how God works in our life is encouraging.
Sometime in November of 2020 ( I don’t recall knowing I was pregnant at this point), I struggled with knowing my purpose here on earth. I prayed about this and felt discouraged.
What was I doing for the Kingdom of God? I battled over this and prayed.
One night, as I lay praying in bed, God gave me a mental image of myself, lying in the hospital bed. Jesus came down from heaven and reached out his hand to take me with him. I asked him, “what about my children?” And he told me, that’s why I was still here.
To care for them, teach them, to guide them to Him. Ok, if that’s what He wanted me to do, then I wanted to do that joyfully.
When I first realized that I was pregnant in November of 2020, my first initial thought was, again?
We had five children, ages ranging from 10 to 1 year and 5 months. I felt I still had a baby, and I struggled with accepting another pregnancy.
I really enjoy having a baby. They are such a joy to me. But it is for selfish reasons that I struggled to accept this pregnancy.
Pregnancies are hard for me. Morning sickness is very real over here, and there are about 6 weeks every pregnancy where I’m sick and struggle to care for our children.
Once that is over depression sets in. Usually not a depressed person, 6 months of no energy and feeling down is my life when I’m pregnant. It affects my marriage, as well as my parenting.
But as soon as I deliver, I love life again. It’s strange (and I’m sure it’s hormonal).
It was at about 7-8 weeks pregnant that I woke up one morning, and thought to myself, “I don’t feel pregnant. Something’s wrong.” There was no nausea. Up to this point, there had been little nausea, but no throwing up.
With my last baby, I felt good until 7 weeks. That had been my longest period of feeling good, ever. This was even longer, and I felt that something was wrong.
I still had very little energy, and got easily overwhelmed. But this strong feeling that something felt off persisted. For this reason, I decided we wouldn’t share the news until I had been to the doctor.
Christmas came over this time. I felt very normal, and had a doctor’s appointment for January 3. On December 30, 2020, I started spotting. Once I saw that I accepted it. This confirmed what I expected.
We visited that evening, and I told my husband, “If I say we have to go, please know that it’s because I’ve started bleeding more.”
Looking back, I don’t know why I was so secretive. Also, how was I to know what was before me?
We had a nice visit and went home. I had no cramping, no pain, and the bleeding was light. At home, I passed what looked like a little sack. I was 11 weeks along at this point.
A LOT Of Blood
We went to sleep. At around 1 am I woke up and felt gushing. I quickly went to the bathroom, and blood was pouring out of me. I had a bit of a panic attack. I stuffed a pad against the flow, and going to my phone, I googled “How much blood can a person lose before it’s dangerous?”
Well. Google was no help. If you soak a pad in an hour, then go in, that is pretty much what I got for an answer. Filling a pad was happening in 10 minutes, so this didn’t apply anywhere nearby.
I was shaking at this point, fearful and scared. My husband was awake by this point and I told him we needed to go in. He called his mom to come care for the kids, and we drove in.
We lived an hour away from the nearest medical clinic, and this was only a small clinic. The main hospital was 1.5 hours away. I would have preferred going there, but because of the amount of blood I was losing, I didn’t think that was wise (looking back, going to the first hospital was a big mistake).
As we were driving, I could constantly feel the blood gushing. I tried calling 811, but couldn’t get through.
At this point, fear came over me. What if I died? I had heard that it takes 12 minutes for a person to bleed to death.
I fought against that fear with the truth that Jesus was my Savior, and if I died I would see Him! There was only joy at that thought.
At the hospital, my husband helped me out of our vehicle. Blood was all over the seat, and just pouring down my legs. We got into the hospital, and no one was there. Finally, someone came and gave us a mask. Then asked us to wait in the waiting room.
At this point, my husband had enough. He pointedly told the nurse that we needed help, there was a lot of blood.
I was given a gown, and shown to the bathroom.
My husband helped me undress. I was scooping blood clots into the toilet by the handful. I think my husband couldn’t understand why I was concerned about the mess at this point.
I got in bed, and it wasn’t long before I started getting dizzy. They gave me an IV with Saline, and I started feeling ok.
Blood was still constantly gushing out from me. We had to wait an hour before the doctor was there. He examined me, and told us they would send me to the bigger hospital 40 minutes away.
Another hour passed before the ambulance was ready. During this time I talked to my husband about dying. I only felt peace and joy at the thought of going to see Jesus at this point. Yes, my family would miss me. But to actually see Jesus!
They transported me to the ambulance, and I felt fine. My husband drove along behind and it was at this point where he started to really struggle with fear.
He could lose his wife today! Reaching out to friends, he asked for prayers. It was still early, maybe 6 am at this point.
My miscarriage story is a long one, so I decided to break it up into parts. You can read part 2 here.