Rachelle’s story- Early Miscarriage

You can find Rachelle’s original post on her blog, A Bean Scene.

Today is the day I miscarried. Excuse me. Let me start again. Today I hunched over the toilet at work sobbing while the little being I was growing slipped through my vagina into the bowl of filthy, bloody water. Today is the day a very literal part of me died.

Retrieving it from the bowl, I stare at the dark red sac. Unbelievable. I was just starting to have excitement for the child. I turn the sac over in my hands, noting the cells that had so miraculously began forming to create a masterpiece which had the makings of two imperfect parents.

An immobilizing surge of pain begins to shoot from my abdomen as my body realizes that the process of creation is terminated. My body knows it is all over. My heart begs for it to not be so. I sit quietly there, crying, cupping my hands around a bloody mess that I had such high hopes for.

“How am I going to tell Trevor?”

How could I possibly find words to explain that the organism for which we had prayed and received was now gone? Gone. Four letters that carry the weight of so much meaning.

I can’t help feeling that I failed.

While more clumps of blood flow out of me, I begin to feel foolish for believing that it was my time to be a mother. Why would I think that we could be blessed with a child so soon after deciding it was our time to be parents? So, so foolish.

Four Weeks Pregnant

My heart continues to throb. I can’t stand being in the bathroom of my workplace feeling the worst emotional pain I have ever been introduced to. The bleeding has slowed. I clean up the mess. I leave work. I get in my car. I drive home. Numb.

I try to pull myself together as I approach my street. Thinking that I am going to wait in the car for a moment, I veer my car into the driveway and begin to feel a heavy stream of blood leave my body. I don’t have time to pull myself together. My body won’t let me have a moment. No, once I found out I was pregnant I became second to the child. Even in its’ death, I am still second to the child.

Sprinting, I slam through the front door and into the bathroom. Stripping down, a burst of fluid gushes into the toilet. Tears leave my eyes without even a thought. My loudness wakes Trevor from his sleep and he comes in to check on me, asking what could be wrong.

“It’s dead.”

“I killed it.”

I don’t know how I will recover. I don’t know how to piece myself together.

A miscarriage this early is unavoidable, right? Then it shouldn’t hurt like this. But I feel utter loss. I feel hopeless. I have never felt pain like this. Nothing in my life so far has ever been this devastating. I didn’t know that something I had known for such a short period could tear me apart quite like this.

The emotional pain miscarriage carries is infinitely deep. I didn’t feel like a mother yet, but being a part of the creation of this thing, this child: it was a part of me. It is a part of me. And it is dead.

My first child’s due date is… was… June 10th. This date will always be special.


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