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My husband and I were married in September of 2013. We purposefully didn’t use birth control, trusting that if God was ready to give us a child then we were ready to love one. It surprised me how long it took me to get pregnant. Wasn’t it supposed to just happen when we wanted it to? Why was I constantly staring at one pink line every month when I was absolutely sure that I “felt” pregnant? I am now wiser, and understand how many things have to happen exactly right for a sperm to reach an egg, get through it and fertilize it, and then for that fertilized egg to travel and implant, in order to see two pink lines appear. After about 7 months of trying, I saw my two pink lines. This was the happiest moment of my life. I cried, looked in the mirror in complete disbelief and told myself, “You’re a mama!” I held my lower abdomen and instantly started talking to my little one. “Hi baby! I am so happy that you are here. I cannot wait to meet you.” I was able to tell my husband that night. I showed him the positive test and we cried in joy together. This was it! We were so ready for this journey.

My mom was a labor and delivery nurse and a midwife, so of course, she was and is my “go to” person with anything pregnancy/birth/infant related. We had many discussions about my options for the birth. Did I want a home birth? A birth in a natural birth center? Or a hospital birth? The idea of a home birth seemed a little messy to me, plus our house just wasn’t equipped for that. I had heard rumors of a natural birth center opening up in our community. I knew that I wanted a natural, drug free birth if possible, so I contacted them. After speaking to my husband about this decision, I made my first appointment with my Midwife. She said she didn’t need to see me until I was 9 weeks along. Wow, that seemed like forever to me, being as I was only 5 weeks pregnant at the time. I am a very impatient person, and that mixed with pregnancy, which takes it’s sweet time making babies, can be a hard situation. But I spent my time researching natural births, praying for my precious baby, and of course asking my mom every question that came to mind. I shared my news with anyone who would listen. I knew in the back of my mind that things could go wrong, that there was a “safe zone” most women wait to get into before sharing. But I believed, and do even more so today, that that life inside me was worthy of excitement and celebration, no matter how long it had been alive.

At 9 weeks I finally had my first appointment with my midwife. We toured the center and we all agreed that this would be a beautiful space to welcome our child into. We talked about diet, exercise and morning sickness. I listened to it all with vigor. Then my midwife said, “Let’s listen to your baby!” Ok, here it was! I was going to hear my baby’s heartbeat for the first time. I could hardly contain my excitement. She put the warm, jelly-like goo on my lower abdomen, followed by the fetal Doppler…static…more static…wait was that it?!…no…just static.

My midwife told me not to worry, many times the heartbeat can’t be found that early in pregnancy. We would try again at our next appointment. This was the first time I started to think that maybe something could go wrong. What if there wasn’t a heartbeat to be found? My mom, midwife, and husband, all seeing the hint of fear on my face, reassured me that things were fine. Nothing to worry about.

The following week I was at work and noticed some dampness in my underwear. I went into the bathroom and my heart dropped into my stomach. Blood. Dark. Not bright. That was ok right? That means old blood, bright would mean new. I immediately called my mom. She once again reassured me, many women bleed during pregnancy. Watch it and see if it comes back. It did. And brighter red. I then called my midwife. She recommended that I go into the ER. I don’t remember a lot of what she said after that. Something about an ultrasound, and a blood test. My mom picked me up from work, and we went to my brother and sister-in-law’s house. (My sister-in-law was due that week with their baby boy.) My mom listened once more for the heartbeat with her Doppler-static, we prayed, and then we decided to head to the ER. My husband met us there.

The nurse brought us back quickly, I explained my symptoms and they came to get me for the ultrasound. I did not want to go. I especially did not want to go by myself. I begged them to let my husband come with me, but that wasn’t allowed. The ride in the wheelchair to the ultrasound room was so long. The room they brought me to was a cold, small, dark room that felt like a closet to me. The ultrasound technician had me lay on the hard table and sprayed the goo. For some reason it didn’t seem as warm or as welcoming as the last time it was used. She told me how many times women come in with bleeding and how so many times everything is absolutely fine. All the while, clicking, and making sure I couldn’t see the screen. All I could think of during this time was, if she does this often, how does she keep a happy demeanor when she sees things that will change the patient’s life forever?

She brought me back to my room and then we waited. And waited. And finally a doctor came in. I didn’t listen to what she said, but I could tell by her face. My baby was gone. She said something about “no heartbeat”, “…about 6 weeks in size”, and then, “This happens to about every 1 in 4 women.” Everyone in the room was crying. I felt my husband come and wrap his arms around me, but I couldn’t move. For a brief moment I had convinced myself that I was dreaming, and that I just needed to wake up and everything would be ok. But I didn’t wake up. It wasn’t a dream. It was real. And I needed to face the reality of what was to come. The doctor told me what to expect next. I prayed that my husband was listening, because as hard as I tried to pay attention, I was sinking into a hole that I couldn’t climb out of and the only sound I could hear was a high pitched ringing in my ears.

We left the hospital, saying goodbye to my mom. I could tell that she was desperate to say the right thing, to take my pain away, but that just wasn’t possible. The ride home was quiet. My husband held my hand as silent tears ran down my face. When we arrived home, I took a hot bath and turned on my worship music. I had so many questions for God. I was confused, heartbroken, angry and in pain, both physical and emotional. My husband updated the family and the ‘I’m so sorry’s’ poured in. That night, I heard my husband weeping for our precious child, and my heart shattered even more.

Three days passed. I called into work, they were fine with me taking as much time as I needed. I received calls of love and support from family. Dear friends came to visit with 3 different kinds of milkshakes so I could choose my favorite. These friends had both lost babies in the past, and their presence, understanding and love helped softened the blow.

I received a call from my mom on that third morning. My sister in law was in labor with my first nephew. They were headed to the hospital. Of course, I wanted to be there. My husband and I headed out, just as I began to feel some severe cramping in my lower abdomen. We spent the day in the hospital waiting room. I also spent the day silently miscarrying my baby. The cramps came regular and painfully. I used the restroom at the hospital many times, praying I wouldn’t miscarry in the hospital toilet. I did my best to stay quiet, we were sharing the room with my sister-in-law’s family and I didn’t want to take away from their joy. So I closed my eyes, took deep breaths through the pain, and prayed it would be over soon. My husband sat next to me, squeezing my hand back when I would squeeze his through each contraction. Rubbing my back and silently praying for me. It was everything to have him next to me.