Miscarriage
The story of miscarriage and thoughts after.
“There is no death we experience more
intimately than one that literally passed through us.”
— Elizabeth Becharhd
One year ago I miscarried our third baby “Little Muffin”.
We’d named this baby Little Muffin because we were on our way out to church when I remembered to check the results of the pregnancy test… and was shocked to see a very definitive double line. I had sat down on the floor trying to comprehend the fifteen month gap this baby would have with Aurelia.
“I’m pregnant. I’m gonna need to buy a muffin with coffee this morning to process this,” I said.
Wesley laughed and declared our child, “Little Muffin.”
After a couple of days the initial shock wore off and the excitement set in. We decided to continue on with life as usual and announce to our family over the Christmas holidays.
The weeks flew by and we managed to make it past Thanksgiving without spilling the beans. In fact, I’d just started to create the announcement gift for Christmas when the bleeding began.
I am a doula, so I know some bleeding can be normal or even a separate issue. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re miscarrying, but my body knew, and therefore I knew.
The next three days crawled on. I was tracking my symptoms and bleeding. I finally saw my midwife and got to see Little Muffin.
A beating heart.
The baby looks fine, the bleeding may simply be from having pregnancies so close together.
Yet, the bleeding worsened and two days later. Worried for my own body, I began to worry. Eventually we decided to take a visit to the emergency room. It was a forty minute drive, tears fell unbidden down my face, as the sun was setting.
Over the drive, the sky before us turned into a rainbow. Vibrant and full colors from the setting sun are a rare site. In awe, I snapped a photo and in that moment I heard the Lord’s voice in my head.
“I am faithful.”
"Faithful in what?" I wanted to say.
I have been around long enough to know he doesn't promise the life of my baby in the womb or out. I know to love the Lord is to know suffering. Why remind me of your faithfulness now?
The hours crawled by as we endured the emergency room hoping for good news despite the heavy bleeding and clots passing.
Again, a beating heart.
Five hours spent in the ER hoping to hear good news, and we did, but nothing lifted the heaviness I felt. I just knew it wasn’t true.
“Mrs. Wursthorn, everything truly looks fine. You’re not even dehydrated,” the doctor said.
“I’m not worried about my water intake. I’m worried about my baby,” I said.
“Well, your baby looks okay for now.”
I was sent home and told to see my midwife Tuesday morning.
The next day I woke up in immense pain. My back hurt so badly I did almost nothing but sit on my heating pad while managing the kids. By the evening, I was terrified. I experienced what felt like minor labor. I didn’t need a doctor to tell me our baby had died, and if Little Muffin had somehow survived, something was very wrong.
By the next morning I was a wreck. Still, none of our family knew of the situation. I’d asked Wesley not to say anything in the hope that this would pass and our baby would be okay. That I’d get the Christmas I wanted, that I wouldn’t have to bring my parents bad news after the rough year they had already experienced.
Yet, in the waking moments of Tuesday morning, Wesley said, “It’s time to call your mom.”
I called and asked her to come with me to the appointment.
A few hours later, me and my mom (with Aurelia in tow) entered into the clinic. Audrey (my midwife), came in and did an ultrasound.
She was so kind as she silently searched my uterus. I knew it shouldn’t take very long to find a baby or a heartbeat.
Finally, she set her things down, took my hand, and said, “Gracie, I’m so sorry, your womb is empty. The baby passed away and has been delivered.”
She kept talking, but it all became a blur.
Your womb is empty.
The impact of those simple words shook my soul.
When all was said and done, I pulled my phone out to make a much more difficult phone call than the one I’d made to my mom.
I called Wesley.
My mom stayed through the evening with us and headed back home.
We were crushed. We hadn’t expected the pregnancy, but we’d been so excited and so in love. We took comfort in knowing our baby was and is with the Lord, but the grief was (and still is) very raw and real. There is deep sorrow in knowing that our family will never be whole on earth. In those days, we held Isaiah and Aurelia a little tighter in our arms. What a gift it is to be given these little souls! It is something we knew we would never take for granted again.
The following day, we sat outside on our back patio enjoying the crisp air. Aurelia was so distraught that morning, I thought even she feels the sorrow.
Over those first few weeks of recovery, I kept thinking about that rainbow sunset and the Lord’s words to me.
I am faithful, and I keep my promises.
The Lord kept bringing these things to mind, but I couldn’t help but think, “Which promises? Be more specific Lord!”
However, as we walked through the journey of grief, I was given answers every day from verse after verse.
He promises to comfort those who mourn, He promises to give me rest, to be with me, and strengthen me. Ultimately, I know He promises to right all this pain and suffering one day. These truths bring peace and healing to my soul. The same God who came to earth and wept at the grave of Lazarus, weeps with me today. May he continue to faithfully hold us as we heal and grieve this loss.
I wrote these words shortly after our miscarriage. As I have reread, added, and edited my thoughts from almost a year ago, I’m struck by the deep seeds the Lord rooted in my heart while I had no idea what the next several months would bring.
Two times in the last year I asked the Lord to give me a miracle and keep my family whole, and yet, the answer was no.
This does not mean He has not been faithful, but we have seen how He has cared and gone before and behind us in ways we would consider miraculous. The truth is, we live in a fallen painful world. I asked God for an Earthly miracle, but instead it is the eternal miracle he gives me. The gospel is what brings me hope each morning.
One day I’ll get to meet Little Muffin (or Lily as we later named him/her after the loss).
One day I’ll get to hold Aurelia once more.
That is the real miracle and hope.
My family may not be whole on earth, but one day, it will, and until then, the Lord will walk faithful beside us in this fallen world until we meet face to face.
For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place,
when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.Psalm 139:13-16
