I will never forget the day my baby fell out of my body, into my toilet.
I was 25 years old and had all-the-feels about my first pregnancy. I was scared, nervous, and very over-protective. As soon as those two pink lines appeared on the stick, Mama Bear mode instantly kicked in. I made all of the necessary first appointments and sat through the grueling lab tests. I was so happy to bring a new life into the world! I nursed my growing seed very carefully, despite the extreme fatigue and sickness.
February 2008 –
My East Coast neighborhood was hit with a massive ice storm.
Wednesday, February 20th, 7:30 am –
I walked out of my house towards my car so that I could get to work. In my mind I had done all of the right things – wore proper shoes, checked for ice patches, walked slowly. However, those precautionary measures weren’t enough. I slipped. I slid across the walkway and fell on my side into the grass. Panic set-in. Was my baby ok? Was I ok? After getting up and dusting myself off, I walked back to my house and made an appointment with my doctor. 3 hours later, everything was checked; all was well. I took it easy for the rest of the day, grateful that my baby was safe.
Friday, February 22nd, 6:30 am –
I woke up to get ready for work. I did my usual morning routine, but this time something was different. As I was using the bathroom, my stomach began cramping, I felt a little dizzy, and then I heard it. A loud splash, followed by a huge gush. I stood up to blood everywhere. My 8-week-old fetus, in the toilet. The call to 911, rush to the hospital, and weeks of physical and mental recovery were a blur.
October 2009 –
When I saw those two pink lines appear on the stick, I was instantly frozen in fear. A ton of ‘what-ifs’ flooded my mind.
November 2009 –
When I began spotting at 8 weeks with this pregnancy, panic paralyzed me. I was scared to leave the house, scared to move. So, I prayed. Prayed to not have a repeat experience. Prayed for my body to be able to sustain this pregnancy and the growth of my baby.
April 2010 –
Those prayers kept me going and helped me to deliver (after 23 very long hours) a healthy baby boy, my rainbow baby.
Today, that baby boy is 9 years old and has grown to be a great big brother, to two little sisters.
I will never forget the trauma of my miscarriage. I not only lost my baby; I also lost my boyfriend and my sanity. I was really lost, for a long time. But my body successfully carried to term 3 pregnancies after my miscarriage, and for that I am proud. Today, my husband and I dote on our children and appreciate the blessings that they are. There is hope. Hope in knowing that your body is strong. Hope in realizing that you are stronger than the trauma you experience.
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