It’s been less than 24 hours since I lost this baby. But I wanted to share my feelings as they are most vulnerable so you get the most honest answers. I know I don’t “owe” anyone answers, but I had shared the news that we were pregnant with quite a few. And right now the last thing I want to do is individually text 50 people telling them the news because it hurts each and every time. I don’t even know how to start this other than to say that I am truly feeling pains that I have never felt before. Physically and emotionally. This is how my life changed in six hours.

7:00 AM  I woke up, went to the bathroom and noticed that I had bled. I didn’t think anything of it. Maybe things were moving around as my body was changing and making room for this growing life. Optimism.

8:00 AM Patrick took off for work, and I got the girls and myself ready for the day.

10:00 AM I dropped Reagan off at her friend’s house and ran some errands with Peyton.

11:30 AM I was finishing errands and noticed the bleeding started to pick up. I knew I needed to call my doctor, even though at this point I just wanted to live in denial that nothing was wrong. She asked if I could come in at 1:00 PM and I said I would be there. I called Patrick to come home because if it was worst case scenario I didn’t want to be alone.

12:00 PM Patrick came home and Reagan and Peyton were dropped off at my sister-in-law’s house. We sat across from each other eating our lunch in silence. He asked if he could say a special prayer for me to feel peace with whatever the outcome and I said yes.

12: 40 PM We drove to the appointment, again sitting in silence.

1:00 PM We sat in the waiting room for what felt like an utter eternity. At this point, I had taken a urine sample (which I assumed they were checking for pregnancy—as they do with each visit).

1:50 PM A moment that I won’t forget. The nurse opened the door to call my name, grabbed my chart and as she reads it, she goes “ohhhh” with a loud sigh. At this point I was thinking, “The pregnancy test must have come back negative. Why doesn’t she just say it now?” My optimism turned into complete despair as we walked down the long hall to the back room.

2:00 PM The doctor came in to do an ultrasound. She panned over the sac. It was empty. I was scared. She moved the ultrasound wand around and a baby came into the picture. I looked up at the dark ceiling and said a prayer in my heart to Heavenly Father that the baby was in there. Thank you. My baby was still there. Then the doctor said she had to find the heartbeat. Please let there be a heartbeat. Please. Please move. She moved the wand over the baby’s heartbeat. It was still. Using everything that was in me, I wished that it would just beat once. It didn’t move. The doctor said she was so sorry. I told her it was fine. Lies spewing out of my mouth. I wasn’t fine. I sat up. Patrick was holding my hand. She explained that this wasn’t my fault. There was nothing I could have done. And that it was most likely chromosomal issues and that the baby would have had a hard life. She was so patient and kind but I was so heartbroken. She left the room. Patrick and I held each other, and we both sobbed. I’ve seen my husband cry twice in the past seven years. I knew he was feeling this just as much as I was. It was his child too.

2:30 PM We drove home. Some talking. Some crying. Some silence. Lots of hurt and confusion. We went to my sister-in-law’s house to get the girls. All I wanted was my girls. I wanted my two healthy, perfect babies. That I was grateful for. My sister-in-law opened the door and all I could do was shake my head “no” as we both burst into tears and she embraced me. We stood there for a good minute. She told me I was going to get through this and I knew (and know) she was right. I will with time. I choked back the tears and held my little girls. They were happy to see mommy and daddy but had no idea what was going on. And still don’t. And that’s okay. We came home. At this point, Patrick had told his mom and I had told my dad. It hurt to feel what we were feeling, but it hurt even more to have to tell those we loved. My dad was choked up on the phone as he tried to get words of comfort out. And I consider my dad to be one of the strongest men I know.

My heart aches. My eyes are swollen. And I lost count with how many times I woke up last night crying. When will the depression go away? When will the bitterness go away? When will the hope and the peace remain? I prayed before the exam and I’ve prayed every hour after to feel something—anything–other than this heartache right now. I KNOW I should feel at peace that this is part of the Lord’s plan. But I don’t.

Being 12 weeks, we didn’t know the gender of this baby just yet. So we didn’t have a name. They call a healthy baby after a miscarriage a “rainbow baby”. So I call this miscarriage Baby Rain. This is the rain before our rainbow baby. I’m hopeful we will have a rainbow baby some day. There was rain on the day of my mom’s funeral. I took it as a sign of Heaven crying. There was no rain yesterday. Only me crying. I’m sure I’ll want to document more of my emotions in future posts but this is all I can process for now.

Thank you to the very few that I’ve told. Thank you for your words. Thank you for the dinner. Thank you for letting me know that I am never alone. I love you.

2 thoughts on “miscarriage.

  1. Lauren, your picture was the first thing I saw today. My heart aches for you. Throughout half my pregnancy and even now I still fear loss, and just that fear alone is overwhelming and sometimes crippling so I can’t even imagine every emotion you must be feeling. All I know is that our knowledge of the resurrection as part of the plan of salvation gave us what peace we have now and I pray you’ll be able to find that same peace. Sending so much love your way ❤


  2. Oh Lauren, I am so very sorry for your loss. I cried as I read your post. I cannot imagine the pain and sorrow you and your husband have and are experiencing. I know we are not extremely close, but please know I care. You and your family are in my thoughts and prayers.
    Love, Robyn Holcomb


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