Below is a little something I wrote 5 years ago on my way home from visiting my parents and my hometown.

If I could, I would go back in time and tell my younger self to stop wishing for the day when she could leave home…

For little does she know that a few years down the road her greatest wish would be to be back in that little two bedroom apartment she wanted to leave so fast

 She does not know that there will be a day when her biggest dream is to be home with her family for more than a weekend at a time.

That every time she leaves home her heart is shattered over and over

In the rearview mirror, all she will see are her memories and the faces of loved ones

I would tell her to cherish it, to revel in those moments minute by minute. To hug a little longer, to hold her sister through the night. To kiss her brother good night.

I would tell her to lay on her mami’s lap and wait up for her Papi to come home from work

To soak in every smell that comes from the kitchen and to embrace the sound of every syllable spoken in her native tongue

I would tell her to slow down

-JT

After what seemed like an endless week Friday finally came and I went to see my doctor. Thankfully the bleeding had slowed down and the pain was responsive to painkillers so I no longer felt like I was dying.

SN: I gave a urine sample at the beginning of my appointment.

I explained to the doctor how I felt and gave her all the excruciating details only to have her tell me that she didn’t think it was a miscarriage and there was no way to prove it. She assured me that it was probably a heavy period and that I would be ok. She also asked if I was interested in birth control and I said no because even though we weren’t actively trying I would like to get pregnant soon. At that point I felt a little hopeless because it was as if my miscarriage didn’t happen and as if my baby didn’t exist. The doctor says bye and tells me to schedule a follow up in 3 months in case I need “help” getting pregnant. So I go to the check-out window and as I am about to walk out they ask me to step back into the room. The Dr. explains that they used my urine sample for a pregnancy test and when the nurse checked it was negative but she forgot to discard it. When she walked by it again it was positive which meant that either I was pregnant or still had HCG[1] in my system.

Hello dreaded bloodwork (more on this later)… in order to see if I was still pregnant or miscarried I had to do a series of blood tests to see if my hCG was increasing or decreasing. If it increased I was still pregnant and the pregnancy might be ok, if it decreased I miscarried. After 96 hours of waiting it was confirmed that I miscarried which brought on mixed emotions; relief because at least I knew and sadness because a baby that I never knew existed but yearned for died. At least I knew that I wasn’t crazy, and I knew that I could say with certainty that everything that happened was not “normal” it was a miscarriage.

Had I known it was a miscarriage I wouldn’t have thrown the tissue out, I would have tried to go to the hospital 1) For confirmation 2) For closure and guidance 3) For pain management. I have ideas of what I think the tissue was but I really have no clue…could it have been skin from the baby (I think the baby had been decomposing for over 2 weeks but I won’t truly know), could it have been a part of the placenta[2]? or I don’t know I don’t think I’ll ever know. . .

Looking back at that day I feel sorry for myself, I wish I could tell her to breathe and not be ashamed of going to the hospital for herself. I would hug her and hold her tight, I would tell her to take time to heal and to slow down, she was stuck in a whirlwind. To not just pummel through this because she might think she’s getting rid of her emotions but she is simply burying seeds of sadness that will in turn produce trees of depression, anger, self–doubt, isolation and fear. I would tell her to grieve. I would explain to her that what happened was a traumatic event in her body and her soul so she must treat it as so. I’d tell her to seek help and sometimes to seek help outside of the church (not outside of Jesus). I’d tell her that her body just went through labor and that those terrible “cramps” were contractions, I’d tell her to invest in self-care and that her and her husband needed to be kind to one another. I’d tell her that she’s a warrior but that it’s ok to cry. I’d tell her to buckle up because the journey had only begun.

The following post is sensitive and may have some triggers

It was August 14, 2015, and I had been bleeding for about a day or two but because I had taken test after test I didn’t think anything of it and just thought I was finally getting the period I had missed for 4 months. Well on this day I bled heavier than ever. I was in what felt like excruciating pain, the cramps were normal at first and then got worse and worse as the day progressed.

At the time I was unemployed so I had started a small daycare in my home, that day I had two children to look after so despite the pain I had to go on. I played with them, fed them and then finally nap time came, I figured I should probably try to lay down and maybe the pain would subside but I was wrong. As I laid in the bed the pain became more intense and worsened so I gave up on napping. I moved to the couch and felt such intense pain in my lower abdomen and vagina, I had no clue why my “period” was so bad this month. I sat up on the edge of the couch and suddenly I had an overwhelming need and desire to push. Many thoughts went through my mind but I specifically remember thinking this is either a massive clot or somehow I am having a miscarriage. I pushed the thought of a miscarriage as deep and far as I could. So then with the next “cramp” I pushed. I pushed and got a sense of relief, then I got up and headed to the bathroom because I had to check and see what came out. I sat on the toilet and heard a “plop” when I checked I couldn’t see anything so I think whatever came out sank straight down in the toilet and drifted (at this point I have no clue that I am miscarrying).

Because I knew that something was definitely off with my body I used my fingers to check my vagina. I pulled out a very large piece of something that was the size of my palm, flesh-colored, and kind of looked like a piece of chicken breast, and at this point I am internally freaking out. Once again I tried to push the thought of a miscarriage as far back as possible as if trying to expel it from my brain. But no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe just maybe it was a miscarriage. I stayed on the toilet for a while because although my body expelled a large piece of tissue I still felt an urge to push. I waited for what I suspected to be a contraction and with it, I pushed more clots and tissue came out and I knew then that I was miscarrying. I texted a friend who’s a mom for some support and guidance because I felt like I had no idea what was happening to my body or what to expect. I told her that I thought it was a miscarriage and explained how everything was happening and she agreed.

At this point, I felt so alone. My family lives in a different city and I felt like there was no one I could call/ I didn’t know anyone that had experienced a miscarriage so there was no one I could reach out to. I texted my husband and gave him a heads up. Then in the middle of the madness, I get a phone call from an older friend (who is like a mom to me) explaining that she fell from her porch and might have broken both her ankles. So now I’m truly freaking out because I’m almost 100% sure that I am having a miscarriage, my dear friend is on her way to the hospital, and I have two small children whose nap is about to be over. So I clean myself up, I clean the toilet and the floor from the remnants of the massacre that had just occurred. I push my emotions and feelings down because things need to get done. I knew I had a few minutes before I had to wake the kids up and a few hours before my friend got out of surgery.

I used my few minutes to call my doctor’s office and the conversation went like this:

Me: hi yes I’m calling because I think I’m having a miscarriage

Secretary: what makes you say that?

Me: well I just had a horrific amount of clots and flesh colored tissue come out of me

Secretary: well did you know you were pregnant

Me: no, but I am 100% sure that this is what is happening

Secretary: well if you say so, what’s your name and date of birth?

Me: I provide the info.

Secretary: it looks like we can get you in at 9:45 am NEXT FRIDAY

My brain: —–, didn’t I tell you I’m having a ——– miscarriage and you want me to wait 7 days?!?!

Me: Well is that the earliest you have?

Secretary: yes.

Me: ok, then I guess I’ll take it.

I got off the phone feeling so discouraged. This was my OBGYN office, I was hoping I would get a little more compassion from them or that they would say “hey can you come in within 20 minutes or an hour or we don’t have anything available but can you go to the emergency room to make sure everything is passing as it should”. But no, instead I got a very cold reception and was made to feel as if I was dumb or stupid. I take 8 ibuprofens, wake the kids up and give them their afternoon snack. Once their parents come I get myself ready to go to the hospital to go to the ER to get meds and make sure that my body was ok. FALSE I did no such thing, I wanted to do that but instead I put my body and emotions on hold and drove straight into caring for my friend who needed me. I spent the rest of the weekend in the hospital with a few breaks here and there to shower and change. I wish I could tell you that the physical aspect of the miscarriage was over but it wasn’t. I cried every night because my body was taking its time shedding and getting rid of the pregnancy.

The pain was immense and felt unbearable, the amount of blood I was losing was scary but because of my previous phone encounter, I did not want to call the doctor’s office or go to the emergency room since the receptionist made it seem like I was just exaggerating my period symptoms.

To be continued…

I decided to start blogging for many reasons, some of which I can’t even begin to articulate. But below I detailed a few reasons.

1. I decided that I needed to do this as a small way to honor the life of my son. As if in some way I could share the impact he had on my life by sharing my story.
2. As a place of support. Infertility, miscarriage, and loss can be such taboo topics that often times we stuff the pain down and therefore feel alone. I wanted to share my life and stories as a place where others can find hope and if nothing more at least where they can know they are not alone.
3. To document my journey. I don’t believe this is where my story ends, though there were some days that in the midst of my pain and desperation I prayed for death. I know that this has only been a few chapters out of a very long book. I want to be able to look back and see where I came from and what God has done in my life. I know that my story will continue and we will be blessed beyond what we can think of.
4. To help me cope. Because this is a taboo topic we don’t feel comfortable discussing our feelings even with our closest friends. Infertility and miscarriages throw us into deep pools of grief and confusion that we don’t know how to fully navigate. For me, writing helps me cope, it helps me put into words the complexity of my emotions.
5. I wasn’t able to find many blogs from people that are still currently struggling/dealing with loss and infertility. I found blogs that deal with this topic at length but they are a little older and I wanted a real-time blog.

“There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you” – Maya Angelou

– JT

Here you are and probably thinking, what’s the deal with this chick? So let me give you a quick backstory about our journey in trying to have kids. We got married in 2012 and before we said I Do, we had decided we wouldn’t try to have kids for at least 2 years that way we had time to enjoy ourselves before adding to our family. Fast-forward 3 years to 2015 and we had our first 2 miscarriages, then one in 2016, one in 2017 and most recently the loss of our son when I went into premature labor.

So when it comes to trying to conceive (TTC) we’ve had our share of pain. In this blog I will go into details about each of our losses and how I/we coped with each one of them. Hopefully you will find hope in our story.

– JT