Entry 005
A pregnancy ends in one of two ways, either the baby lives or it dies. If the baby dies, there are two ways in which it can leave its mother’s body: naturally or surgically.
Having been through both—naturally passing our first two babies with our last two taken while I was spread-eagle under operating lights and anesthesia—I can tell you neither way is easier than the other. Neither is less painful. Neither makes it easier to cope. Natural ‘delivery’ doesn’t equate to a quicker physical recovery and having everything removed surgically doesn’t mean you won’t bleed for weeks.
Sometimes, you have a choice on how your baby’s body will escape yours. Other times, you’re blindsided by blood in your underwear with no warning—nausea never lightened, fatigue didn’t fade, breasts still just as sore.
That bleeding is how I learned our first two babies were leaving us. I had never been exposed to miscarriage before. I didn’t know anything other than seeing two pink lines, having a baby eight-ish months later, and every glorious expectation for in between.
These are the words I wrote in the midst of passing our first baby:
As the blood pours out of my body, so drains my hope. With every red handful of toilet paper goes the dreams I have of photographing my growing bump. Each cramp hurts my chances of ever finding out if our first baby is a little girl or little boy. Every clot and piece of tissue that lines my underwear has me wondering if I’m staring at my dead baby. Or maybe the orange seed-sized embryo is one of the masses at the bottom of the toilet—either way, I’m filled with guilt every time I flush. The pads made heavy with blood weigh down my odds of choosing the outfit my baby will wear home from the hospital and the chance that day will ever even come.
The blood has been flowing days now and I can’t help but wonder if you’re still in my tummy or if you left that very first day, little one. All I know is that I pray you didn’t feel a thing, sweet baby, and that the only beauty in this is that the first time you open your little eyes, you’ll see the face of The Lord.
You shouldn’t have to flush your baby down the toilet like a dead fish. And if you have been faced with the decision to save that piece of bloody toilet paper because your gut tells you that’s your baby in your hand or to let it go, you made the right decision. Whatever you chose. Even though I’m sure it haunts you each and every day, just like it does to me.
Emily Lindquist