Kaitlin’s Testimony: The day I lost my baby

The furnace air rushed against my face as I entered the hospital. The smell of latex and hand sanitizer clung to the air. I checked in at the OBGYN counter. It wasn’t long and a nurse called my name. 

I followed her into a room and sat.

An assistant came in without the doctor. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around my rib cage. Why was it so cold? I wasn’t sick.

"Sit on the table, please. I'm going to check for the heartbeat. At ten weeks, it's unlikely I'll find it."  

I creased my eyebrows. If she didn’t think she’d find it, why try? Why stress out a hormonal woman? 

"Okay." I stood and took two steps, then sat on the exam table. She moved the small handheld device across my pelvis, sliding it back and forth. "I hear your heartbeat. Hmm.” She removed the doppler. “Let's get you in for an ultrasound."

I closed my eyes. She was in training, maybe she hadn’t perfected her skills.

 Jeremiah 29:11 resounded in my head. The familiar words had played inside my head for the past six weeks at various moments. 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” 

I took a deep breath, God had a plan and I could trust Him; it would be okay. A preacher once told me, this verse was about people entering exile. They wanted God to spare them. Jeremiah informed them they couldn’t skip the hard parts. They had to face it. There wasn’t a way out. He reassured them God still had a plan for their future. 

In the Radiology department, the technician prepped me. My heart raced. It’s not a big deal, I told myself, in five minutes I’ll go home with a cute black and white picture of my newest family member. "Please tell me the heart rate when you hear it."

"Of course." She smiled. Five minutes went by and she hadn’t said anything.

"I need to call the doctor. One minute." 

"The doctor?” I jolted upward, sitting on the table. "I don't want to see her, tell me." I stood up, holding the sheet against my cold body. "Is my baby dead?" My lip quivered. My eyes met hers.

Her eyes were wide. 

The doctor walked in. "Kaitlin. I'm sorry this happened. It's common, but it's hard." She put her hand on my shoulder. "I'll take you to my office and we can talk about your options." 

I followed her, shuffling through the hollow corridor. Options? There weren’t any options. My baby wasn’t going to make it. My cheeks burned. "I know it’s dumb to ask but, could the tech be wrong?" 

"Sorry, no."

The prayer of a friend 

Sitting on the couch, I scrolled through Facebook on my phone. How could the world carry on like nothing was wrong? I didn’t want to move, or do anything. 

The door swung open a half-hour later, Pat (my husband) entered, winter wind rushed into the room, sending a chill down my spine.

My kids trailed behind him, chattering.

"You will not believe—" Pat took off his coat and boots. "I was at Mcdonald’s and someone paid for our food."

"Really?" I smiled and repeated Jeremiah 29:11 in my mind.  God had a plan and he wouldn’t abandon me. I trembled. Lord, I'm so scared about the next few hours. A tear slipped down my cheek as I imagined the impending miscarriage. 

Pat and I ushered the kids to bed. I'd taken the dose of the miscarriage medication the doctor prescribed me and called my friend, Jen, to comfort me.

“Can I pray for you?” Jen asked.

"I know God's with me, but how do I get through this?" I plopped on the couch, putting my face in my hand.

For a minute, Jen said nothing. “Father, please help Kaitlin. She lost something irreplaceable. Show her Your faithfulness. Please, send people to help her get through this. Like what you did at McDonald's, please continue to do this for her. Please feed her. Please help her body let go of this baby, amen." 

"I can't wait until this is over." I needed my body to let go, even if my heart couldn’t. 

"Me too, losing a baby is so hard. I love you. It's gonna be okay. God's gonna get you through this. Please remember to let people help you, okay?" 

The next day I got a text. You missed church last Sunday. Are you feeling okay? Let me know if you need anything. 

I'm doing pretty well. Thank you. I wrote back. I wasn't doing well, but I didn't want to talk about it. Jen's words echoed through my mind, "Let people help you." I shoved the thought away, I didn't need help, I was fine. I just needed sleep. 

The God who never leaves 

Friday morning, seventeen days after I'd learned there was no heartbeat, I returned to the hospital for a post-miscarriage checkup. Examining me, the ultrasound tech turned the screen toward me. "The fetus is in there, along with some other tissue." I stared at my baby, it refused to move. Why wouldn’t it move? Tears filled my eyes and I glanced away from the screen. As I turned my head, tech’s cross necklace glistened in the light. I closed my eyes. God was with me, even here.

“We can arrange the surgery to remove what's left, or we can try another round of medication. It’s up to you.”

"Let's try one more round of medicine. I don't want surgery." 

He gave me a sympathetic smile. “I understand. I’ll get that ordered for you. Please call if you need anything.” 

“Thanks.”

Climbing into my vehicle, my stomach groaned. I had missed breakfast. My pale hands clenched the steering wheel as I drove two miles to Starbucks. Waiting in line, I talked to God, trying to calm myself. Hey, remember you bought the kids’ McDonald’s. Think you could buy me a coffee? I could use a cup today. I half-cried, I half laughed to myself. How did anyone survive this? I was numb and screaming, hollow and aching. 

My phone rang. "How was the appointment?" my sister asked.

"The baby is still inside me." My throat constricted and tears pooled in my eyes. The Starbucks line moved, I sniffled, then drove forward. "Hold on a sec, I need to pay for my coffee." 

Opening the drive-thru window, a woman with black hair held out a card reader machine. "Are you okay?" 

"No." I shook my head.

"Do you want to talk?" What would I say, I felt like I was miscarrying again, I had thought the nightmare was over.

"No. No, thank you." I took a labored breath. Usually, baristas were in a hurry. It was sweet she cared enough to pause her job.

"That's okay, you don't have to." 

I looked at her; she gave me a sympathetic smile, then handed over my order. "This is on Starbucks." 

The day we buried our baby 

In the yard, the night after my first round of medication, the kids and I stood. A light mist kissed my face as tears poured from my eyes.

Holding onto my empty womb, I looked at the ground. It was over, but I’d never be the same. The salty tears landed on my lips. I lowered the container into the cold earth. “I didn’t want to let you go. Sometimes I'm not a good mom, but I would have tried my best.” I sobbed into my hands. God, keep this baby until we can be together. Please Lord, tell them how much I love them. I wish they could have stayed here, but I know You’ll take care of them.

Rose (my daughter) wrapped her arms around me. Looking up at me, tears brimmed in her eyes. "Is our baby in heaven?"

"Yes," I choked out. "We'll see them again, someday." 

Rose squeezed me. "I'm gonna miss him."

"Me, too. Let's name the baby Jeremiah." 

She nodded then nuzzled into my legs.

Pat covered the hole with dirt, but the hole in my heart remained. I'd never get to hold that sweet baby in my arms. It wasn’t my fault—I couldn’t think that way.

Lord, please end this nightmare.

We found ourselves back at the ER…

The OB doctor arrived a few minutes later. "There's still tissue inside. Do you want to try another dose of medication, or do you prefer surgery?” 

I took a deep breath, not knowing how much more trauma I could endure.

My eyes met Pat’s. "Let's do the surgery." My fingers shook. "I want it to be over." A tear rolled down my cheek. 

"Okay, we can get you in tomorrow."

Pat helped me walk up the steps into our home after surgery.

Rose entered my bedroom. "Mommy, while you were gone I painted you a picture." 

She lowered her eyes, then handed me a piece of printer paper. “I hope you like it.”

"It's beautiful, sweetheart." 

She smiled, her face beaming at me. "It's a rainbow, Mom and there's me, underneath it, see?" 

"It's perfect, honey. I love it." 

She threw her arms around me. She didn't know association between rainbows and miscarriage. It’s a symbol of a successful pregnancy after the loss of one. Maybe God had a brighter future planned for us like he had for Noah after the flood, when He sent a rainbow.

My phone beeped. I glanced at the screen.

Is there anything I can do for you? You seemed sad on Facebook, my chef neighbor messaged, I'd mentioned on Facebook that I struggled to enjoy the holidays. I paused, fighting the urge to push her away. Jen's words replayed in my mind, “Let people help you.” 

Sure, I answered. It's a lot to ask but could you bring me a meal?

No problem at all, she responded. I'll bring it by in a few hours.

We went back to the ER again…

Pat assisted me as we headed to the car. The floor wobbled under my feet, I sank to my knees. Putting his arms around my sides, he helped me to stand. “Easy now. Almost there.”

Inside the room, he helped me sit and change into my nightgown. Cold sweat clung to my forehead and exposed back. 

“I’m the ER doctor. You're dehydrated and anemic. When you lost all that blood—. Your body needs lots of fluid to rebuild hemoglobin. This saline drip should help." 

I sat in bed at my in-laws’ house, shifting my legs; I'd been there two days. Climbing out of bed, I needed a drink of water. As I inched toward the kitchen, flowers sat on the dining room table. "These are so beautiful," I said to myself, smelling them as the soft petals pressed against my nose. I pulled out a small card tucked into the bundle. I'm so sorry for your loss. My dear friend who had experienced a miscarriage herself a few years earlier had sent them. I knew the beautiful carnations wouldn't last long, like the child in my womb.

God’s work through us

It had been two weeks since surgery. The kids and I returned home. People from church, and one neighbor, none of whom knew I was dealing with anything more than anemia, brought me hot meals for three days. Someday, I will tell them all what their kindness meant. That's one reason I wrote this story. The other reason is I want to tell you, my reader, that all the small and big things you do for other people, it matters. God answered my friend's simple prayer, so many times. God won't forsake us. COVID-19 and the election has pulled countless people apart, but kindness and our experiences can bring us together.

Blog submission by Kaitlin Thomson.

Read more of Kaitlin’s work on her blog: kaitlinthomson.wordpress.com

Getting support

If you're worried that you or your partner are having problems coping with grief, you may need treatment and counselling. There are support groups that can provide or arrange counselling for people who have been affected by miscarriage.

Read more about dealing with grief and counselling, and find bereavement support services in your area.

Your GP can provide you with support and advice. The following organisations can also help:

• The Miscarriage Association is a charity that offers support to people who have lost a baby. They have a helpline (01924 200 799) and an email address (info@miscarriageassociation.org.uk) and can put you in touch with a support volunteer.

• Cruse Bereavement Care helps people understand their grief and cope with their loss. They have a helpline (0808 808 1677) and a network of local branches where you can find support.