WARNING: This post is a little graphic and is a very emotional topic. If you are grossed out by blood, pregnancy, or descriptions of body parts and/or discharge, don’t read this post

It’s taken me quite a long time to even talk about this to those who aren’t super close to me. This subject is very ‘hush-hush’, and there is absolutely no reason for it.

I’ve been avoiding posting this for months because of various things happening in my life. With the due date to my failed pregnancy today, I find myself reminded of the fact that I would have been bringing home my child within the next few hours to the next few days.

I feel guilty that I was so joyous and accepting of this child because I can’t let them go; this is my way of speaking out and saying that it’s okay to mourn.

When I found out that I was pregnant, I was terrified and excited all at once. There were so many things to work out and also it was pretty clear that we had to change our current birth control situation because it really didn’t work very well for us.

Gabriel was and is very supportive and absolutely refused to let me leave his arms for even a second. He eventually became very excited about becoming a father and we had shared the news with those closest to us. Between the frequent dizzy spells, my morning sickness, and my ability to turn into a space heater within three seconds, we found that we were looking forward to the third member of our little two-person family.

Everyone was really happy, and for a tiny moment in time, so were we.

About eight weeks into my pregnancy, I got up in the middle of the night to go to the washroom, this is when my heart stopped. I was spotting and eventually it was full-on bleeding. I called my little sister, Catan, and she picked me up in a cab and we went to the hospital. We stayed up until the wee hours of the morning to wait for my blood tests because I needed to grasp on to what little hope that I had left.

I remember sitting in a McDonalds near St Joseph’s hospital, waiting for a phone call from the hospital to tell me that my results were in. I remember trying not to cry because I could just feel that something was wrong; the cramps were too strong and my heart was breaking.

We went back for my blood test results and I was told that I would have an ultrasound in the morning just to double check my ‘situation’. The doctor told me that my hormone levels were not at the level they should be for someone who was eight weeks pregnant and that I would be miscarrying over the next few days.

He told me that it was okay because most women don’t even know that they’re pregnant this early. I wanted to punch him in the teeth for that comment. Just because MOST women don’t track their cycles doesn’t have anything at all to do with the fact that I am/was pregnant. Nothing else matters at this point except that I’m losing my baby and you tell me that it’s okay?

Thankfully, I found this anger after I had finished crying my eyes out over the next week. It didn’t happen that night.

That night, I was numb. I thanked the doctor for his time and called a cab to head home with Catan. I remember walking away from her and starting to cry. I was numb, but I couldn’t believe that after all of the promises that I made myself and all of the hopes and dreams for our baby…

Yeah. So, I started bawling by the side of the road and when Catan realized that I was crying, she held me and joined in. She was the first person that I’d told and she was the happiest for me at all times. She would call me at all of the oddest hours to say that she was worried about me and that she would spoil our baby rotten just like every good aunt does.

I exited the cab in front of my house and told Catan that I would be fine and that I was just tired. I went inside of the house and collapsed on the floor as soon as I closed the door. I was filled with such grief that I cried harder that I ever had in my life; my baby was dying and somehow it was my fault.

Gabriel was in bed, sleeping. I told him to not worry about me in the hospital because I’d call him if anything was wrong. I decided not to call at all.

I crawled into bed with a heavy heart; ready to pass out from the stress and emotional exhaustion. Instead, the tears kept coming and Gabriel woke up. At this moment, all I could do was shake and cry while he held me close.

“We’re losing our baby”

He just held me in his arms and rocked me back and forth while we both cried and mourned.

The next morning, I was wracked with so much pain that I couldn’t move – for a Fibro-inflicted, like myself, this is saying something. Gabriel and I went back for my ultrasound and between the massive amounts of bleeding and the inability to eat anything, I was having a rather rough time. We were surrounded by other pregnant women with small children running amok in the waiting room; I clung to the small hope that my baby could eventually be running around or laying quietly in my arms if I could just get through today.

I sat down in the ultrasound room and for the first time in my life, I pleaded to a higher power. I begged whoever was listening to just let my baby live. Between two power outages, I managed to get my ultrasound done and the technician was oddly happy throughout it. Gabriel picked me up from the nurses station since I couldn’t walk on my own and I told him my hopes that our baby would be alright; He told me that he knew our baby was just fine.

We were in denial.

The week that I miscarried was the second most physically painful thing I’ve ever been through. It had dawned on me that we lost our baby, but I was trying to deal with my body at the moment. I would only stop crying when Gabriel could distract me with a movie or a game for an hour or two.

I would cry myself to sleep every night.

I remember holding the gestational sac in my hands. I had passed both this and a part of the placenta while shopping for groceries near our house. I didn’t know it at the time, but the front of my shorts were soaked with blood; I’m surprised that no one stopped me on the way home to see if I was okay.

I remember showing Gabriel and telling him that this was going to be the only time that we would be able to see our baby. The sac fit on the tip of my finger.

After the physical miscarriage, I still had a LOT of healing to do emotionally. It’s been almost seven months since I miscarried and I’m still having a really hard time with it.

I keep on asking myself the same questions:

  • Why did this have to happen to me?
  • What did I do to deserve this?
  • Why didn’t I do *insert action here* better?
  • Why do all of the ‘bad mothers’ get to have children but the people who really want children have to suffer without?
  • Why do I always have everything I love taken away from me?

Then I shout these things at myself:


I’m going through a constant vicious cycle:

  1. Hopeful – I can leave this behind me and move on
  2. Coping – I can always have more children, right?
  3. Sadness – My baby would have been so beautiful
  4. Depression – It’s all my fault
  5. All time low – I break down into a pile of sobs and it takes me three or four days to get over it before I start this cycle over again.

I am trying to deal with this miscarriage as best as I can, and it’s actually my next bullet point to discuss with my therapist. I am getting professional help, I do have suicidal thoughts and I have constructive and safe ways of dealing with those thoughts, and I do know that I will eventually get through this as I’ve done with everything else.

As a partnership, Gabriel and I are trying our best to cope with this loss; He is helping me to understand that there is no time constraints attached to mourning.

RIP Baby L

You touched our lives for the briefest of moments, Yet you will stay with us forever


For anyone who has this experience, I am truly sorry for your loss.