A Miscarriage Story: Birthing my Baby on my Bathroom Floor
I felt a familiar “pop” and then a surge of water. I ran to my bathroom and mentally prepared for what I had been dreading for the past four weeks.
I pulled down my pants and saw my pad soaked with amniotic fluid. My water had broke. I experienced the same thing with my two previous pregnancies — but those were full-term babies, and they are now 5 and 9 years old. This time around, my baby was only 12-weeks-old, and she wasn’t alive.
I quickly laid out large pads across the floor of my tiny 38-square-foot bathroom. Next, I grabbed my metal strainer, cringing at the thought of what I would soon be using it for.
There is nothing that can prepare a mother for what comes next. I had read several articles and blogs, posted on many Facebook groups, and scrolled obsessively on Google, figuring out how a woman miscarries a baby.
The same thoughts repeatedly running through my head: What would my experience be like? How would this go for me? What will I see? Will it hurt? Will I be able to get through it?
The Beginning
I suffered awful morning sickness for several weeks in the first trimester with my two previous full-term pregnancies. The medical name for it is Hyperemesis Gravidarum. There was no exception the third time around. They say the sicker you are is a higher likelihood that you won’t have a miscarriage. Well, it turns out that isn’t always true.
I was finally nearing the end of my debilitating nausea as my first ultrasound rolled around. I couldn’t wait to see my baby and then head home and plan out a fun social media announcement for my friends and family who didn’t know yet.
But it didn’t happen that way. Instead, I had to head home — devoid of life, literally — where I dropped into my husband’s arms and told him the news. I remember my knees going weak in the doorway and him catching me before I collapsed.
Then we worked up the courage to tell our children that they wouldn’t get to have a sister and why. Never in a million years did we imagine we would be telling them this kind of tragic news at their age.
There’s nothing that can prepare a parent for a talk like that. It was truly heartbreaking. Just typing these words and recollecting this memory feels like someone is blending my heart at vigorous speeds.
In all honesty, there is nothing that can prepare anyone for going through the actual experience of losing a child. It still feels surreal to me, especially when I recall the day I learned my baby had died.
When I Found Out
It was January 11, 2021, a cold and gloomy morning. There was excitement inside me as I walked into the ultrasound room, but also nervousness that I couldn’t shake.
About five minutes into my 12-week pregnancy scan, I had a feeling something was wrong. The room suddenly felt cold and empty. All my feelings became engulfed in fear. My body went limp, and I felt like passing out. I started praying Hail Mary’s in my head to keep from crying.
Moments later, the ultrasound technician turned to me and said:
“I’m not detecting a heartbeat. I am so sorry. I will follow up with your doctor right away, and someone will be calling you later today. Again, I am so sorry.”
We hugged for what felt like an eternity, which felt criminal given we were in the middle of a pandemic and hugs were considered forbidden. But there are times where humans just need to connect, no matter how high the stakes are. I am forever grateful for that human experience that made me feel that I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t want to let go and release my hug. I didn’t want to leave that room. It felt like time had paused, and I didn’t want to press play. Then, she handed me my ultrasound pictures and sent me on my way.
Every person I saw as I navigated my way out of the hospital was a blur. I was thankful for my face mask and sunglasses that hid my shock and dead complexion. I don’t even know how I was able to put one leg in front of the other. It felt like I was floating as if my guardian angel was heavily compensating to prevent me from crumbling in shock and grief.
I don’t remember driving home. But I do remember nearly vomiting when I pulled into the driveway. How was I going to walk into the house and tell my husband what just happened? How do I even begin to share this news with anyone?
I had come face to face with the shocking realization that my entire world just changed forever.
They call it a missed miscarriage. When you have no signs of any issues during pregnancy, and then at a routine checkup, they discover the baby isn’t alive.
Back to the Bathroom
I gave birth to Felicity Violet naturally at home on my bathroom floor on January 31, 2021. There I was, my water had just broken, and I was sitting on the toilet, with a cold metal strainer below me to catch my daughter’s remains.
There were about 10 minutes where I had contractions that came and went. Then after a more prolonged contraction, I felt the urge to push. My instinct was to get off the toilet and squat over the pads. Then, after a tiny push, there she was.
I was not expecting the experience to be so similar to my previous births, the only difference being the tragedy of it all.
I kneeled over my daughter, on my hands and knees, and wailed the loudest, most devastating cry. Like every cell in my body was releasing its trauma for the first time.
Up until this moment, I was praying that I would get to see my daughter. That I would be able to distinguish her apart from all the tissue during the miscarriage.
And I’m so glad that I was able to choose my own way of miscarrying with my doctor’s approval. My doctor had told me that I probably wouldn’t be able to “see” her when I miscarried. Depending on the length of time, it made be hard to tell what is what.
That wasn’t the case for Felicity. Instead, she looked exactly what a 12-week-old unborn baby looks like.
She had all her fingers and toes. A teeny, tiny nose and eyes, with her mouth part open, tongue balancing between her lips. An itty-bitty belly, arms, and legs. She was only inches long in the palm of my hand, yet the most astonishingly beautiful and awe-inspiring creation.
Despite how devastating the whole experience was and is and will always be (an hour later, I ended up in the Emergency Room with postpartum hemorrhaging, where I spent eight painful and traumatic hours that resulted in me having emergency surgery), I was able to spend a few moments alone with her and conditionally baptize her before bringing her to the funeral home a few days later.
Due to the miscarriage happening in the winter, along with the pandemic, we couldn’t bury her until June 21, 2021. So I have had nearly six months to comprehend what had happened to my daughter and me.
Now that Felicity is in her final resting place, I felt it was time to tell my story.
Removing the Stigma
These are raw and vulnerable moments that I experienced, and I share them with you to shed light on what so many women go through and suffer in silence. I honestly never thought it could happen to me, so it shook my entire being when it did.
In that short, 20 minute experience of birthing my daughter on my bathroom floor, I kept thinking:
“Never in a million years should a mother experience this. But it happens all the time. So how did I have no clue about this side of pregnancy? Why isn’t this talked about more?”
Miscarriage is an experience that impacts each woman profoundly. It is estimated that every 1 in 4 pregnancies will end in miscarriage. Every woman experiences it differently. And every woman chooses, along with the guidance of her healthcare provider, her own way of miscarrying, whether it’s naturally, with medication, or a surgical procedure.
Some women decide to keep their child’s remains, and some choose not to. There is no right or wrong way to experience a miscarriage. And there is no right or wrong way to grieve.
One thing I have learned is that many women feel shame about their miscarriages. We also feel guilt, torturing ourselves with the “what if’s.” As a result, many women are not encouraged to talk about their experiences, leading them into isolation and often not seeking help when they need it. This has created a stigma surrounding miscarriage. My goal is to help remove that stigma by being open and honest about my experience.
I don’t have all the answers. And I never will. But I have a shared experience with the 1 million women that go through it every year. So even if my path feels unfamiliar, I’m not walking alone.
Moving On
Sometimes the advice people give is to “move on with your life.” But, unfortunately, there’s really no such thing as moving on from child loss. Instead, you learn how to handle your grief each and every day for the rest of your life.
I want to learn how to cope with my grief and make room for it in my life, acknowledging that it will always be there. Grief isn’t something you just get over. It can hit at any time.
The experience of opening up my closet and finding the maternity shirts I bought from Target the day before I found out there was no heartbeat. The agony of returning them to the store weeks later, praying the cashier doesn’t ask too many questions that may trigger me to meltdown.
Medical bills piling up and stinging my soul every time I open and pay them.
Stumbling across the 3-pack of the most adorable Dr. Seuss onesies that I bought right after my positive pregnancy test. They still sit stored in my closet. I can’t bear to let them go, but I can’t even look at or touch them. Just the other day, I grabbed the bin they were in by accident, and they fell out. I audibly gasped as I picked them up as if the air was being sucked from my entire being, my knees buckling under me.
These moments create pain that aches at the deepest depths.
Depths I didn’t even know existed.
There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of Felicity, and as much as it hurts, I can’t change anything. I can only learn how to live with a child in Heaven instead of on earth. I will be learning how for the rest of my life. But, at least I know I can move forward. And I don’t have to do it alone. I walk by faith.
My family thinks about Felicity every day, and we talk about her all the time. She will always be a part of our family as she remains forever joyful in Heaven, watching over us. And I long for the day when I will be reunited with her again.
Resources and Advice
Losing your baby traumatic, but then having to navigate how to get through it is incredibly daunting. Now that I have shared my own personal experience, I want to give parents and family members a few resources and advice on miscarriage.
- Speak with your healthcare provider about your desires when you find out you are having a miscarriage. A woman has several options depending on the length of the pregnancy. This is a time to really get your plans figured out, so you don’t have any regrets later on.
- Here’s the blog that I found that walked me through the steps of what a miscarriage is like, everything from what supplies you might need, how to handle the body, and the various options a woman has. There is also a page of what the baby will look like depending on the stage of your pregnancy. Along with my doctor’s advice, I found this blog the most helpful for figuring out my plan.
- If you are feeling depressed or are having suicidal thoughts, please do not hesitate to reach out to a loved one or your healthcare provider. You can also text HOME in the USA to 741741 to connect with a Crisis Counselor.
I also want to share some common phrases often told to women who are experiencing a miscarriage that can be hurtful.
- “Well, at least you have children already. They are your focus.”
- “At least you weren’t further along.”
- “Everything happens for a reason.”
- “You can always try again.”
- “It just wasn’t meant to be.”
Try to avoid saying these things. Instead, be there to listen without rushing to give advice. Do offer your help, whether it’s to cook a meal, babysit the kids, run errands, etc. Another idea is gifting a care package with comforting items. My coworkers all chipped in and got me the most wonderful assortment of self-care gifts— bathtub aromatherapy salts, a blanket with a heart pattern, fluffy socks, dark chocolate, and herbal tea. It gave me comfort during some of my darkest days.
And just know that no matter how dark of a day you’re having, I’ve been there, too. And it is possible to have brighter days. I am proof.
