This post is for my healing and for all the other women who have experienced miscarriage and not known how to talk about it, if it's alright to talk about it, or felt completely side-swiped by the actual process of releasing the possibility of life. 

There's a lot of blood when you have a miscarriage at 12 weeks. According to the How Pregnant Are You sites, the fetus is the size of a lime.

I have to say these words because for the last 36 hours I've been bleeding and numb. Yesterday I cried and groaned and wailed for a half hour because that was what came out of my body along with used up air and spent effort creating life.

I really wasn't expecting this.

I woke up Thursday morning with a little dried blood on my legs but thought, "That's ok, I'm having a child. This is nothing to be concerned about."

I was so sure I was having this baby in spite of all the reasons my body could have to let it pass. Yes, my life is filled with uncertainty right now between Tobias' upcoming surgery and recovering from Lyme Disease, raising the vivacious Espen and being pregnant...but it was foreordained. This was my path, clear as day, and I was walking it, even if it appeared step by step.

It's there and then it isn't. 

How did the plan change so quickly and un-erringly without me having an inkling that it was about to happen?

By Thursday afternoon, I had cramping like a normal period, not painful, just familiar. And now there was bright blood on the toilet paper and a small piece of tissue here and there. But still, I stayed calm. I never spotted with Espen, but every pregnancy is different and I trusted the outcome to be good.

Conviction of this pregnancy was so inherent, when I told Tobias about the blood, I was still saying, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about...just need to put my feet up and give the doctor a call for a OB-GYN recommendation...just to have another person supporting us."

It was only after talking to my doctor and her getting me a same day appointment for an ultrasound that light started hitting the physical realities. I typed to a friend, "I will be very surprised if this isn't a miscarriage...but who knows."

The mind, once attached, summons the heart to cement thought with feelings. 

Sisters, it is time for us to reassemble around our fires and soup pots. I felt you around me even as I drove myself to the hospital, Tobias at my side. I knew, deep in my bones that we know how to bleed and rest and love and thrive...that I still trusted and loved my body, even though my mind was playing the fool. 

I lay on the ultrasound table, bladder full of water per instructions. Thinking about the last time I had an ultrasound when I was 25 and choosing to close the door on that particular possibility.

It was different then. I was prepared and convicted and open eyed and clear hearted. I knew it was not the time or the situation for me to have a child and so when they told me it was twins, I was at peace. We had spoken, these spirits and I-we all knew and agreed that when it was right for all of us, we would be in flesh together.

Yet here, lying on the table at 39, I felt a wind was moving through my body that I had not met.

When I stepped to the bathroom to empty my bladder and undress for the second part of the ultrasound, an apricot sized piece of tissue fell from my body into the water. The blood was brighter.

I called out to the tech, "I'm bleeding more." as I stared into the ripples.

I thought about reaching in and drawing it out so I could take it home with me and give it some ceremony, let it know that I loved it and loved it and loved it... oh my goddess, what...is..how...is this really...

But my heart was silent. Watching.

It watched as I slid off my trousers and underthings and walked back to the table. Placed my feet in the stirrups. Opened my legs and lay back for the next step.

Sisters, do you know, that in the moment of greatest vulnerability, a phallic wand is inserted into your yoni and waved around trying to capture images of your womb and ovaries?

Still, my heart waited. The breath flowed in and out.

I felt the warmth of the tech's arm resting lightly against my thigh. Her voice even and calm. Felt the blood start to stream from my body like water poured from a glass. She was kind.

No thought now, just motions. Stand. Walk. Apologize for trail of blood following me to the restroom. Sit.

I thought of my little sister hemorrhaging in the hospital during a miscarriage.

Looked around and wondered how I would get clean. How this space would not be permanently stained red.

Did you know the body can move without a heart beat?


  1. (((Hugs)))) you have eloquently and bravely expressed a situation so many women have experienced, yet rarely discuss. The numbness was my sanity after our loss because I don't know I could have handled the emotion or pain. I'm sorry you have had to endure this again. My prayers, thoughts and tremendous amount of love is being sent your way.

  2. I have been there as well, losing mine at four weeks. Good old clinical me reacted like I do to practically anything medically -- with calm and detachment -- until emo me sat on the toilet at home and looked at the tissue that came out of me, and I burst into tears. I cried as I wrapped it up and headed to my gyno for confirmation. It was a miscarriage for sure, but that brief moment of grief and sheer sadness took me by surprise. I have always though that this was my only chance at having a little girl, but I was destined to have nothing but boys :).

  3. Dear Jaime, we are deeply sorry for the unfortunate events that you are experiencing and solidary with your difficult moment. You are clearly an indomitable warrior in pursue of your mission, thriving along your journey of battles and triumphs. With you we have learned to practice mindfulness, your words and chants pacifying our spirits. Now we are witnessing your immense courage as a woman, wife and mother. No loss is in vain ; be sure that the young and fresh energy of your little one has incorporated into Tobias healing process. You will all be fine... With admiration, Henry & Susanne


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