October is Pregnancy, Infant, and Child Loss Awareness Month and I’ve been taking the opportunity to reflect on where I’ve been and where I am. I’ve been giving myself grace and allowing myself to feel even if the feelings are dark. I am still growing through them.

couple holding hands - Reflections of an Angel Mom

Shutterstock/Samuel Borges Photography

One thing that I’ve learned that I want other angels moms who are currently pregnant to know is that the joy of a win does not pay for the pain of a loss. My joy for my healthy baby girl who is currently blossoming inside of me is unspeakable. Also, the pain of the babies I’ve loss is as well unspeakable. My angel babies are very much a part of my everyday life and I will continue to honor their lives no matter how short they were. It’s okay to celebrate in one breath and mourn in another. The world easily forgets the lives you loss once another baby that’s healthy comes along and that’s okay. That’s okay because we will never forget. Once my baby girl Brielle is born, my heart will always know that I am not a mother of one but a mother of 3.

In my reflection, I’ve recalled the events that took place; specifically the events of my first miscarriage.

Walking my mind through the details helped me to realize where a lot of the anxiety I’ve had in my current pregnancy stemmed from. I remember the first spot of blood that I noticed while using the bathroom. While I was assured by my doctor that a little spotting was normal, what was later to come certainly was not. I realized that was the reason that every single time I went to use the bathroom after learning I was pregnant once again, I would always check for blood. I did that my entire first trimester almost expecting to see it.

Some would say I was walking in fear or doubt. It was neither. I was walking in trauma. I was traumatized because the spotting that was said to be normal quickly turned into a blood bath and the excruciating pain in my gut was beyond me. Then, I found myself in the emergency room where I was told I was in the process of miscarrying. The words so nonchalantly came out of the doctor’s mouth as if it was an average day in the ER. While it might have been for her, it wasn’t at all for me. There was no empathy extended, no explanations, just, “We’re going to keep you here until your miscarriage is complete. Then I’ll prescribe you Tylenol and you can follow up with your OBGYN.” Truthfully, I didn’t even know what a miscarriage was. Based on what was happening, common sense told me that I was losing my baby.

I will never forget laying in that hospital bed shivering with anxiety and alone because my husband was not permitted inside due to COVID restrictions.

I can only imagine his anguish being forced to wait in the car while I was in the hospital miscarrying his baby. I will never forget wondering and questioning what they were doing to me and what they were giving me, wanting to muster up the courage I’d normally have to ask, “What’s this procedure for? What is this pill going to do?” However, this wasn’t an ordinary doctor visit. The circumstance of lying there losing my baby left me paralyzed; frozen in shock. I could not say a word and because of COVID restrictions, I had no one there to speak for me.

The only thing I could finally fix my mouth to say was, “I have to go home.” The doctor told me that I was not finished miscarrying and that I needed to lie down but I refused to be alone any longer. With the little strength that I had, I demanded my husband be with me or I’ll have to leave. Honestly, it may not have been strength at all. I was just afraid and couldn’t be alone. They again refused his entry. I then disconnected myself from the IV, requested to be bandaged up, and limped my way out of the hospital, doubled over with pain and bleeding fiercely. My husband met me at the door and took me home. If any relief was at all possible, it was being in a safe space to allow my body to do what I could not stop it from doing. At home with my husband, I completed my miscarriage and became an Angel Mom. I may never know their gender or get to feel their embrace, but one sweet day in Heaven we will see them face to face.

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