My Miscarriage Journey (And How I Learned to Navigate the Chaos being Rh-)
Because sometimes the body has other plans, and apparently, so does biology.
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This blog post has been on my “to write” list for some time now. Not because it was emotionally traumatic for me—honestly, it wasn’t—but because I wasn’t sure how to share this experience. After all, it wasn’t one of those “crushing” moments that most people think of when they hear “miscarriage.” But I’m finally ready to talk about it, so buckle up, here’s my story.
Let’s rewind a bit.
When my now-husband and I met, I already had a beautiful, spunky little girl. She was a solid 1 ½ years old when we started this whole romance thing, and by the time she was 2 ½, we were already living together, building a family. No rush to add more at that point though, I promise. But then a year later, we were engaged, moved to a rental house, and—surprise—found ourselves in wedding-planning mode for my sister. So, naturally, baby-making got shoved to the back burner (because, you know, I wasn’t the first one engaged. eye roll).
By the time our daughter was approaching 4, we thought, “Hey, let’s make this whole ‘official family’ thing a little more official, right?” So we had the talk: I’d ditch the birth control and “let nature do its thing.” Well, nature had different plans.
Surprise! I got pregnant while still on birth control. Yep. You read that right. Birth control, meet biology. Biology wins. Shocked? I sure was. But we were ecstatic! We told our immediate family at about 4-6 weeks (yay, early announcement!).
Then, around 8 weeks, things got a little… messy. I started spotting. Not the “yay, pregnancy is going great!” kind of spotting. Nope, more like the “what’s happening to my body?” kind of spotting. And it wasn’t even pretty—brown discharge. Just what you want to see when you’re pregnant, right?
I called my doctor and explained the situation, including my wonderful RH- status (quick explanation: being RH- means that if you’re carrying a baby with RH+ blood, your body might get all territorial and start rejecting the pregnancy—cue the drama). Fun times, right? I had gotten a special shot with my first child because of it, so naturally, I asked if I needed another one. They assured me, “Oh, spotting is totally normal.” Sure, sure.
But the spotting didn’t get the memo that it was supposed to stay “normal.” It kept changing from light to worrisome, and by about 16 weeks, I started bleeding. And I mean, bleeding. I needed a pad change every couple of hours. So, back to the doctor I went. But what did they say? You guessed it: “It’s normal!” Cue eyeroll.
But you know what? It wasn’t normal. It didn’t feel normal. It felt like I was being gaslit by the healthcare system, and I was starting to get a little (okay, a lot) frustrated. My body was telling me something wasn’t right, but nobody seemed to want to listen.
So, the bleeding escalated. Leaked-through-my-sheets level of bleeding. (You can imagine how much fun that was in the middle of the night.) Off to the ER, where I got to put on one of those chic hospital gowns, climb onto the exam table, and get ready for an examination.
Trigger warning: Gruesome description ahead.
When they asked me to get into the stirrups (fun, right?), as soon as I positioned myself, blood shot out. Yes, shot out. It was everywhere. Pooling on the floor. The look on the examiner’s face said it all: this was NOT normal.
They did an ultrasound and confirmed there was still some fetal heartbeat, but it wasn’t looking good. They asked me to come back the next morning. But let’s be real—I knew what was happening. It wasn’t good. This pregnancy wasn’t meant to be. And despite the ER staff pretending everything was fine, I knew.
The next morning, I passed part of the baby. We went back to the doctor, and they confirmed no signs of life. So, I had to have a D&C (or “goodbye, little one” procedure). Hospitals are great and all, but I just wanted to go home afterward and process everything. My body had been under so much stress and anxiety for weeks—I was relieved.
Now, before you get all "oh no, she must be devastated," hear me out. I wasn’t. In fact, I felt relieved. I wasn’t holding onto the fear and frustration anymore. My body did what it was supposed to do. This wasn’t my fault. It just wasn’t meant to be.
And now, let’s take a moment for some reflection: I couldn’t help but wonder if it would’ve made a difference if I’d gotten that shot for my RH- status earlier. Would it have prevented this miscarriage? I’ll never know, but I do know that there are steps you can take to avoid a miscarriage, especially if you're RH-. So here’s the practical part, the advice I would’ve loved to have had:
What You Should Do If You’re RH- and Pregnant:
Get the Rhogam shot: This shot can help prevent your immune system from attacking the fetus if you’re RH-. It’s especially important if you’ve experienced any bleeding during pregnancy.
Track any unusual symptoms: If you notice anything that doesn’t feel right (bleeding, cramping, etc.), don’t wait. Call your doctor immediately. You know your body better than anyone.
Stay calm: Stressing doesn’t help, I know, but it’s easier said than done. But if your doctor isn’t taking your concerns seriously, find someone who will. It’s your body, your pregnancy, your peace of mind.
Trust yourself: If something doesn’t feel right, keep advocating for yourself. You know what’s best for you, and don’t let anyone make you second guess your gut feeling.
Now, let’s fast forward 17 years. Recently, I saw a shaman who told me that the child I lost is still with me. And get this: she's a fiery little spirit with curly red hair, full of joy. And honestly, that filled my heart with so much peace. I shared this news with my husband, and although he was taken aback, I hope it helps him release some of the emotions he’s still holding onto.
So, why am I sharing all of this? Well, because I want you to know you’re not alone. Miscarriage stories aren’t all the same. They’re as unique as the person experiencing them. If you go through one, however you process it is YOUR journey. No one can tell you how to feel, how long to grieve, or what’s “normal” for you.
So, take as long as you need, and never forget there are people out there (like me!) who are here for you, ready to be the shoulder to cry on.
We got this. ❤️
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