Miscarriage Journey

In 1979 I learned of an unexpected pregnancy. I was not excited. I was working so hard to survive years of depression and migraines. I had two daughters ages 7 and 5.  I was trying so hard to manage a new ministry in northern West Virginia, love my husband and work hard as the stereotypical “preacher’s wife.”

I did not have an obstetrician, so my friends recommended a physician in Weirton, WV. I kept losing weight, but my middle looked like I was 6 months pregnant. I had sharp pains periodically in my belly. The doctor was concerned with my weight loss. Ultrasounds were not popular, but they were able to listen for the heartbeat. Week after week they said it must be too early to hear a heartbeat.

I continued to live life and began to be excited about the new life growing inside me. I remember going to the church camp for a lady’s retreat. It was so cool to be pregnant with everyone sharing my joy! While at the camp I had unexplained sharp pains in my tummy, but they eventually resolved, and I enjoyed the weekend at the camp. When I went home, I noticed a bit of “spotting.”  I called my doctor to report my symptoms and fears. He assured me it was most likely nothing to worry about but to go to bed and limit getting out of bed except for going to bathroom.

The spotting did not improve so I needed to go to the ER for an assessment due to the bleeding. The doctor came in to examine me. He did not talk to me. He looked at the nurse after the exam and said, “get her ready, we need to scrape her.”  I had no idea what that meant. I asked the nurse after he left the room. She said, “your baby is dead, and we have to scrape it out.”   Seriously? That is the empathy you have for a mom who just lost her baby.

Naturally, I was crying hysterically! They took me to the surgical unit. I was in the holding area next to a man. He was nice. He was scared. I was scared. He looked over at me and said, “Hi, I’m Eddie, what’s your name?”  I told him my name was Susan. He asked what surgery I was having. I told him I was having a DNC, and he of course wanted to know what that was. He was kind and sorry for me. I asked him what he was having. He was having a hemorrhoidectomy.

They took me back for surgery first. And then in the recovery room the fun began.

I could hear Eddie hollering, “there’s this terrible burning in my rectum.”  The nurse responded, “Eddie it’s just the packing.”

I hollered, “I have to pee.”  The nurse responded, “Susan, it’s just the packing.”

Eddie, “there’s this terrible burning in my rectum.”  The nurse responded, “Eddie it’s just the packing.”

I hollered, “I have to pee.”  The nurse responded, “Susan, it’s just the packing.”

This dialog continued repeatedly. Finally, Eddie continued, “I have this terrible burning in my rectum. I have to shit. I have to shit.”   The nurse, “It’s just the packing, Eddie.”   He kept on and on. Finally, I responded loudly, “Eddie, it is just the packing. You don’t have to shit. It’s just the packing.” 

So much for the surgery. I still find this a humorous blessing to an otherwise traumatic experience. Back to my semi-private room on the maternity unit my roommate was very consoling.

I was 12 weeks pregnant and just starting my second trimester. The doctor explained to me that my baby had only lived in my womb for about 8 weeks. So, carrying a dead fetus for a month is why I was so sick, why my middle looked 6 months pregnant, why I was losing weight and the reason no heartbeat was heard. I was sad to learn that my baby was a boy.

 One of my friends came to visit. She was carrying a large plant in a pot. A bit of history is that I could never grow plants. I loved them but they never survived under my care. So, my friend set the plant down and said, “I thought I’d bring you something you can’t kill.”  OH MY! Those words, although meant because of my plant care history, were not the words any mother who just lost her baby needed to hear. When my friend left, my roommate expressed how upset those words made her. I admit I understood what my friend meant but I also admit those words haunted me! Some 46 years later I still cannot grow plants. Some 46 years later I remain friends with the one who gave me the plant gift. Some 46 years later I still remember Eddie and pray he never ever again had a “terrible burning in my rectum” experience. God bless my baby boy and God bless Eddie.

Janie Roberts Davis 8/2024