That morning I woke up to a sensation like a UTI. Shuffling to the bathroom, I peed and as I stood up, there it was; a smidgen of blood in the toilet.
I screamed.
Axe Man heard the yelling and tried to reassure me but I needed more and immediately sent a photo of the evidence to my home birth midwife. “Should I be concerned?” I typed.
She wanted to know if we’d had sex recently, which we had. “Okay, so you might have just broken some capillaries,” she texted back. “Put your feet up and rest”. I was on it.
As the morning progressed so did the bleeding; from spotting to a trickle, from a trickle to a stream and then - around lunchtime - a sudden gush.
And I knew.
Scared that my baby would fall into the toilet, I reached down to feel what was coming out and thus - as Axe Man dashed in to join me - blood had covered my hands, legs and the floor. It felt appropriately dramatic. Still ensconced on the loo, he hugged me tightly and we rocked, sobbing and swaying and dripping all over the floor.
After crying together for a while, he put me in a hot shower and then, a few minutes later, I had another knowing and, reaching down, caught my baby as it slipped out of my yoni and into the palm of my hand.
There she was, pink and squishy and the shape of a butter bean. At least I thought that was her. Was that her? I stood staring, wanting to know but scared to prod. The moment felt biological, emotional and incredibly weird; this was not real life. Axe Man helped me slide her into a container, then hopped in the shower and held me, his big arms keeping me upright as my legs began to give way. Then I needed to be on the ground and so I slid to the bottom of the bathtub and let the tears flow. An hour or so later out came what looked like a tiny placenta; dark red and shaped like a tree. In a way it was beautiful.
The whole experience was more painful and took much longer than I would have imagined. What began as mild cramping in the morning became what I would call contractions in the afternoon. I’ve never given birth so I have nothing to viscerally compare them to but my experience as a birth doula tells me that I acted the way most women do during early labor. Each wave required my full concentration. Emptying my mind, leaning into the sensations and using my breath as an anchor, they became manageable, although a couple towards the end caught me by surprise - doubling me over with their intensity - and during the final one I let out a primal, guttural yell that brought Axe Man running into the bathroom, red-faced and concerned.
Is miscarriage always this way? Does it get more intense the further along you are? I’m assuming so but I’m not sure; nobody has ever described to me the details of their experience. I’ve watched so many birthing videos and read so many birth stories but it never occurred to me to do the same for miscarriage. Why? Because I didn’t want to prepare for it? Because who wants to think about it anyway? Because I was in denial that it was a possibility? Because I thought that saying it out loud would make it happen?
After considering these options, I have to admit that the reason is this: I just didn’t think it was going to happen. Over and over I verbally acknowledged the possibility to others…”I know, I know…given my age, anything could happen…” but my heart was convinced that this little soul was sticking around. I had no inkling, no intuition, no premonition. Nothing. I was as blind-sighted by the loss as I was by the pregnancy itself. Axe Man says the same thing. We thought we were going to have a baby next June. Instead I have a super sore belly and a butter bean in a bowl.