Andrea's Story: Empty arms after recurrent miscarriage

Andrea's story is heartbreaking. I know all the stories I post on here are heart-wrenching, but if you are continuing to read -- I really appreciate you. Every bereaved mom deserves to tell her story!

So often with miscarriage -- no matter whether it's a loss at 4 weeks, or a loss at 19 -- people have an idea of what you've gone through. I really appreciate that Andrea has chosen to share that not only is miscarriage the death of a child (as though that's not enough), there is a very real, physical and sometimes scary process of delivering the child.

I also appreciate that she's chosen to share what has brought her some peace and some resolution in her losses.

So, thank you, Andrea . . . for writing to me, for sharing about Aaron, Jamie, and Caris, and for helping another momma on my blog who may be able to relate.

Rachel

My name is Andrea. Back in December of 2010, my husband and I decided to try to get pregnant. I saw my OBGYN and was given the green light.  

By the following March, we were pregnant and very excited. Things were going really well.  Ultrasounds looked good; the visit to the high-risk OB was good; everything was good.  

On the morning of June 26, 2011, at 15 weeks, I went into pre-term labor. My water broke, and without hope that he would survive, my son, Aaron, was born and died. I nearly lost my life as well when a uterine tear caused me to bleed.  

It was, obviously, a truly devastating thing, but I wanted his remains tested to find out what went wrong. We actually didn't even know he was a boy until after they took him away. Everything came back normal, and after a D&C the next day, it was just a matter of waiting until the doctor said we could try again.

Things did not really get any better. In less than 2 years from the day we lost Aaron, we got pregnant 2 more times. The second pregnancy resulted in a true miscarriage at 7-8 weeks in March,2012. For my own sanity, I named the second Jamie, a relatively unisex name.

The third pregnancy was our agreed-upon last try. My due date was slated in July, which was close enough to Aaron's birthday for me to just know that God was giving me a sign, that this would be it. My husband had already said he believed she was a girl, and we were going to name her Caris.  

December 4, 2012, I was 9-10 weeks along when I went to see the OB. I'd had a perfectly normal pregnancy up to that point, with the appropriate morning sickness and constipation. My husband didn't even bother going with me because none of us anticipated that it would be anything but normal.  My doctor was happy with my reports and it was ultrasound time. No heartbeat. 3 additional ultrasounds, just to make sure. No heartbeat. My hormone levels were still good, and everything looked perfect. No heartbeat.  

My second D&C was scheduled for the morning of December 7, 2012, and in those days between, I begged for a miracle. It wasn't a matter of if He could make it happen, but would He? And there is not an ounce of me that believes my Father God did not want me to have any of my babies.

I still struggle, though. I still think of all of them. I don't have final resting places for my three to visit and mourn. My body is their graveyard, and I have chosen to mark it as such, in my own way. 2 months after losing Aaron, I had a dragonfly tattoo designed and placed on my right shoulder, with his initials in the wings. Another tattoo is planned, with a flower for each of their birth months: Aaron -- red rose, Jamie -- yellow daffodil, Caris -- purple narcissus. In this way, there will always be a place for me to go, no matter where I am, to think about them.

Sometimes I think I understand why.  After the second D&C, there was another tear, and I had to be kept under sedation for an hour and a half longer than normal because I was bleeding so badly. God could have let me keep Caris. He could have given me my miracle, but there are always consequences. And if the same thing had happened at 15 weeks as had happened with Aaron, I might not have survived. Maybe it's not the reason, but it makes sense to me, and it has helped me find some peace.