How I healed my miscarriage through surrender and acceptance
“There is no heartbeat” were the words of the ultrasound specialist. I almost asked, “what does it mean?” when my heart was starting to shatter apart in a million tiny pieces. I realised the woman talked about my sweet baby girl growing within my body for the last 21 weeks.
Tears started falling down my cheeks, and I tried my hardest to stay strong, but it was so hard not to fall apart right there at that moment. The truth was still slowly sinking into my mind. After the woman took all of the necessary measurements and told me the baby’s heart stopped somewhere around week 18, I gathered all the strength I had and asked if I could use the bathroom. Once inside, I started sobbing and crying, not wanting to believe my baby, my sweet baby girl died, was not alive for about three weeks already.
When I left the hospital and sat in the car, I first decided to call my husband Chris and share the devastating news. He stayed at home with our son Max instead of going with me because the hospital wouldn’t allow more than two people inside. I wish I had him there with me, holding me and supporting me in such difficult moments. Then I decided to call my mom, and I broke into tears again but trying to be strong at the same time because I knew my mom would be crushed living so far away and not being able to hold me in her arms as I was in so much pain.
Two people were all I could manage to share this with at the time. I still needed to drive to meet my doctor and discuss the possible procedures to give birth to this baby. On the 15 minute drive to the clinic, all I was thinking about was my baby girl still being with me yet somehow not anymore. I started crying again and couldn’t stop. Then I started thinking and thinking and asking myself all kinds of questions. Was it my fault that she left? Was it because, at times, I thought we were not ready yet to receive another baby in the family, or was it my dancing I started a few weeks ago to prepare for the labor? Was it my negative attitude that I occasionally held as I was trying to deal with Max? What was it that I did that caused my baby girl’s early departure?
Tears were running down my face, my heart was so broken, and I had to remind myself I was driving and needed to get safely to the doctor’s office. As I approached my destination, I pulled myself together, dried my tears, and entered the clinic. The nurse showed me to the room and told me the doctor would be with me in a few minutes. She asked me how I was doing, and she offered a hug despite Covid restrictions, and it felt so good; I truly needed that. After a few moments, she shared with me that she went through a miscarriage as well, and it was not easy. When I seemed to calm down, she left me waiting for the doctor. When the doctor entered the room, I told him not to ask me how I was, and he completely understood. We discussed all the possible options for delivering this baby, and we decided on the induction as it seemed the safest and most humane to me. It would happen in two days.
We chose the name Liliana Mae Tropepe before we even found out I was pregnant. We were excited to become parents again, although it surprised us a bit how quickly I got pregnant as it took us almost ten months to get pregnant the first time. I immediately started preparing for the magical journey of pregnancy. I tried to find a hospital that specialized in vaginal births after caesarean, even found online doula services. I was re-reading pregnancy books, listening to the hypnosis that would relax me during the labor, and other such practices.
This pregnancy was much tougher on my body than the first one. I felt very nauseous and couldn’t stand anything that resembled healthy food, which is the staple of my diet every day. I decided to take one day at a time, one moment at a time, as each one was unique. I embraced it as much as I could, and I couldn’t wait to feel the baby kicking. I was counting days and was tuning in to my body to feel those little flutters at any moment. But they were not coming, so I questioned it at times. I was justifying it by thinking maybe the baby was turned away from the front of my stomach, and perhaps it was still too early to feel the kicks. I was trying not to focus on it, but it was in the back of my head. I even thought maybe the baby was missing legs and arms, but we would love her anyway because she was incredible already.
I knew something was not right, but I didn’t even want to admit it, nor say it out loud. There was hope I was worrying too much for no reason. When I was driving to the ultrasound that Monday, I talked to Lily, telling her all is well, we are fine, but the truth was, I was very nervous. As if I knew something was about to change my life in a very profound way.
It was raining on my way home from the doctor. It felt like heaven was crying with me. When I arrived home, Chris and Max embraced me in their arms. Chris explained to Max before I even arrived what happened and that I would be sad for a while. Max understood all of this and, together with Chris, was incredible support throughout these difficult times. I was crying the rest of the day, and it tired me tremendously. There was still so much to prepare for before we would go to the hospital. I visited my next-door neighbours and asked them if they could watch Max overnight from Tuesday to Wednesday as I would be in labor. They agreed instantly without any hesitation.
Later that day, as I was helping Max on the potty, I got teary again, and I explained to him that Lily would leave us, which makes me sad. He looked at me and said: “Mommy, that’s ok, that happens sometimes.” I was so very grateful for having him in my life, so pure, so full of love and empathy during my pain.
Chris’s presence was also very healing. He would hug me as I needed him and asked me often how I was doing. We talked about our loss and consciously decided to accept it for what it was. It happened, and life went on; we needed to let go because we loved her so.
That first evening after I learned of the loss, I decided to meditate and talk to my baby girl, talk to God. I let go of the attachment to her because I knew that I would suffer for a long, long time if I didn’t. I was so exhausted already after a day of crying. I couldn’t imagine this would last months or even years. I knew grief had its journey, but I knew that I could lessen the load by letting her go, so I did.
I slept well that first night; I needed it so much. I woke up refreshed the next day but was still very sad. I got busy preparing things for the hospital and Max while staying at home waiting for us. I did well; I didn’t cry once that Tuesday until I took Max to the neighbors. He went up the stairs with the kids when I asked him if he would kiss me goodbye. He looked at me and said: “Yes.” As he came to me, he kissed my lips and then immediately kissed the belly, said goodbye, and went to play with the kids. It’s as if he knew that was the last kiss to his baby sister Lily. After I came home, I broke into tears because his loving and thoughtful gesture moved me so much, and it reminded me again that Lily, my sweet Lily, will be out of my body so soon.
It was time to depart for the hospital, so we went. We were greeted nicely and guided to our private room, where the first thing I noticed was a baby bassinet that someone should put away as I was not going to welcome my baby to this world alive; I was going to say goodbye to my baby. How could the hospital personnel not think of that? I thought how inconsiderate and cruel in a way.
After initial paperwork and COVID test, and insertion of special pills inside me that would start thinning the cervix, Chris traveled back home to put Max to sleep as this was his very first night without us both. When Chris left, I decided to go to the hospital meditation room, pray, meditate, say goodbye to Lily, and let her go again and again. I felt very peaceful and ready for the night after that. Chris returned to me; we ate pizza and then tried our best to sleep.
I wasn’t sure what to expect from the whole procedure; I guess I thought of it as a mini birth and thought it would go with ease. I started having cramps occasionally, nothing major during the night and then in the morning. At noon on Wednesday, Pitocin was administered to me to induce contractions, and then I felt like being in hell for the next two hours. The contractions were so powerful and so close together I didn’t have much time to rest at all. I felt excruciating pain all the time despite listening to calming music, inhaling lavender essential oil, and breathing consciously.
When the doctor came to check on how much I opened up and told me I was about half of the pinky, I knew that was enough pain for me, and I asked for an epidural. I needed it so bad, and I couldn’t wait to have relief in my body. It took a while to prepare everything, and I was still in so much pain. When the epidural entered my body and the doctor administered some calming medications, I started getting drowsy; I relaxed and felt like I was going to heaven. What a difference that was.
Within few minutes after I settled ultimately, Lily came out. All I truly needed was to relax and let go of all the muscle tension. And so I was falling into a sleepy state; it felt so wonderful and relaxing. Lily was born at 3:30 pm, and I wanted Chris to take a picture of me holding her wrapped in the blanket. She was so tiny yet so beautiful, my precious little angel.
The doctor told us that we could leave her in the hospital, but she would be considered medical waste, or take her home and bury her in the garden if we wanted. We chose the second option. We left the hospital on Wednesday evening after the doctor checked me, epidural weaned off, and I was able to walk.
Max was waiting for us at home with our neighbors. We showed him baby Lily and told him she went to heaven and we will have a little ceremony the next day to bury her in the garden. It was indeed a mini private peaceful occasion where we lit the candle and said goodbye. I can’t even imagine we would do a service for her. I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together; the pain of the loss was so fresh and deep.
The first month I cried every day, and I allowed myself to grieve as I knew it was necessary for my emotional health. I also wrote in a journal every evening, connecting with Lily in that way, telling her how much I missed her and that I understood she was not ready to be with us this time. I wrote into a special baby’s memory book we received from the hospital to create memories of her life and death. I also knew I needed something to remind me of her, so I got a ring with her name on it that I wear all the time. Anytime I see the ring, a thought goes to her, or I say, “I love you, Lily,” and all of these things helped me heal and let go, let go, let go, yet keep her in my heart forever.
I never thought I would have experienced a miscarriage until I had one. It was a very challenging journey yet a path that taught me so much. It deepened my acceptance and surrender to what is and my appreciation for life’s everyday blessings and so much abundance that we often take for granted. It also allowed me a deep perspective between life and death and the continuum of consciousness. I seem to understand the human experience on a much deeper level than before. My empathy for others has deepened, too, and I built a great deal of resilience and emotional control within myself because of this experience.
I genuinely believe that everything in life is here for our learning and personal growth. Lily was with us for a short time, but she left her imprints in our hearts and lives for eternity. We feel very blessed by her continual loving spiritual presence.