Recovering from Miscarriage & Hemorrhage - Physically, Emotionally and Spiritually

This list is for those women who are recovering from miscarriage (or serious hemorrhage as a result) - and possibly more importantly, it's for their partners and loved ones. This month has felt like a roller coaster in some ways and I can honestly say that I would not have emerged as healthily as I have without the encouragement of my friends and family. I don't want to waste space recounting the original story so you can read it here.

I have simply listed what I felt - and I have decided to categorize it all as normal. I do want to say regarding the "Guilt - was it my fault?" entry, don't worry about reassuring me. Technically, I know it probably wasn't my fault but those feelings are a natural and probably necessary part of the grieving process.

These are just some of the things I'm moving through or have already passed. If you want to read the one month update, you can find it here.

I hope this is a help for those of you who are going through this. I will not minimize your pain by trying to make it ok. It isn't ok. But, know you are not alone and even if I don't know your name, I am saying a prayer for your healing even as I write these words.

Blessings...Monna

Physical

• Really weak at first but vitamins, chinese herbs and good nutrition, including lots of veggies and some red meat seemed to help me recover quickly
• Mild headache from the anesthesia for about 3 days
• Feeling like my head was going to fall off my body if I got up too fast in the first few days. I learned to sit up slowly and stand even more slowly. The sensation went away after 4 or 5 days. I think this is a normal result of severe blood loss. As my strength returned, my blood pressure normalized.
• I had no cramping despite the major doses of pitocin they gave me to fully contract my uterus and stop the hemorrhaging. This surprised me because I remember pitocin contractions being unbearable with my first delivery but of course, my uterus was a lot smaller for this miscarriage since I was only finishing the first trimester. 
• Swollen, full breasts. In a crazy twist of fate, my breasts swelled up just after I returned home from the hospital and started aching like they would in pregnancy. My hormones weren't back to normal yet, I suppose. 
• Brief bleeding. Differently from a natural miscarriage, because I had a D&C, I only bled for about a week. I didn't see anything for another few days, then I had mild spotting. I freaked out (still a little nervous about bleeding, understandably) so I called a friend and she said she had the same experience. It went away after 2 days. I understand that bleeding in a natural miscarriage takes significantly longer.
• Other physical symptoms of pregnancy - like still having some odd taste aversions that went away as the hormones faded. 
• Desire for comfort food like chocolate and ice cream. This is only physical because I definitely ate the chocolate and ice cream. I do realize the desire was emotional. A friend suggested writing a future post about chocolate therapy. It might just happen. Heehee. I refuse to judge myself. It's been a pretty successful therapy so far.
• Exhaustion. Yeah. Still feeling this way a lot of the time. I don't have my normal stamina yet. Guess recovery from losing a lot of blood can take a while. I'm heading in the right direction. 
• First period after miscarriage - I had my first mooncycle (menstruation) about 35 days after my miscarriage. It was a little heavy and a normal length - about 6 days counting heavy and light days. Then, I stopped. But two days later I had a little spotting for a few hours, bright red but not heavy. I talked to several friends who said they had similar strange spotting between periods as hormone levels returned to normal.

Emotional

• Numb - at first. Too exhausted to even think of what had happened. 
• Fear - about the actual miscarriage. For about a week, I had bad dreams and had a hard time not thinking about it. Remembering stuff I'd forgotten -
• like being on oxygen from the time I was in the ambulance until after my D&C
• discovering I'd been categorized in "Critical" condition & figuring out - it's not good.
• Fear that I will get pregnant again and that I'll lose the baby or go through a scary miscarriage again (highly unlikely).
• Fear that I won't be able to get pregnant again (because I do want more children - Whoa. Did I just say, child-ren?)
• Guilt that maybe I did something to cause this. My reasonable side knows it may be impossible to prove exactly what happened - which is why doctors and midwives always say, "There's nothing you could have done to cause or prevent this." But, my mom's guilt kicked in anyway and I went down the laundry list of everything I'd eaten, done, how much sleep I'd gotten and possible incidents of bad karma. I know I will probably never know if it was just genetic or something else. I'm convinced this is a natural part of grieving a baby lost in utero. 
• A return to reason - We mothers are programmed to protect our young and being unable to do that with an unseen child is an excruciating experience. Thankfully, I remembered that babies are born to moms with poor nutrition and even moms on crack. Women not even close to the nutrition and healthy lifestyle I'm fortunate enough to have. In the end I trust that, for some reason, this baby was not meant to be here now. I don't like it but I have faith that it is true.
• Guilt that I'd always hoped I would never be a part of the group of women who have lost a baby. I always grieved with friends and even acquaintances who went through a miscarriage and then secretly prayed, "Please, not one of mine."
• Bursts of grief at odd times, like when I -
• realize there are certain foods I can now eat that I couldn't eat just a few weeks ago because I was pregnant
• see pics of newborn babies on friends' facebook pages or meeting pregnant women in the grocery store
• recalculate what I'll be able to do this summer and fall because I won't be completing a pregnancy and taking care of a newborn
• read the children's books to my girls that we read before bedtime the night of the miscarriage
• Anger about random, unimportant stuff - such as a nasty coffee drink and wi-fi not working at a coffee shop I visited. So not my normal tendency.
• Anger - This is kind of embarrassing but I felt this way toward people who didn't realize how serious my miscarriage was (this is completely unfair but who says the grieving process is rational?) or who minimized the experience with comments like, "Well, it's over. Now you can move on with your life." Jerk. Or people who asked "How are you?" but didn't want to hear the truth. Part of me wanted to shock them with a blatantly honest answer. I didn't.
• Control freak-ishness. I don't think this is in the list of typical stages of grief but I believe this is my way of compensating for not having control over what happened to me and my baby. So, I tried to control everything my little world. For instance, I hyper-cleaned or got frustrated with the kids if they didn't do exactly what I asked within say, oh - 2 seconds of my thinking it. Yeah, that's reasonable.
• Gratitude - for my sweet husband, daughters, family and friends I was surrounded with during the weeks following my miscarriage.
• Feeling abandoned. Life goes back to normal for everyone else - even a loving, supportive husband who has to return to work - but seemed to stand still for me for a while. People stop calling or asking about the baby (very normal) and it feels like they have forgotten.
• Depression. As I was recovering mentally from how scary my miscarriage was and as I began to feel the loss of the hopes and expectations of greeting a new baby, I felt dark, listless and grief stricken. Like my life was over. This stage did not last long for me because I woke up one morning and decided that despite the circumstances and the loss we endured - I am lucky to be alive! While I still have moments (and probably will for a while) when I feel sad or cry unexpectedly, I choose not to dwell in the darkness.

Spiritual

I've always believed that women have an incredible intuition and connection to the spiritual world - especially in times of menstruation, pregnancy and the death. As I get older, I find this is true of many of the wise women in my life as well.

Insight can come in the form of dreams that help us to realize something about ourselves, our lives or the person we lost. It can come in the words of a friend, stranger or something we read. It can even arrive through a quiet voice. In all of the above listed experiences, I have personally received strong insights into areas of personal growth and spiritual understanding. I must add miscarriage to that list.

I received strong intuition the night I miscarried. After I felt the first labor-like pains and passed some blood and tissue, I thought I would try to lie down and rest. But, as I went to bed, I had a strong feeling that I would bleed too much and asked my husband to watch over me because of that concern. I believe it was a message, and one that may have saved my life.

Besides the message during my miscarriage, the last few weeks have been very spiritually eye-opening for me. Those lessons are for my spirit alone to process but I'd encourage you to listen if you're in any of the above stages. If we desire wisdom, we only need to listen. She speaks loudly.

My suggestions for healing after a miscarriage

• Be in the moment you're in already. If you try to escape it, it will only chase you till you pay attention.
• If you are feeling physical pain, acknowledge and deal with it. Meaning, if you need Tylenol (or something stronger), take it. Just be careful not to get dependent on it.
• Eat strong, nourishing food and drink lots of water so your body can recover and take a multivitamin at least till you're done bleeding.
• Pamper yourself for a while - new books, pedicure, massage, chocolate. :)
• REST as much as possible the first few days following a miscarriage - even if you didn't go through hemorrhage. Miscarriage is a huge loss - for your body and your spirit. You will need rest to recover from the bleeding and to have the strength to deal with the emotions to follow.
• Get some sunshine for at least 10 minutes every day. Walking in the sun every day soothed my sore spirit. It gave me hope that life would go on and I would feel normal again.
  
• Allow yourself the chance to be sad or angry. These are normal stages of grief. Cry or yell if you feel it will help. I would suggest not yelling in front of kids (*smile*) but crying is perfectly normal and ok.
• For those of you who have children, don't hide your grief from your kids. Death and loss are part of life. Keep it simple if they catch you in a moment of grief. When my kids ask why I am crying, I answer simply, "I am feeling sad about the baby but I'll be ok." Kids are pretty pragmatic. They usually hugged me and return to whatever they were doing.
• If you find you're crying all the time or feeling hopeless or listless, call a friend or, if necessary, a counselor. Sometimes, we just need to hear words of hope or be reassured that what we're feeling is normal. But don't wait till you feel desperate.
• Let your friends and family help. If they offer meals or babysitter, let them. If you're feeling worn down and the laundry is unfolded, ask for help or let it wait till morning. You'll catch up soon.
• Find some time alone with your partner and make a real effort to include topics other than the miscarriage. You can still bring it up but you might find it is a relief to your healing heart. Plus, your partner lost a baby too and might need encouragement or a change of topic himself.
• Pray, sing, exercise, go out with people who really love you and will allow you to be real with them about where you are.

Recovering from Miscarriage, One Month Later

It’s hard to believe that one month ago, I was waking up in a hospital after hemorrhaging during a miscarriage that didn’t progress properly. Like the other significant events of my life, it seems like yesterday and it seems ages have passed. Most of you know the story already but if you missed it you can read the original account here. As promised, here is an update on what it has been like for me to recover from miscarriage.

I’ve healed a lot during the last month, physically and spiritually, thanks to the love of my family and friends and some significant amounts of chocolate and ice cream. I’m trading the latter in for hiking shoes soon before I need a new wardrobe!

The truth is, I’ve had a really hard time writing this, partly because it’s sad and I didn’t know how much to share and partly because my two year old deleted the whole thing after I’d written it. Ah, life! These are some personal observations I made following my miscarriage. Some of them are blunt and raw but I included them because I've learned quite a few women I know ran into these situations and words after miscarriage. Hopefully, including them here will help us all to be more thoughtful about how powerful our words and actions can be when directed toward a person who has lost someone they love.

For those of you who are looking for a more specific "what to expect following a miscarriage" list, it's here.

This month, I discovered that the “silent pain” of miscarriage is silent for several reasons. Sometimes, it’s easier to just put one foot in front of the other and keep going. Less messy. The pain of losing a child is deep and personal and almost too physically draining to discuss. Second, there is no ceremony, no ritual that marks the passage of an unseen child which would make talking about it seem normal and offer people the freedom to offer their condolences without wondering if they've crossed a line. Lastly, an unborn child is held inside a place of blood and water inside a woman, a topic that seems to be kind of taboo in our culture.

Without a funeral, grief feels illegitimate within a very short time. We’re supposed to put on our happy face and act like we feel better already even though we actually feel like our lives have hit a full stop while everyone keeps moving around us. I felt self conscious writing about this again. What would people think? Should I be over it already? Stop feeling sorry for myself?

Even though I said I would allow myself to grieve, I soon discovered it was harder than I thought, both because of normal social customs and other people’s expectations. The common greeting, “How are you?” usually asked in a perfunctory manner, became difficult to answer. A few people asked with genuine interest but most expected the typical “Good.” Especially when the latter was expected by people who knew what I'd been through, I felt like saying, “Let's see, my baby died and I'm lucky to be here myself. How do you think?”  Of course, I clung to the social norm, looked at them blankly and asked, “How are you?”

After awkward moments like this, I was even more grateful for kind friends. The best friends didn’t just say, “Let me know if you need anything.” That’s so difficult when you’re usually an independent, strong woman. How does one ask for help? I felt relieved and thankful when friends went out of their way to call me and ask how I was doing or bring a meal. In another post, I’ll list some helpful things you can do for friends who are suffering a loss.

Some other people in my life tried to “fix” what had happened by offering words they probably hoped would diminish my chances of depression. While I understand their intentions and appreciate that they meant well, their comments still seemed to minimize the grief I was feeling. Some were probably trying to be comforting while others were just uncomfortable with what had happened and didn’t want to talk about it or didn’t know what to say. These kinds of comments often came from the people closest to me - but I realize they were just at a loss for how to help.

“Thank God you’re ok. Now you can just move on with your life and focus on the beautiful children you already have.”

“Well, the important thing is, you’re ok. Now you can just move on with your life.”

Catching a theme here? I’m sure these people were just horrified by what happened and wanted to save me from depression by pointing me to the wonderful things in my life. But, I needed a moment to catch my breath and grieve for the dream of the sweet baby I had lost. The truth is, an event like this becomes a part of who we are. I am so thankful for my girls. But, I loved this baby. I dearly wanted this baby. And this baby will always occupy a place of love and grief in my heart. He or she is a part of me now.

While I was still in the hospital, someone said to me, “I know you don’t want to hear this but you’re now a statistic.” You’re right. Didn't want to hear that. But...

This event connected me to a new group of people who have lost children. After my first post, an incredible number of women contacted me with their own stories of loss and grief. Their words were a balm to my heart as I realized I really was not alone. I cherish every message. 

I am not a statistic but I have undergone a rite of passage that, similar to getting married and giving birth, has offered me access to a circle of women who I might not have known otherwise. While I never would have chosen to lose a baby, I am so grateful for the connection I have gained to these dear women who opened their hearts to me.

This experience was not without its spiritual lessons either. I have long believed that women possess powerful intuition and connection to the spiritual world especially in times of blood, like menstruation and pregnancy, and near the death of a loved one. In the western world, where science and the empirical method reign supreme, we often ignore this spiritual wisdom and do our best to escape the discomfort of being wet and bloody. But, blood and water can be signs of new birth.

Looking back, this spiritual wisdom manifested itself in my life several times before, during and after the miscarriage. The weekend before my miscarriage, I was overwhelmed with deep grief and kept bursting into sobs over unimportant things. At first, I credited pregnancy hormones, but then a voice clearly said, “Maybe something is wrong with this baby.” I pushed the thought away but I believe it was a gentle indication of what was to come.

The same spiritual wisdom may have saved my life during my miscarriage. After the first pangs of labor yielded results, I wanted to rest a little. But, this little voice prompted me to tell my husband, “I want to sleep but I’m afraid I’ll bleed too much. Will you watch over me?” Within an hour, I was breathing oxygen through a mask as an ambulance whisked me to the hospital. What if I hadn’t listened and had just gone to sleep? This event convinced me to listen even more closely for wisdom. She’s pretty loud if I will only open my ears.

This month has seemed so long and so short. I learned a lot about life and myself I didn't realize I needed to learn. While I have felt the normal sadness, anger and depression that comes with loss, something else has taken over my current mood. About a week ago, I woke with a hope in my heart that sort of squashed that sad/numb feeling that had previously surrounded me. It was strong enough for me to choose to smile through my tears.

I still have sad moments and I’m sure they will continue to come at times but for now, I’m willing to take the pain along with the joy. It’s what reminds me I’m alive. 

Thank you, Recovering and Support After Miscarriage

Today, I just want to say - Thank you, so much - to all of you who have offered love and support over the last few days in response to this post about my harrowing miscarriage experience last week. I have been feeling physically stronger - and that has led me to the second and probably harder part of recovery from miscarriage, dealing with the loss of our small one. It hits me at the strangest times and for the most improbable reasons.

I have been surprised by the lack of readily available support for women recovering physically and emotionally from miscarriage. Perhaps because the loss of such a young baby is almost an invisible experience, our culture doesn't really know how to acknowledge it past the initial incident - if it is acknowledged at all. Part of that may also be due to our reticence to share because it is such a personal and deep pain.

But more than one of you told me that when you did share, the response you received left you feeling your grief was over-dramatic or not legitimate. I may be in the throes of my own experience but I'm logical enough to say, if you have lost a child at any point in its development, your loss is real and legitimate and grief-worthy. I am not really in a place of being to give strength in this moment, I do hope for solidarity with those of you who are or who have been where I am now.


Because I chose to be so open (which felt very vulnerable and kind of scary), I received many thoughtful messages from friends and strangers about our experience. But, I was also surprised at the number of friends who didn't respond to the private email I sent - which was brief and to a very short list. I think many people are just overwhelmed by what this event means to a loved one and don't know what to say.

And - I intend to put together the resources I encounter as I intentionally and gently face my loss and grief. I will create a section for it - and post a regular update what it is like to recover from miscarriage.

As I said before, this is a decision that requires me to be more emotionally exposed than I usually allow myself to be in this space. But, this should not be something we are silent about as women - or families. It shouldn't be so hard to find information or hope past miscarriage. It's important to mark the experience, grieve the dreams and expectations that disappeared with that little one and to go on with the encouragement and strength of others and the hope of future joys.

I am surrounded by wise, kind, encouraging people. Thank you again for all that you have given me this week. It empowers me and inspires me to give back to others who have been in this place.

Sincerely - Monna

A Miscarriage - And An Unexpected Turn of Events

***If you are faint of heart, this may not be a post for you. It contains frank and graphic descriptions of blood and loss. ***

Up until last week, my family and I were happily anticipating the opportunity to announce the impending arrival of our third little one. We wanted to wait till I was a little further along to let everyone know - though close friends were aware of our news. Miscarriage is not a word any family, expecting a baby, wants to hear. And, unfortunately, my news today is not the happy announcement I was planning.

This is a very personal story for me - and part of me wonders whether or not I want to write about it. But because so many people have expressed their love and concern and because so many have said that this is a silent pain that many women carry, I am going to open my heart and hope that you will treat it with tenderness. Losing a child - at any stage - is terribly sad. It should not be something we carry silently. Women (and men and families) who have experienced it need a way to mark their loss and they need the support of loved ones and the hope of encouragement.

Last week, I shared that we had a long week of sick kids and restless nights. Thursday and Friday, I found myself encompassed by a powerful feeling of grief, accompanied by uncontrollable weeping. At the time I thought it was the long week - but Friday morning, it occurred to me that the baby might not be ok. I pushed the thought aside and chalked it up to stress. In retrospect, I wonder if my body was not giving my spirit a little insight into what was coming. Saturday, I took the girls on a little hike just to get us out of the house and to give me a little perspective.

Sunday afternoon, I began spotting. I don't believe the sick kids or long nights were implicit in this - but it does explain why I felt so absolutely exhausted. I grounded myself on the couch and Rob came home early from church to help me get the girls to bed. Knowing that spotting in early pregnancy doesn't always mean a miscarriage, I chose to rest and to talk to my baby. I expressed my love and deep desire to meet him or her and hoped for the best. But, as I continued to have light spotting Monday and Tuesday and the color changed from pink and brown to red, I found tears springing into my eyes more frequently and felt a certainty (that I tried to ignore) that the baby was saying goodbye.

My midwife came by to check on me Tuesday and sat with me for a while to make sure I was ok. She also let me know what to expect if I did miscarry. Rob and several of my sisters were present throughout the day and took the kids out for a few hours. A few close friends kept in touch, knowing what was happening. Tuesday night, I spoke with a wise friend of mine, Lisa, who encouraged me to continue to rest and hope for the best but to call 911 if I began to bleed too much that night.

After visiting with Pam, Lisa and my family, I found some quiet time alone. I cradled my womb in my hands and told our baby, "We love you and want to meet you - but if you need to go, it's ok. We will always be your mom and dad and we'll see you again some day." I went to bed with a sense of peace although I could feel mild cramping and knew what it meant. I slept quietly for a few hours.

Around midnight, Robert came to bed after a night of working through a new song set for an upcoming rehearsal. I woke and felt the labor-like pains Pam told me I might experience. They were strong and intense and felt like the start of real labor - only very close together. It takes my breath away now just remembering it. I tried not to dwell on the fact that the pain meant I wouldn't be meeting my baby. Instead, I tried to just be in the moment.

Robert helped me to the bathroom and I lost blood and tissue. Then, I remembered Pam reminding me not to stay in the bathroom but to rest in between pains because it might take a while. As I lay back down in bed, I felt the pain subside and I wished I could sleep. But, I asked Rob to stay awake with me because I was afraid I would bleed too much. My inner wisdom was guiding me.

Time passed so quickly. Soon, I found myself needing to be in the bathroom more and more often. We put a towel on the bathroom floor and I lay there between contractions. I felt pressure like I needed to push but blood would just rush out if I stood up. Around 2:30 am, I had 4 or 5 of those rushes of blood (which happened in a very short time). I knew I was in trouble and asked Rob to call 911.

While he was on the phone, I passed out a few times. Rob kept waking me and I tried hard to stay conscious. When the paramedics arrived, my bp was 59/4-? (after I heard the 59 I sorta missed the second part). I knew the situation was serious but reassured them, "Don't worry guys, I'm going to be ok." The paramedic taking my BP looked at me (probably wondering if I had any idea what was happening) and said, "Well, we're taking you in right now." I laughed and found my reply was slurred, "That would be nice." I think my mother-in-law arrived around this time to watch the girls and I remember being relieved that Robert would be able to come with me to the hospital.

As six strong guys carried me out into the night, Rob threw my special blanket over me. I bought it in Mexico on a missions trip almost 20 years ago and it's been through a lot with me. It was cold outside but time seemed to stand still for a moment as I caught a glimpse of the nearly full moon through my favorite pine trees. I breathed deeply and captured the picture in my head for the journey that lay ahead.

The paramedics took me to the nearest hospital instead of going to my preference. It was a difference of 7 minutes and they seemed to think it was an important time difference. I arrived alone because Robert needed to drive. The nurses buzzed around me for a few minutes, checking the IV the medics had put in and adding other things to my IV cocktail. Robert soon arrived to watch over me.

The next several hours are a bit of a blur. I could see my monitor and knew the instability of my vitals meant I was in bad shape but I intentionally decided not to dwell on it too deeply. Instead, I choose, in my lucid moments, to breathe deeply and think of my family. I talked and joked with nurses and tried to convince them to give me one little ice cube because I was so thirsty. I had the uncomfortable experience of trying to use a bedpan while laying down. I don't really recommend it.

I remember having an ultrasound and the ER doc doing a pelvic exam and trying to clear out whatever was causing the bleeding. The ER staff explained when something is left in the uterus after a miscarriage, it can cause severe bleeding and require a D&C. The exam was a traumatic experience, despite my kind nurses standing by me and holding my hands, encouraging me. I remember thinking that this would be pretty scary if I'd let myself actually think about it. I remember wondering whether I would ever want to be pregnant again should I recover.

I remember hearing my BP monitor going off a lot when my BP dropped into the 70's and thinking, "Maybe the cuff isn't on correctly." Then, I would feel a gush of blood between my legs and I would pass out. I thought I'd passed out 5 or 6 times throughout the early morning but Rob says it was more like 10 or 12 and that I was out of it for the better part of four hours. That explains why I don't remember the part of the night when the nursing staff said my BP hovered in the 50's and 60's.

The next time I woke, several of my nurses and my doctor were standing at the end of my bed and my doctor said, "We're transferring you to the ICU where you'll get blood transfusions and have a D&C." After they left, my sweet ER nurse came over to me and held my hand. She said, "I don't want you to be afraid. You are going to be ok. Don't worry." I knew she was a little worried from the way her eyes widened when she said it (I think I've watched too much "Lie to me" - Haha!) but I appreciated her kindness and chose to believe her.

Soon, I was transferred to the ICU where my nurse put in another IV. This was at least the fourth attempt - since my veins were hiding. I had them in both arms and both hands. She started the blood transfusions and continued the pitocin and saline. I really wanted to go to the bathroom and for some reason, my nurse let me try. I sat up for a moment to use the chair next to the bed. But, as I sat up, I passed a red mass the size of a grapefruit and immediately felt lightheaded. I asked my nurse if it was my placenta but she said it was a blood clot and hustled me back into a prone position. She too kept saying, "You're going to be ok," over and over.

Before my surgery, my father-in-law came to the ICU. I was so relieved because Robert was being so strong for me and I knew he needed support. Our friend Jim had already come while I was in the ER and another friend, John, came as well. But, having Rob's dad there was good. I could tell my father-in-law was very upset. Blood kept seeping through my blankets and staining the bed, despite the nurses changing the pads regularly. I'm told my face was a tad on the pale side - even for a girl of Irish descent. I tried to joke with his dad to let him know I was ok but I don't think he bought it.

My surgeon came by to prep me for the D&C and I loved him right away. He was confident but not arrogant and I felt a strong sense that I would be ok. Robert and his dad prayed with me and off I went. I closed my eyes all the way to the OR. I didn't want to see bright lights or tables. Instead, I pulled up the picture of the beautiful night I'd seen right before arriving at the hospital and as I crashed to sleep, assisted by the anesthetics, in my mind I was holding tight to the trunk of my favorite pine tree. I intended to stay grounded to earth.

When I woke, it hadn't even been an hour and two nurses were standing at the end of my bed discussing my next room assignment. "No. She doesn't have to go back to the ICU," one nurse said, "She's been downgraded from critical." "OK," said the other, "I'll call the floor and let them know she's coming."

Soon, I was in a normal room with a roommate who apparently loved American Idol. It was like listening to cats being tortured but I didn't care because I was glad to be alive. Robert was there and I just rested for the majority of the afternoon. That night, I was glad to get visits from family and friends. It lifted my spirits - and Robert's - and kept me from thinking too much about our loss or how frightening the experience had been.

Rob had to go home that night since I was rooming with Ms. American Idol and I confess, I was a little afraid to fall asleep. My BP was still hovering in the 80's and 90's but I just trusted that I would be ok, and tried to rest. It was the first real sleep I'd had since Monday.

Thursday morning. Hey, I look way sexier than I did the day before!

The next morning was Thursday and my doctor came by to chat. He encouraged me and said there is nothing wrong with me. That though 70% of women have miscarriages, most are not this extreme (trust me to take the dramatic route!) and that we can definitely have more children when my cycle returns to normal and I feel ready. He said that I could leave the hospital and go home. He encouraged me to sit up, eat what I could and walk. I'd been afraid to walk during the night since I'd not sat up without fainting in almost two days. But, my blood pressure had cleared 100 by early morning. I felt ready and wanted to go home.

My tech helped me walk around the halls after removing the catheter. I couldn't wait to use the bathroom! What a funny thing to care about, right?  When I saw my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I was shocked by my appearance. My eyes were nearly swollen shut and my face was as pale as a Twilight character but not as sexy. My fingers and arms were swollen like sausages from the saline and drugs and there was still blood in my nails from the miscarriage. I couldn't seem to scrub them clean without a brush. My eyes filled at the memory but I pushed back the tears because I didn't want them to swell shut.

Robert came in time to bring breakfast (thank God because hospital food is awful!) and after lunch, we were ready to go home. When I arrived at home, it was quiet. My sweet sister came over to clean up leftover traces of Tuesday's trauma and spruce up the rest of the house for me while I rested.

Home!

Being home has been surreal. But, I am writing this from a place of profound gratitude today. I am so grateful to be here, sitting up (without fainting - yay!!) to write even this sad story.

I am not going to lie to you. Writing this was not easy. Little flashes of the last few days have been running through my head like a nightmare I can't wake from. Remembering the cool tile of the bathroom floor on my face while the paramedics checked me, seeing the blood in my nails, feeling the flatness of my abdomen, hearing in my head the thoughtless words of someone who apparently meant to comfort me by telling me I'm now a "statistic". I'm hoping that writing the thoughts down will be therapeutic. I will keep what is helpful and let love soften the pain of the rest.

Partly I'm writing this for those of you who didn't know how serious it was. I don't want to have to repeat it over and over or explain why I'm so very tired now. It wears me out to think of it too much. I know it will take a few weeks to get my strength back.

I'm not far enough past the trauma to deal with the grief of the loss we suffered. Right now, I'm focused on small thoughts like, "I'd like a glass of water," or "Isn't my two year old funny?!"

This experience is yet another that has changed the landscape of my mind - and heart. I am still the same person in some ways - but forever different too.

One thing that remains - is that as usual...I am grateful.

I am grateful to be alive. I am so, so grateful for my family. I am grateful for the amazing people at the hospital who not only saved my life but were kind to me in the process - the paramedics, ER staff, Jennifer, Evelyn, Steve, Dr. M, Leah, Julie, Dr. P., Joanna, Sheretta and those whose names I don't know or don't remember.

I am grateful for you - my friends. For your prayers and the many expressions of love you have shared in meals, hospital visits, magazines, kind words, flowers, watching my children, calling and listening, sharing your own experiences, cleaning my house. I and my family have felt your love and it has made and continues to make a difference. Thank you so much. I promise I am ok and getting stronger daily. It's ok to call or write. And please know that if I don't write back right now, I am feeling your love and appreciate you.