I Flushed: A Story of Miscarriage

By Emily Rudolph

TRIGGER WARNING: This story depicts a graphic miscarriage.

My partner and I had only been in a relationship for a short time when we found out I was pregnant. We were both in college and were in the beginning stages of starting an actual relationship after having a bit of a fling.

I initially felt embarrassed due to the very short amount of time I had been with my partner before we conceived. I also felt scared because I was only 18 years old. Despite it being a completely unplanned pregnancy with all of the fears that inevitably come along with that, I felt excited. I felt like I had a lot of growing left to do but that I could still be a good mother.

I experienced quite a bit of morning sickness in my short pregnancy. At times I was incredibly excited, and at times I worried that I was too young and that my baby would not have the best life because of that. I went back and forth about how I felt. I never considered the possibility of having a miscarriage until I went to my first OBGYN appointment and discovered that I had an abnormally high pulse and abnormal thyroid labs, but the OB gave off the impression that this was not a huge deal.

Throughout my pregnancy, I talked to my baby in my head a lot. I pictured a little boy with big brown eyes and curly brown hair. I talked to him about all of the things we would do together and about how loved he will be by so many people.

Then, it happened.

I was at Walmart. I didn’t have pain, I just went to the bathroom to pee. There was blood, but not a huge amount. I felt anxious and called my mom. She said that there was a high chance that everything was okay but that we should still head to the women’s hospital to check on the baby.

My boyfriend drove me home to get my mom so that she could go with us. If he was scared, he didn’t show it. My mom showed her fear, but she also showed her optimism. I would say that 75% of me believed that everything was fine, but that remaining 25% was still loud. I recall talking to my baby in my head in case I would not have the opportunity again. I apologized to him if I did something wrong, and I asked God for another chance despite not being a religious person. My mom noticed the lack of a heart beat on the monitor before I did. The tech said “let me go grab the doctor for a second opinion,” and we know the baby was gone. They gave us pamphlets. The world stopped. I have no memory of the thoughts or feelings I felt or the ride home.

Most of my follow-up appointment with my OBGYN after finding out I miscarried is a bit of a blur, but I know that he was concerned about me not passing the baby and set up a D&C procedure to remove the remains and prevent infection.

It was truly devastating knowing that I was carrying a dead baby, and knowing that I would go into the hospital with a dead baby in my belly and come out empty. I wanted to share experiences with him while he was “still with us.” The night before my procedure I watched Arthur and the Invisibles, a favorite of mine that I planned to watch with my baby as he grew up. I wrapped myself up in a warm blanket and touched my belly while I watched.

Unfortunately, my body didn’t wait for the procedure. I began passing him the next morning. I had cramping and my bleeding intensified as I sat on the toilet. It wasn’t just liquid, it wasn’t just blood. I was passing my baby into the toilet.

My mom came into the bathroom and found me crying, naked, sitting on the toilet passing my baby. I can’t describe how that feels. She had to rush me to get into the shower so I didn’t miss my appointment. A grandma had to rush her daughter as she passed her grand baby into the toilet. I felt angry with her at the time, but I know that she just wanted to ensure I got the care I needed. I constantly thought “why me why me why me why me?”

I was only 18.

I wondered what I did so wrong to deserve this. And I did what many other women have had to do, but they feel like they can’t talk about it. It feels shameful and disgusting, it’s something we can’t even picture other women doing, but I promise you they do.

I flushed.

Others have flushed. You’re not the only one who flushed. I flushed my baby into the pipes because what else can you do? Do you scoop out remains that look nothing like a baby into some kind of container to bury?

Some might, and that’s okay too. But some of us flushed. And that’s okay. 

I never knew that other women flushed, too, until I was scrolling on Facebook one day this year. I saw a picture of a toilet, and it said “it’s okay that you flushed.” It hit me like a punch to the gut with an instant sadness that I understood the meaning of the picture. I shouldn’t have to understand it, but I did. I wanted to hold my 18 year -old self in my lap and stroke her hair and tell her it’s okay that she flushed.

I can’t tell her, but I can tell you.

t’s okay that you flushed. You’re not a bad mother. You did what you could with what you had. And I hope that knowing that other women flushed, too, can help you move forward and forgive yourself for a mistake you never made. I flushed, too.

I never saw the doctor. He arrived after I was under the anesthesia and he had is back turned to me as he walked away while I was waking up. He did his job and turned his back. I sobbed when I woke. No nurses came to comfort me.

I went home aching inside and empty. I attended a quarterly ceremony for passed-on babies a few months later. A room full of grieving mothers. I didn’t feel like I belonged with them because my baby wasn’t planned and because my pregnancy wasn’t long. These are untrue thoughts that my brain created out of responses from people who tried to be kind. People who said “at least you weren’t very far along.”

I belonged there, you belong there.

Any grieving mother belongs there.

I have one biological sister, two step sisters, and a step brother. I am the only sibling without a child. Sometimes that aches, and I worry that ache would multiply after another loss. In the meantime, I pour so much love into my work and into the children around me. I refuse to let that love go to waste. It will be given no matter what, no matter who it is given to. There will always be someone deserving of love. I hope that someday, that someone is my child. But for now, it will continue to be the children of those around me. And for now, that’s okay. It might even have to always be okay. I try to focus on that

I wish people knew that it feels different for every single person who experiences miscarriage. You cannot put a timeline on the feelings, you cannot put rules and stipulations on the feelings, and most of the “comforting” words that you have are actually not comforting. I wish that they also understood that there are no negative intentions involved in the sometimes inevitable feeling of jealousy that parents of loss might feel when viewing parents of gain. You don’t have to shelter us from that jealousy by hiding your excitement about your own pregnancy.

We are happy for you and unhappy for ourselves, and that’s all. It’s not about you, it’s not about your baby. It’s about our pain, and that’s all.

Be excited. Be loud. Be joyful. Enough for the both of us. And be patient for that joy for you to catch up with me, because it will.

I wish people would speak because they have something real to say, not because they feel pressured to speak. Speaking out of pressure is not the right reason to speak. Silent presence will always be better than loud insensitivity out of imaginative pressure. I’m not coming to you, staring you down, and waiting for you to give me a speech that will heal my wounds. I’m coming to you for a safe place to have wounds, and that’s all.

Be a space for them and their wounds. Don’t say “well, everything happens for a reason.” There is no good reason for their baby to die. Don’t tell them “well, maybe something would have been wrong with the baby.” I heard that all the time. So I pursued an occupation of support for the “wrong” people, and let me tell you, I know from first-hand experience that that my love could never be prevented by much of anything.

Sit there. Sit there with your uncomfortable and made up pressure. And then find out how to make the choice to let go of the pressure to say random bullshit and make space to hold this person instead.

#MaternalMentalHealth

#Motherhood

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