The Ugly Truth About Miscarriage

I was six months pregnant when I had my first miscarriage. I wasn't prepared for what I felt. No one tells you how it takes a toll on your physical and mental health. I remember the first pang of pain I felt. I knew immediately that there was something wrong. The pain came again a few seconds later, but this time it was accompanied by bleeding. By the time I got to the hospital, I was told my baby was dead. Surgery was done to remove my baby, and I was left alone with nothing but pain, guilt, and an empty womb. The next few weeks were a blur. It took me months of counseling before I could bounce back. For a long time, I kept blaming myself for the death of my baby. Maybe I ate the wrong thing or I slept in the wrong position. So many things crossed my mind. It was slowly tilting into depression and might have if I hadn't gone for counseling. It took me a while before I decided to try to get pregnant again.

My miscarriage was a really terrible thing. My milk came in, turning my breasts into hot, painful rocks for a week. I was really a mess. The hardest part for me was giving out all the baby stuff I had gotten. I broke down every single time I gave out something my little boy would have worn. I had two miscarriages after that, and they weren't easier than the first.