**Trigger Warning: miscarriage, medical experience**
I’ve been quiet the past few days, and I think I’m finally ready to share what’s been going on.
Last Thursday, after I found out about the missed miscarriage, my doctor called to say she referred me for a D&C, but warned there could be a wait. She suggested going to the hospital if I wanted to be seen sooner. So on Friday, I spent the entire day in the ER, hoping to move things along. After hours of waiting and testing, I was told they could likely do the procedure within five days.
I went home holding onto that.
But later that same day, I got another call. Not with a date—but with a change of plans. They couldn’t do the procedure there after all. I’d need to be referred to a different clinic with more specialized equipment… and they only operated once a week.
That moment really broke something in me. It felt like every step forward came with two steps back.
The weekend was heavy. I was still dealing with all the pregnancy symptoms, which made everything feel even more confusing and drawn out. I was also scared—reading stories, wondering what might happen, and just wanting this to be over in a safe, controlled way.
By Tuesday, I finally had my consultation. I had started spotting a bit, which made me feel like things were shifting. They repeated tests, walked me through the procedure, and told me I was booked for Thursday. I remember feeling a small sense of relief.
That night, though, everything escalated.
What started as discomfort turned into something I couldn’t ignore. It happened quickly, and it was overwhelming. My husband and I both knew something wasn’t right. I started feeling faint, shaky—like my body was going through something bigger than I could manage at home.
We called an ambulance.
At the hospital, they confirmed that part of the miscarriage had happened, but not completely. They helped stabilize things and sent me home the next morning, with instructions to still go to my Thursday appointment.
So again… I waited.
Thursday came, and I went in thinking this would finally be the end of it. After hours of waiting and finally after another ultrasound, they told me they couldn’t proceed. It wasn’t safe to do the procedure there due to the risk of heavy bleeding, and they didn’t have the equipment needed.
Waiting to be seen by the doctor
Their recommendation was to wait four more weeks.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt that defeated. After everything that had already happened, the idea of going home and just waiting—while still at risk—felt impossible.
That night, I made up my mind. I needed to advocate for myself.The next morning, I went back to the hospital. I explained everything—how the past few days had unfolded, how I was feeling. This time, they found that my levels had dropped and I had become anemic.
And finally… things moved.
They admitted me and told me they would do the procedure that same day.
I can’t fully put into words the relief I felt hearing that.
Late that night, I had the D&C. The procedure itself was quick—but the emotional weight of the past week didn’t just disappear with it.
Still, I feel a sense of closure. Like I can finally start to breathe again.
Right now, I’m focused on healing—taking things one day at a time, letting my body recover, and giving myself space to process everything that’s happened.
If there’s anything I’ve learned through this, it’s how important it is to listen to yourself and speak up when something doesn’t feel right. It’s exhausting, especially when you’re already going through so much—but it matters.
For now, I’m just grateful to be on the other side of it.🤍
Finally it’s done!
Reclaiming MomBod 