‘We suffer in silence’: five women share their miscarriage stories
Up to one in five known pregnancies end in miscarriage, but despite its ubiquity, the details of this experience are rarely discussed.
In September 2023, an Ohio woman who suffered a miscarriage in the toilet at 22 weeks was reported to police when she sought medical attention. A grand jury declined to indict Brittany Watts last week on charges of “abuse of corpse,” but the charges sparked outrage on social media, prompting many women across the country to tell their own miscarriage stories.
Our recent call asked readers about having a miscarriage in the US and was answered by over 100 people. Almost all of them mentioned that understanding the statistical frequency of miscarriages – in which they occur 10%-20% of known pregnancies – did not alleviate the trauma they felt in the aftermath. In terms of treatment and support, respondents described a spectrum of experiences: doctors who were coldly indifferent or made them feel like criminals; surprise at the realization that many around them had also experienced pregnancy loss; and callous responses from people who did not understand the physical or emotional process of miscarriage.
Many also wanted to emphasize that there is no control over where a miscarriage can occur: at the gym, at a board meeting, at church – and usually in the toilet.
We selected five of those testimonials. Each entry has been vetted, but the last name has been withheld to protect the women’s privacy.
‘There was no empathy; rather the opposite’
– Libby, in Montana, where abortion is banned if the fetus is viable, usually at 24 to 26 weeks
About eleven years ago, when I was about to graduate from college, my husband and I decided to try to get pregnant. Seven weeks into the pregnancy, my gynecologist confirmed the heartbeat. Less than a week later I started having very painful cramps, so painful that I became light-headed and could barely walk.
My husband wanted to take me to the hospital that specialized in childbirth, but I was in so much pain that I insisted on going to the nearest emergency room. During the intake they told me that my blood pressure was low. Once I was admitted into the room and asked to describe my symptoms and why I was coming in, the male emergency room technician told me, in front of my husband, that miscarriages are normal and don’t hurt much, and that my pain was a severe pain. result of my emotions surrounding losing a pregnancy. This was before I even knew I had lost the pregnancy.
Then the male emergency room doctor examined me. He made a disgusted face and threw something across the room into the metal bin, saying he believed he had just seen “fetal material.” There was no empathy, rather the opposite. My husband got teary-eyed and asked to excuse himself for air. As he left, the male tech commented, “We don’t normally see the husbands get so upset. Usually it’s the women.”
My memory of our treatment in that room has haunted me for years, especially as I hear of women being sued for their miscarriages. While I don’t necessarily attribute some of our treatment to racism, I should note that my husband was black and I was white.
‘It’s a tragedy for most of us’
– Heather, in Illinois, where abortion is banned if the fetus is viable
Pregnant women who miscarry cannot determine whether we lose our pregnancy or not. For most of us it is a tragedy. We wonder what we could have done differently, even though we know we have no control over it.
It’s magical thinking to imagine that we can prevent our own miscarriages, and we need help not to blame ourselves for losing what we wanted most: a child. The new legal trend to monitor and prosecute women who miscarry is as barbaric as it is ignorant of the most basic knowledge of how pregnancy works. The idea that women can be held criminally responsible for miscarriage is a misogynistic fantasy, divorced from the reality of miscarriage.
‘What I needed were shoulders to cry on’
– Britta, in Washington, where abortion is banned if the fetus is viable
The way we were raised, the way health teachers talk at school, you would think that if you look at someone the wrong way, you could get pregnant. Getting pregnant is difficult. Getting pregnant is an emotional and physical roller coaster. And if you miscarry, you, the birthing parent, can be left with a lot of physical and mental trauma. You blame yourself. You blame your body. You develop an unwavering fear of what might happen if you become pregnant again. And if you think too hard about what’s going on while it’s happening, you can’t shake the reality that a life has ended inside you. Your body is a vessel for a failed life. You walk around the world knowing that, visualizing that, and not being able to divert your thoughts from that.
Yet somehow you are expected to get up and go to work. Somehow you are expected to go to the grocery store, pay the bills and just get on with it.
Women go through this experience in silence, because it’s too devastating to talk about, or they don’t feel like it’s something people talk about. What I needed were shoulders to cry on, endless hugs, and compassion for my inability to function as my normal self for a while. I wish the world had given me permission to not be okay and to step back.
‘It’s not Brittany Watts’ fault’
– Lisa, in New Jersey, where abortion is not restricted based on the length of pregnancy
Miscarriage happens all the time. It’s not Brittany Watts’ fault. Whether she wanted the pregnancy or not, it’s traumatic. Plus there’s all this crazy hormonal stuff going on. I completely understand how this turned out the way it did for the Ohio woman.
If you can’t get anywhere with the medical staff and just sit around having cramps and bleeding, I also think it’s just as good not to deal with this at home as in the hospital. The fact that the state is trying to prosecute her for not properly handling the remains of a non-viable pregnancy when she knew she actually needed medical care is insane.
‘I wanted a more compassionate experience’
– Kristi, in Wisconsin, where abortion is banned after 22 weeks
We were excited to see our baby. The cause of the bleeding was found during the ultrasound. I had placenta previa, which often corrects itself. The technician also wanted to let us see the baby and look at his heartbeat.
I remember the room becoming completely silent as she looked and looked and found no movement. No heartbeat. And her words, “I know this isn’t what you expected,” broke the silence as if they were far away. I panicked. She brought along a very friendly gynecologist who went through the options with us. I could wait to see if my body would “abort” the baby on its own or schedule a D and C right away. I decided to wait. I guess I wasn’t ready to let go yet. I had no support other than my husband and was so scared. A missed miscarriage or missed abortion were the terms used. I hated the words. My baby had died. I wanted less medical terminology and a more compassionate experience.
After two weeks I scheduled a D and C. I found it miserable. My fear overpowered the anesthesia and it was painful. I wanted to take the “products of conception” home to bury, but they had to go to the laboratory first. A few days later we collected them, packed in a brown lunch bag. Finally, we had a ritual to say goodbye to our first child, named Izzy.
Now, at age 56, I realize how fortunate I was to have the compassionate care I received. How privileged I was during my treatment and care. I work for that kind of care for all mothers.
Status of the Guttmacher Institute’s abortion policy