A week ago today, I miscarried at 9 weeks pregnant.

I started bleeding heavily at home and knew I had lost my baby. I've been through a lot in my life but that was by far the most traumatic experience of my life. Sitting on the toilet in terrible pain on and off for 5 hours, not knowing what's happening to me. I did not want to look into the bowl as I flushed everything away. Feeling completely helpless and having to look into my poor husbands face that did not know what to do or how to comfort me. I wouldn't wish this experience on my worst enemy.

What I struggle with the most is the fact that I flushed my tiny baby down the toilet. This is so dark and morbid but I know I can't be alone in this feeling. I never saw it amongst all the blood. I'm sure I wouldn't have been able to identify it either. I know if this was done in a hospital it would have gone into their waste anyways but it didn't hit me until days later that I was the one who flushed. What was I supposed to do? What is the alternative? In those hours I couldn't think straight about anything. But I hate knowing that that tiny being was flushed down a toilet. I think I could move past this if I knew that someone else feels this same tremendous guilt. Please, let me know that I am not alone.

I was supposed to be 3 months my baby didnt live past 9 weeks this was November 3, 2020 im still in hell and you are not alone.

I had to take those pills and my baby's head was hanging out of my i had to pull it out with toliet paper. I get it.

I miscarried at 9 weeks but only found out when I went for my check up at 11 weeks, just 2 days before my birthday. I went in for the blood test wanting to find out if we were having a boy or girl, but I left not even having a viable baby. The doctor was so clinical about my options, and I chose to take the pills rather than waiting for it to pass naturally. It took me a day before I could go through with using the pills because my husband and I couldn't stand the thought of flushing our baby like a goldfish. We talked about finding a box and burying the baby in our back yard, but I couldn't go through with it either. I didn't want my husband to have to go through that process. So I decided to close my eyes and flush every time. After 12 hours of pain and heavy shedding, I thought it was over because the bleeding slowed down and the contractions stopped. But then I felt a heavy cramp and before I could run to the toilet, the baby slipped out on my pad. My scream sent my husband running and he stood in the door of the bathroom offering to help me deal with it. I couln't put my baby in the toilet...it felt wrong... so I wrapped the tiny baby up in my pad and put it in a bag with some flowers and took it to the trash. I am selfish: I couldn't stand the thought of being reminded of my loss every time I look in my yard. It has been 2 months, and every time I feel a cramp in my lower abdomen, I remember that moment...the look on my husband's face as he said, "This wasn't how I had imagined meeting our baby." The guilt is unbearable. My husband says it's ok because he wouldn't have wanted to think that ants and bugs would have gotten to our baby if we had buried it. There was no "good way" to handle it I suppose, but I am looking forward to healing even if I won't ever be able to forget it.