Aftermath of my third miscarriage

I was nine weeks and two days along when I miscarried on Wednesday. The pain when it started was blinding, and the kids began running in my bathroom to the sounds of shrieks and screams I hadn't known I was capable of emitting. Hannah was frantically shouting that my period had started, but I could only clutch the ends of my clothes in anguished suffering. Only a few minutes in at the very worst moment of the it all, the doorbell rang, and all I could think through the waves of sheer agony was, "Who in God's name has the gall to try coming to my house now?! I WANT THEM GONE!"

...I may or may not have screamed those exact words between my wailing cries.

Justin - who had been allowing me to awkwardly hold onto his hands - went to go check the door, but to everyone's surprise it was my sister Linda, unnanounced, unplanned, but exactly what I needed.

I let her come into my bathroom and witness from an outside perspective the internal carnage happening to my uterus. She was there right at the worst part, and all I could do was hold her, begging for the pain to stop. I was crying, she was crying, and my whole world was blood and tears. After that wave of passing...tissue...had ended she stayed for a few more hours, making sure I was okay, and I was grateful for her presence (and presents...she got me chocolate, and lots of it!).

The whole gut-wrenching experience lasted five or six hours, and all these following days have been filled with recovery, well-wishes from my VT companion, the Primary Presidency, and my Visiting Teacher, and meal after meal after meal.

After talking to a few people today about the experience I felt confused. I wondered why the only actual pain I'd felt was physical. I'd compared my suffering to having my insides digested by the Sarlacc from Return of the Jedi, but I'd only shed emotional tears for a grand total of thirty seconds. This baffled me, because my previous two miscarriages had wrecked me emotionally for days.

I'm an emotional person. I thrive on it. I soak it all in for better or worse, and it's made me a person full of passion and empathy and spirit. So when I was praying this afternoon, I gave the Lord a piece of my mind. I told the Lord that it felt empty without any of the sadness I felt I deserved to experience. I said that I needed it to feel closure.

Then something very peculiar happened in my mind. I saw a literal image of floodgates being opened and vaguely felt the sensation of drowning. And a voice as clear as anything spoke into my mind, "You would not have been able to bear it."

...

Well, I'm humbled. Once again, my testimony that God has a vested interest in my livelihood is evident, and I'm...beyond eternally grateful for His love and wisdom.