Knit Together
My Story
Knit Together was founded after my fourth miscarriage. As a hardship that is rarely discussed outside the confines of one’s own home, I struggled for a long time. Frankly, at times I still grapple with my emotions and information and stories I wish I knew before making decisions about my next steps. Through Knit Together, I want to recognize the children women have lost and provide them with information and resources that I hope they find both comforting and beneficial in their own journey. Please know that I am deeply sorry for each loss. While it is a burden too many women share, each story is its own tragedy. I share mine below simply because I wish I was told the real possibilities and distress that each of the three evacuation choices holds.
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​Women are given three choices after learning their baby no longer has a heartbeat, but none of them seems like a choice. If we had a choice, we would have babies with heartbeats and smooth deliveries bringing breathing children to life in this world. Yet, through God we are strong enough to endure. I hope you find my stories helpful, and I pray that you find healing, a firmer foundation in the Lord, and peace within your choices ahead.
~Katherine
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KelleyJoImaging
Surgical Evacuation
During our first eight week appointment, My husband and I remember discussing for over an hour the medical backgrounds of our families before we finally proceeded to the exciting part: the ultrasound. The technician uttered the words “I can’t find a heartbeat,” and my response was not one of automatic panic when I murmured, “Should I be concerned?” It was my first time being pregnant, and I had no clue what to expect, but finding out that my baby no longer had a heartbeat was not a possibility I had even considered. After rushing us down to Radiology to confirm the death of our child, the doctor proceeded to tell me my options.
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At the time, I was firm on doing everything naturally. While I was told that could take some time, I was not prepared for the mental toll carrying my dead child for a month inside my womb would take on my already distraught mind and body. Every cramp and contraction was no longer my womb preparing for the growth of my baby, but rather my own body preparing to evacuate it. After suffering this psychological distress for a month, my doctor recommended performing dilate and curettage (D&C Procedure) as my physical health would soon become a concern as it is not exactly healthy to be carrying dead tissue inside a person for so long. I was ready to be done with it, so I readily agreed.
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I was told everything went smoothly even though the invasive procedure left my body feeling disoriented. I rested as instructed and went back to work four days later. At the end of my work day, I collapsed in my chair, unable to stand. My limbs still functioned, but it felt like my body was unable to hold its own weight standing up. I sat there for an hour contemplating how I would manage to get to my vehicle, how I would manage to get home. Going back to the hospital even though something was clearly wrong was not an option to my stubborn conviction. When my husband came home in the late evening, he persuaded me to call the hospital to inform them of what was going on with my body. The nurse that I spoke to told me the likelihood of internal bleeding was high, and she stated that if I did not go to the hospital I was going to die. More words I never expected to hear. Thankfully my situation was not as dire as presented, and thankfully the surgery is relatively safe, but it is never without risk. I wish I would have taken those risks more seriously and the impact it would have on my body. I also wish that I would have considered the financial aspects of a surgical procedure.
Natural Evacuation
I am incredibly thankful to have a beautiful daughter that I gave birth to a year after my first miscarriage. Both the pregnancy and delivery went well. When we began trying for a second child, I went through two natural miscarriages; both were fairly early on in my pregnancies. I never even got the chance to go to the doctor for an eight week checkup.
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Instead, my first happened while I was driving to a friend’s house. I had stabbing pains that seemingly erupted from nowhere. I do not use those words lightly as I have a high tolerance for pain. My menstrual cycle alone normally causes me to shake and vomit; I have even passed out from the pain three times in my life. Normally I am able to struggle through as it has become a fairly normal occurrence. However, this pain was so intense that I realized I could not drive through it. I pulled off to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and ended up bleeding out on the side of a dirt road by myself. I continued to bleed for an entire week and another subsequent week once my period hit. For a time I became anxious when needing to use the bathroom because I was so used to seeing the blood left behind.
My second natural miscarriage would not have been noticeable if it were not for the large blot clots that left my uterus while in the shower during a holiday weekend. Unable to get them to dissolve down the shower drain, I transferred them to the toilet. Each clot was palm-sized.
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Medicated Evacuation
During my fifth pregnancy, I developed an aversion to hospitals. Staff had always treated me with kindness and respect, so let me be clear that it was my own fear that made me hesitant to turn to clinical help. For that reason alone, I waited until my twelfth week of pregnancy to go to my first check-up. While I had been previously excited in the months leading up to the appointment, I experienced complete dread once I stepped inside the building. I had been feeling positive despite the morning-sickness, food avoidance, and fatigue I was continually experiencing, but I was waiting to hear that heartbeat to tell me that this time things would be different.
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Yet once again I was told that our baby no longer had a heartbeat. Due to my first experience, I decided that medical treatment might be expedient and manageable. Because miscarriage is rarely discussed, I was not ready for the uncomfortable position of driving to the pharmacy and receiving what both the pharmacist and I knew to be clinical abortion pills. The pharmacist then alerted me to the fact that my doctor also prescribed Vicodin. My family doctors were quite aware of my high tolerance of pain, so it made me question whether this doctor was being sympathetic or whether a medicated miscarriage was going to be more painful than I expected.
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Placing myself in bed at nine o’clock at night, I placed the pills in my vagina and waited. I knew I should get sleep as most stories that I read online stated that the pills took roughly four hours to take effect, but after that each story differed. I did not sleep peacefully, but at one o’clock I remember feeling nervous that nothing had happened as I did not want to have to receive a second dose. Soon after, I began bleeding and experienced contractions for the next six hours. It was not a comfortable experience, but I found the pain manageable (the cramps and contractions lasted for about a week). However, at that point it was just blood exiting my body. The next morning I had a reprieve, which lulled me into a false sense of security. By Sunday I did have bits of tissue exiting, and by Monday the blood was not yet manageable, so I took the day off. Tuesday I decided to go back to work, which may have been a mistake as I evacuated my three month fetus in the staff bathroom before fourth hour and went back to teaching my students with blood caked to my thighs. I was naive in believing the medication would break down the tissue more than it actually did. Flushing my three month old gestational child in a swirl of blood down the toilet is an image that continues to haunt me.
