Mom to Thing 1
Lost June 21, 2011 at 16 weeks


Thing 2
Lost April 16, 2012 at 14 weeks

Melfort, Saskatchewan, Canada

My now-husband, B, works shift work in Alberta. One day in June, 2011, as we were driving down a gravel road, I blurted, “I’m pregnant.” This is the point the truck skidded to a stop and B looked at me. The ‘WTF Did You Say?!??’ look. I explained how I knew and after a dumbfounded silence, he started driving again. We started talking about him leaving a truck up at work, baby furniture, saving money and finding a bigger apartment. We were happy, the baby was flipping around in my belly and we went about our days, not really realizing what was happening in my body.

Less than a week later, on a Monday night, I woke with abdominal pain from the deepest bowels of Hell. I went to the bathroom and it got worse, so much worse. There was so much blood, and so much pain, but it never occurred to me to call for help. I washed in the shower, slipped a thick pad in new underwear, took some painkiller and went back to bed, a heating pad and B’s arms wrapped around my torso. I’d made no noise, I hadn’t realized what had happened. B had slept through it all. I lay awake, just thinking, till the pre-dawn light filtered through our curtained windows. In just a few hours, B and I were up, in the truck and waiting for the bus to take him away to work. We were cuddling in the truck when I said, “We don’t have to worry about the baby anymore.” B replied with an, “Oh.” And then he was gone to work.

The next week he was home I went for an ultrasound. Seeing my empty womb was the hardest, most painful thing about it all. Seeing, for sure, that there was no more baby, that B didn’t understand, that the ultrasound tech was trying her hardest not to make it worse. I didn’t cry. I’d gnaw my lip off first. I would not let myself cry. B and I believe our baby, Thing 1, was killed by black mold spores. We moved out of that apartment 2 months after, and as we packed we found black mold everywhere, even coming through the paint in the living room.

B proposed in early September, 2011 (I said, “HOLY F**K!!”). We started planning a wedding for early August, 2012. In April, I went to visit my best friend and bridesmaid, A, for a week. To get there I drove 8 hours in my ’85 truck. The one with no cruise, a sticky fuel pedal and a beyond sticky ignition. I had had a blood test the week before and got the call in a gas station bathroom. I was pregnant. Judging by the level of hormones, 14 weeks-ish. Once there, with A, everything was fine. Then there was the giant fight and she kicked me out, with nowhere to go and no money. Thankfully, another friend had a spare bed. I prevailed on her, and left as early as I could the next morning. I drove 6 hours, occasionally bawling, to my in-law’s place. I slept 14 hours, woke up, went to the bathroom and found spots of blood. I didn’t think anything of it; I was just spacey. I wasn’t answering questions, making eye contact, or eating much. I was completely out of it. So, that evening I grabbed the dog, moved the crap in the truck around and left. We got home about 11 pm, where I unpacked and went to bed. I woke up about 3 am and felt a gush between my legs and a horrible pain, a stabbing and pulling in my womb. It was the same procedure as the first. Hours of painful bleeding on the toilet, a wash off, a giant pad, painkiller and sleep. I bled for so long my doctor put me on hormones to help set things to rights. It took another 2 weeks, but the bleeding and cramping stopped. That was the end of Thing 2.

Now, we’ve been married 2 months, together 2 years+, and lost 2 babies.

Thank you to all who have posted before me and all who will post after. I am not ashamed of my pain, and I will not hide my children.

You can contact Carrie at

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