Why A Miscarriage Was The Best Thing To Happen To Me

September 22, 2025•10 min read

Why A Miscarriage Was The Best Thing To Happen To Me

When wanting children for so long, why was I so relieved to have had a miscarriage? We had one healthy child, and I longed to have another. When I found out we were expecting again, we were very excited, but being over the age of 40, I was a little worried of all the possible things that could happen. However, what did end up happening was not at all on my list of worrisome things that crossed my mind.

Having a miscarriage brings about so many emotions. I had never known what to say to someone who had gone through it, other than I was sorry. It was only my sister who had known we were expecting, so I didn’t have to see the sadness in anyone else’s eyes, because I would never have to tell them.

If you want to watch me tell the story on YouTube, click here:

We were supposed to fly out to Saskatoon to see my family the day it happened, and I was over the moon, anticipating their faces when they could meet my funny, beautiful one year old. Not being able to leave, crushed me more than losing a baby at that moment. I was wanting this visit to happen more than anything.

I was praying when I had started spotting, that the bleeding was due to a subchorionic hemorrhage. I had that happen with my first pregnancy at around 6 weeks, where there was a tear in my uterus from the egg replanting itself. I bled very heavy for days. I had great reassurance from the ultrasound tech, and she had showed me that Baby was doing very well. Deep down, I knew it was different this time. I had cramping and it was getting stronger. Just to be sure, I needed an ultrasound before I flew out, just to know EXACTLY what was going on.

I drove myself to Emergency at a nearby hospital late at night, while my husband packed for us for our next day flight, while our daughter slept. My wait was 3 hours before the doctor saw me in a tiny room. He confessed he was no ultrasound technician, and that he highly doubted he would see anything, but said he would give it a try. He did confirm that my cervix was still closed and my blood work looked normal. That was a little reassuring to hear.

The doctor fiddled around with an ancient looking ultrasound machine. I am not kidding. This thing looked like the old DOS computers from the early 90’s. Why was this even here? Of course, he couldn’t see anything at all. I got no answers. What a waste of time, I thought. I left in tears, not knowing if I was losing the baby and I was told I was not allowed to fly while hemorrhaging. I was given a requisition form and was assured I would get a call in the morning to come get checked out with a professional ultrasound technician at the hospital.

Morning came and left. No call. I had to cancel our flight and cried my eyes out all afternoon. I tried numerous times to contact the lab for my appointment. They finally returned my calls saying the earliest they could see me was in 10 days. I had a dating ultrasound booked in 8 days, so that appointment was completely useless to me.

I had never felt so defeated at that moment.

I don’t remember sobbing so hard. What upset me the most in that moment, was the realization my family would not meet my beautiful daughter. She was 20 months old, and it was only my mom that had flew to BC to see her. My Dad, my brothers, my aunts, uncles and cousins…I wanted them to meet her so bad! The airline representative felt terrible that the next flight we could book was 3 times the original price we paid. There was nothing he could do.

All my husband could do was hug me. I had to tell my parents why I couldn’t fly home. My sister was so disappointed we couldn’t fly all together that she even said words to me that kept running through my head throughout the following week: “Why did it have to happen now? Why couldn’t it have been earlier or when we got back?”

At the time, those words stung me pretty good. It made me feel guilty and absolutely terrible. No fault to my sister. She was emotional as well.

Who would have known that the answer to those questions would come to us only a couple days later?

The same day as my emotional rollercoaster was moving full force, and my face looked like a puffer fish from the sobbing, my sister and her husband used their airmiles to repurchase us tickets to fly the next day to Saskatoon. I wasn’t bleeding any worse than a period, so I gave myself permission to fly. On top of that, I had family that worked in ultrasound in Saskatoon. I arranged a last minute appointment (which is nearly unheard of, since it is normal to be waiting at least 3 weeks at the earliest to get in), and brought my dating ultrasound requisition so I could confirm if in fact, I lost the baby.

The day after arriving, my mom drove me to a clinic where my cousin had worked in reception. It started as a standard pelvic ultrasound procedure, except for the internal scan so she could get a closer look. That wasn’t much fun. This time though, she moved the wand over my liver and checked both kidneys. As she scanned my left side and typed the details in, she had asked me if I ever had my kidneys checked before. I hadn’t, but her asking that, right away made me think that something was wrong. She assured me that it was standard practice in Saskatoon for every ultrasound to have the kidneys and liver checked. I was amazed.

In BC, there was no way the technicians would scan anything other than what was on the requisition.

It made me feel a bit better knowing they took extra precautions, and it didn’t hurt to check that everything was in working order while I’m lubed up lying on the table anyhow. That was until she scanned my right side, which only took a fraction of the time to check. I don’t even think she typed anything in.

My gut told me something else was going on.

When the tech returned, she proceeded to tell me they couldn’t get ahold of my doctor. She got special permission from her manager that in my case, because my doctor was not in the office, she could tell me whether I lost the baby or not.

I lost the baby. My heart sank.

She then strongly advised that I would need to follow up with my doctor as soon as I returned. She even suggested I could see a doctor in town while I was there if I wanted to. I wondered why the urgency to see a doctor if I knew I had lost the baby? I asked if everything was alright with my left kidney since she had scanned that spot for so long. Of course she couldn’t tell me anything, but I could see it on her face. Something was wrong. And it was serious. She saw the confused look on my face. “Call them first thing tomorrow,” she said. I walked out to the car in silence. I was now numb. Suddenly losing the baby took a backseat.

My mom saw my face. I didn’t have to say anything. She knew I lost the baby. Except the look on my face wasn’t just the despair of losing what would have been a sister or brother for my daughter. It was the unknown discovery on the left side of my body and the immediate fear and anxiety that I may perhaps be on borrowed time. I turned to her and told her “They found something on my kidney but they couldn’t tell me. I’m freaking out.” We drove in silence most of the time heading back to the house.

The next morning, after an entire night of googling what possible things they could have discovered on my kidney, I called my doctor’s office the second they were open. I explained to the receptionist that I had an ultrasound done in Saskatoon and that I was told they had faxed her the results and I was to call this morning. She put me on hold, which felt like an eternity. When she returned, she asked me when I was getting back. I told her Monday night. She said I needed to come in on Tuesday morning. I asked if my doctor could just tell me over the phone, but she said he couldn’t. That call alone set in the panic, and I was a mess the remainder of the week. My family tried to lighten things up and made jokes that they could always donate their kidney to me if I needed it. However, no matter what they did or said, nothing could settle my mind until I knew what the heck was going on.

When the day came to see my doctor, he gave me the biggest hug and his deepest sympathies for our loss. Oh yeah, I had lost a baby. I almost forgot about that. My doctor truly was the best for bedside manner. I just love him! After discussing the loss and the future of trying for another, he moved on to what immediately became the answer to why I lost the baby when I did.

I had a large mass on the bottom of my left kidney.

It was solid, measuring at around 12 x 15 cm.

I thought he was mistaken and he meant to say millimetres. No it was centimetres.

You can continue reading about the tumour with pictures included on this post:

The "C" Word Can Just F Off!

I was in shock. I felt this was the end. I was dying. How long did I have left to be with my family? So many thoughts racing through my head. Whatever my doctor had said after was just a blur. It was like a muffled noise in the background of my loud thoughts and confusion of how this could have happened. He gave me a big hug, with the best way he could try to make me feel better, by telling me it was “the small tumours that were dangerous.”

Yeah right. It’s so big, it’s probably spread everywhere. I was done for.

So many emotions raged through me for the following few days. After the initial shock settled, I was angry. This “discovery” stole my grief for losing my baby. It was taken right out from under me. Gone, like it never even happened. Then I was sad that I was never to hold that baby, followed by fear that I may be meeting that baby soon after on the other side.

When my mind finally became quiet, my sister’s voice and her words of my inappropriately timed miscarriage just days earlier popped in my head. “Why did it have to happen now?” It suddenly became clear.

It all made sense now.

If I had lost the baby any earlier or when we had got back from the trip, I would have had the ultrasound done in BC and they would have never discovered my tumour in time. I needed the ultrasound in Saskatoon, where my kidneys would be routinely checked.