On September 1st I woke up to my fourth miscarriage.

While I waited for my name to be called for my ultrasound I felt so utterly alone. For the past three weeks we had a secret. Everywhere I went I was never alone. There was a six and a half week old heartbeat that was growing right underneath my own.

This time it was different. I had made it over two and half weeks longer then the first three. I had let some of my usual guards down, I had let myself dream of Christmas with a big belly, of Evelyn’s hands excitedly resting on my belly as little kicks were felt, and of the first time we’d see the little gummy bear on the screen in only a few weeks. I’d allowed myself the secret joys of those first few weeks. I had created a space in my prayer journal, just for this little life. And in it I wrote scriptures over that heartbeat, over those little limbs that were beginning to form.


But I was still cautious. I have a journal that I write notes in to baby so that one day when he or she is old they can read through them and know the deep love that is formed in a momma’s heart at the first sight of those two pink lines. But I hadn’t written in it yet.

I sat in the office and waited for my name, trying so hard to make big eyes so no tears would fall. I cried out in prayer, yet again, for comfort, and to feel His presence all around me.

Dear reader, I did not feel alone.

In the midst of this storm the hardest part is just that, that we feel so alone. So many women that I have shared this with say that they know what I have experience because they have as well. So let’s talk about it.

Let’s talk about it so that if you go through it to you know you are not the only one.

Let’s talk about so that you can find comfort in knowing it is much more common than you think.

So that you know you are not broken.

So that you know God has a plan.

Our next step is some serious blood work to see what is going on. We are waiting for my Beta hcg levels to return to normal before we can begin those. It feels good to know that we have a plan.

When you give God your life you are simply saying I am here for Your perfect will. Sometimes His Will looks nothing like your plan. And so we are ready. No, I am ready for whatever tomorrow looks like. Because I know that it is not by my own strength I get through the storm, but by being still and knowing that He is God and the He is good, always.


Carissa Christine

"First and foremost I am saved by His grace. I am a wife to a bearded man, a momma to a lovely little lady and a baby bear, a photographer and a creative." xo, Carissa Christine


  1. Reply



    There are no words to express my deep and painful sorrow I feel for you, my darling Daughter. Our only comfort is to know that we will continue to trust our GOD who has all life within HIS loving embrace and that I have now 4 Grandchildren I will meet who entered HIS Glorious PRESENCE without the struggle of an earthly walk. Yes, HE is good and the only ONE who can be trusted, for HE sees tomorrow and we find our only rest wrapped in HIS arms…Love you

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    Carissa, my heart is so heavy right now. I am always so amazed by your faith and your love of God, it just amazes me how strong your faith is. I am but a mere babe in this journey, I want to tell you I will have you and your family in my prayers. I have to tell you when you post pics of little Evie I marvel at your Love of being a ‘mom’. You have a very special place in your heart for the “little ones”. Stay strong, Hugs from Barbie.

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    You are not alone. Thank you for being so brave in sharing your story while you are in the midst of everything. All women need to hear they are not alone. My husband and I waited 7 years to get married, and when we did, we were so excited to start a family. The two years following were filled with heartache over our struggles to do the one thing I had daydreamed about for the years preceding. Over the course of two years, I had six miscarriages. I would get pregnant, and in the subsequent 6 – 12 weeks, I would miscarry. It was devastating, but it became a cycle that I became all too familiar with. My emotions were a rollercoaster. Excitement, anxiety, devastation. It got to the point where when I would start to miscarry, I would almost feel relief, relief that I wouldn’t have to wake up another morning with anxiety–how is my baby today? Is my baby’s heart still beating? Then the day would inevitably come that I would come to realize there was no longer a heartbeat, or the cramps would start. I would let my anxiety wash away, replaced by a heaviness in my heart, and almost a strange sense of peace. It was a dark place to be, but a familiar dark place. A place that I could control. I even developed a routine when I miscarried. I would realize I was miscarrying, and continue through my day. Continue to work. Continue to care for other people. Continue to laugh, smile, crack jokes with staff and colleagues, when inside, I was hurting so much. I was thinking, “I know you are angry with me, patient-in-my-emergency-department, for your wait in the waiting room, I know you are hurting, but I am trying as hard as I can to take care of everyone when I am hurting inside myself in every way possible. My baby is dying. My baby is dying right now as I stitch up this cut on your finger. My baby is dying while I try to figure out why you are having abdominal pain. My baby is dying while I tell your loved ones you are having a heart attack. My baby is dying and no one but me knows it.” After work, I would call my husband and tell him the news, then head to the local sushi restaurant on my way home, and get the sushi I had craved since learning I was pregnant. And then I would go home. And eat. And let the cramps resonate through my whole body and crowd out any other feelings. I would allow myself to be numb. That was my routine. My miscarriage routine. I was riddled with guilt about everything about it.

    During this two year period, I felt like a failure. I felt like I was a weak woman. I felt like I was doing something wrong. I felt it was my fault. I felt guilty. I felt inadequate. I felt out of control. I was ashamed and didn’t share this news with anyone but those closest to me. I felt so vulnerable and nothing had ever felt so personal. I bottled things up and internalized it all.

    A year into the process, I went to an infertility specialist. I was training at the Mayo Clinic so I had the best specialists at my fingertips. I went through the million dollar Mayo Clinic work-up. Nothing was wrong. How could nothing be wrong? But test after test confirmed that, “Congratulations! Nothing is wrong!” And I was started on this medication and that medication, because “Why not try it?” I was hopeful, but hopeless. Exhausted from this emotional rollercoaster. Ultimately, I decided to stop all the treatments. Let my body be. Stop beating it up.

    It was our seventh pregnancy, and this time–twins!!!! Twins!!! I got excited. I felt my anxiety flood over me. My husband and I kept our news to ourselves. We held our breaths. We had been through this, and walked quietly on eggshells. We waited. And waited. And my belly grew. And I had no cramps. And I had no bleeding. And I saw their heartbeats. Time and time again. And the fertility specialist said we didn’t need him anymore. And I sat in his office and broke down in tears–wave after wave of tears. We passed three months. And four months. And five, and six, and seven, and eight!!!!! And two healthy beautiful babies were born.

    They are beautiful to this day. I stare at them sometimes, and marvel at how they came to be. Our journey to having our amazing twin boy and girl. It was worth everything.

    When we decided to have a third, I was ready for the journey. I was nervous of going through the process again, but having had our twins, I knew it was more than worth it. The day we decided we wanted to try again, I felt my emotions surge. I took some quiet, slow, deep breaths.

    Five weeks later, just like that, we found out we were pregnant. I braced myself. I went in for ultrasounds every week. Week after week, there was a heartbeat. I couldn’t believe my ears. And then our beautiful baby girl came into our lives seemingly seamlessly. It was too good to be true, but it is true.

    These three beautiful babies of ours.

    These days, I realize, there is nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing I failed at. I see the chief complaint of “possible miscarriage” show up in my emergency department, and I want to see that patient. Not because I think I can provide better care than my colleagues, but because I want to share my story. Mother to mother. I want to give them hope and I want them to know they are not alone. I leave those rooms more emotional than any, with tears to wipe away quickly before I head into the next room. But I am thankful for everything I’ve been through. It has given me what I have, it has given me who I am, and it has given me what I have to share. And most of all, it has given me my three beautiful, healthy children.

    I am so thankful. You are right. You are not alone. We are not alone.


    • Reply

      Carissa Christine



      I write this with big old tears running down my face. Oh the joy of those three little lives you get to see, hold and kiss daily. Your testimony is heart lifting, encouraging and beautiful. Thank you so much for taking the time to write it all out. It means the world to me.


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        Thank YOU for sharing. You have inspired me to do the same. As a result of what you wrote, I took my response and started a blog. I don’t yet know what to do with it, but have shared it with some of my closest friends in hopes that they can share with others that may benefit from it. Here is the link https://momwifedoctorthoughts.wordpress.com/2015/10/14/lets-start-off-personal/

        It is pretty much what I poured out to you with some edits. Thank YOU, Carissa. You are in my thoughts. Cindy

        • Reply

          Carissa Christine


          I loved reading the post! Thank you for sharing! It blessed me and I hope it blesses so many others!

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