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pregnancy loss

Health

Woman's felony charge for 'abuse of a corpse' sheds light on the realities of miscarriage

Let's start with the unspoken and uncomfortable fact that miscarriages at home usually happen in a toilet.

Woman's felony charge after miscarriage highlights need for education.

Content Warning: This story discusses pregnancy loss details that may be uncomfortable for some readers.

Losing a pregnancy is not something anyone can prepare for. There's no course you can take to tell you what to expect, how you'll feel or what to do after the miscarriage occurs. It's not something that's widely talked about, even in conversations about miscarriage.

About 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage in the first trimester and 1 in 5 in the second, according to the March of Dimes. Many women who reveal they've lost a pregnancy talk about how difficult it was emotionally, but they rarely talk about the lack of information from medical professionals or the details of the process of miscarrying. It makes sense because it's hard enough to discuss pregnancy loss, and to go into detail may be much worse on their mental health.

There also may be a level of shame attached to the process, partly because the topic of miscarriage is still taboo but also because many at-home miscarriages happen in the toilet. It's an uncomfortable truth that haunts people who have experienced the process. But the truth of the matter is, hospitals don't usually admit you for a miscarriage; they send you home with little to no instructions on what to do after it happens. So to people who have experienced the pain of a miscarriage at home, it makes sense that a woman in Ohio, currently on trial for "abuse of a corpse" would have no idea what to do after miscarrying.


Brittany Watts, 33, of Warren, Ohio, went to the hospital twice concerning her unborn baby. She was informed that she was miscarrying and her baby was not viable. She was presumably sent home to miscarry, like many other miscarrying mothers. The fetus was only 22 weeks gestation when Watts miscarried into the toilet after her water broke, and when she flushed the remains clogged the pipes. A forensic pathologist testified that an autopsy found that the fetus was not injured, and that it had died before passing through the birth canal. Instead of being able to grieve, Watts was arrested.

But there's not much information available in America on what to do if you miscarry at home. In the UK, the NHS sends miscarrying mothers home with a leaflet that gives some basic options on how to handle the process.

"If you miscarry at home you are very likely to pass the remains of your pregnancy into the toilet. You may look at what has come away and see a pregnancy sac and/or a very early baby (we call this a fetus) – or something you think might a be a fetus. If you complete your miscarriage at home you have no obligation to dispose of the pregnancy remains in any particular way," the NHS writes.

"You might want to simply flush the toilet – many people do that automatically. If you prefer to dispose of the remains the way you normally dispose of sanitary waste this is a personal choice and there are no regulations to prevent you doing whatever feels right for you. Or you may want to remove the remains for a closer look. That’s natural too. If you know that you do not want to flush the remains of your pregnancy you may wish to place a bowl into the toilet."

Being in the position of losing a pregnancy and everything that comes with it, people forget the shock aspect of it all. There are people who pass out from pain and those who pass out from the sight of blood, both of which are often present with miscarriages. But the question remains, what are people going through this experience supposed to do if they're sent home from the hospital or miscarry without warning at home?

A woman who uses the screen name Mamacita Sanchez took to X (formerly Twitter) to express her shock and frustration at elected officials.

"I’m struggling to comprehend the ignorance of policy makers about what happens during pregnancy/miscarriage. Yesterday I learned that they didn’t know that you usually miscarry into a toilet. They didn’t know that your medical team sends you home to miscarry," she starts her thread.

"They don’t know the difference between Plan B and meds used to manage miscarriages. They don’t know the difference between zygote/embryo/fetus. They don’t know a miscarriage is called an “abortion” on a woman’s medical chart."

Sanchez's thread goes on to highlight the dangers of pregnancy and miscarriages with women chiming in revealing their own experience with miscarriage and their fears.

"I got sent home after they determined there was no heart beat to have my miscarriage at home. Lots of clots and lumps of tissue. No telling what in all that was what. Where is it supposed to go if not the toilet? So. Much. Blood. Such sadness. Heart ache. Agony," one woman replies.

"Exactly! I was given the pill when my body didn't take care of things on its own and spent the next day feeling like I was dying while my boss texted me over and over again on how to do my tasks. Farthest I got from the restroom was the bed," someone reveals.

"I’ve been saying the same. Policy-makers, and too many journalists, do not understand the medical details of pregnancy complications, not to mention the emotional distress that comes with it," another woman explains.

Maybe it's time for lawmakers to start listening to the people who have gone through these situations and the medical professionals that see them. The physical and emotional toll miscarriage takes on a person can be unimaginable, so a little grace and understanding goes a long way.

Gwen Stefani announced on her Instagram this morning that she is expecting a baby.

It's a girl ❤️💕❤️gx

A photo posted by Gwen Stefani (@gwenstefani) on


“It’s a girl” the pop star said, including a few heart emojis for good measure.

But as you probably already guessed, Stefani is not pregnant and this is an April Fools' joke.

On April Fools' Day, Stefani — and countless others — sometimes take to the social media account of their choice and attempt to convince their unsuspecting friends and relatives that they're pregnant. 

"It's all in good fun," they quip. "It's no big deal."

But they're wrong. 

Stefani with boyfriend Blake Shelton. Photo by Larry Busacca/Getty Images for NARAS.

It might seem like harmless fun, but these kinds of jokes can really sting for more people than you'd think.

Photo by iStock.

According to the American College of Obstetrics and Gynecologists, an estimated 10% to 25% of of pregnancies end in miscarriage. And women who've had a previous miscarriage have a slightly elevated risk of having another. 

So whether you're aware or not, there is a strong likelihood that someone you know has or will suffer from pregnancy loss. 

And that's not even accounting for the 10% of women (that's more than 6 million) between the ages of 15 and 44 who have had difficulty getting pregnant or carrying their baby to term. Or the men, whose own health issues make up about 33% of infertility struggles.

For couples with fertility issues, trying to conceive can be expensive, painful, and physically and emotionally exhausting.  

Still laughing? 

And all of this is compounded by the fact that we don't often talk about infertility or pregnancy loss.

Photo by iStock.

Despite the fact that so many pregnancies end in miscarriage, the topic is still taboo, often discussed in hushed tones. 

When writing about her own experience, actress Laura Benanti wrote in The Huffington Post: 

"Well, if this is so common, then why do we only speak about it in whispers, if we speak about it at all?

If this is so common, why does it feel like the Voldemort of women’s issues?

The 'M' that must not be named."

Photo by Frazer Harrison/Getty Images for Trevor Project.

Many families never discuss their loss or struggles with friends or families; instead they press on in private. Some individuals develop depression, anxiety, or even post-traumatic stress disorder from the experience. 

April Fools' Day is a fun day for silly pranks and goofy jokes, but think twice about who or what you're making light of.

People who take offense to these "jokes" aren't trying to be killjoys or wet blankets. They're handling a complicated, painful experience that's still cloaked in shame and silence for far too many families. 

Celebrate. Have fun and enjoy yourself. But if you're thinking about making a fake pregnancy post, think again. 

It's just not funny. 

I remember the rainy winter night vividly. Our unborn baby was dead.

Three days prior to Christmas 2009, my wife and I lost our baby. I put on a brave face for my wife by saying everything will be OK, and I told my inner circle that we'll dust ourselves off and try again — but privately I was a mess.

I know that about 15-20% of confirmed pregnancies end in miscarriage, but that didn't ease our immense pain.


Oftentimes the stories of miscarriages are shared through the perspectives of the women who experience them, and rightfully so. I didn't have to endure the physical pain and emotional pain that my wife and countless other women deal with.

But as a man, I want to share my version of the events to help others who are going through the same thing. The emotional pain and feelings of loss and helplessness following a miscarriage aren't something men talk about that often, but it was incredibly difficult for me. Simply put, I experienced a roller coaster of emotions during that time.

1. Sadness.

I didn't eat, I lost a lot of weight, and I spent a lot of my private moments in tears. I knew I had to move forward, but I didn't know how. Looking back on it, I know the main reason I was so sad for such a long period of time was due to not knowing if I should grieve — at least publicly.

I felt as if my role was to be the strong one. "This happened to my wife's body, not mine," I thought. "This can't be about me and my feelings." Society seemed to agree. Nobody asked how I was feeling. It was as if I was a bystander instead of an active participant in creating the child we lost. As the weeks passed, I fell deeper into despair.

If a loved one outside the womb died, I'd be given the green light to grieve. So why is it so strange for a man to grieve for a loved one who died inside the womb?

I couldn't keep up the charade for very long, and eventually the floodgates opened (which made me feel a lot better).

Embracing my sadness was hard for me to do, but things improved once I did. GIF from "Inside Out."

2. Anger and disgust.

I would hear stories of dads who have little to no interest in raising their children — and I would become enraged. How could someone father a child and not want to be involved in their life? Sure, many dads today are great — but I couldn't get the bad ones out of my mind.

It was almost as if the only way to rid myself of the rage would be to create a reality show called "Deadbeat Island." All the crappy dads of the world would be banished there to complete tasks like remembering their kids' birthdays or changing blowout diapers until they committed to being active fathers. But alas, that type of programming would never see the light of day.

Enjoy your stay on Deadbeat Island, buddy.

Some days were worse than others, but my main coping mechanism was to remember that it wasn't about the other guys. I would be the best dad I could be if I had the chance. That's what kept me going.

3. Fear.

When we became pregnant again, I experienced a level of fear that I haven't experienced in my lifetime. Every milestone was met with a brief sigh of relief followed by more intense panic.

"Whew! We passed the six-week mark ... but we still have to make it through the first trimester."

Every day there was something new to be afraid of — but mostly it stemmed from my fear of experiencing that devastation once again. It was like walking on an emotional tightrope for 40 straight weeks. My wife felt the same way.

From an emotional standpoint, this is what every day seemed like for my wife and me.

4. Joy.

After what seemed like the longest wait ever, I finally became a dad in January 2011.

You're looking at the happiest moment of my life.

I cried joyful tears, I laughed, I sang, I danced, and I completely lost my mind in excitement during that first day. The love affair only grew from there.

Sure, it's never easy waking up in the middle of the night to change diapers or soothe a fussy baby, but that's what I signed up for. I wanted the chance and I received it, and that made me very happy.

Being the best dad I can be for my daughter and her baby sister inspires me to be a better man.

My daughters are now 5 and 2.5 years old.

I wasn't the greatest guy before a became a dad, and that miscarriage was the wake-up call I sorely needed to improve.

Today I talk less and listen more. I give more hugs than handshakes. I'm less, "I've got it all together," and more, "We're all in this together."

Sure, I'm still a work in progress (aren't we all?), but I figure if I'm aspiring to be the best dad I can be for my daughters, why can't I aspire to be the best human being I can be for everyone who cares about me?

I don't have all of the answers, but I can state that my overwhelming passion to be a good dad stems from the fear that I'd never have the chance to become one.

I'm not naive. I know there are thousands of people all over the world who cannot have children. But once the chance to be a father was taken away during that December night, I didn't think about that. I think about it now, and my heart goes out to the families who encounter those challenges.

No matter your gender, please know that you're not alone. Riding the emotional rollercoaster of miscarriages can be easier if you know that others are going along for the ride with you.