I recently went through the experience of using Misoprostol to manage my missed miscarriage.
When deciding the best path forward after learning that my baby had stopped developing, I struggled to find real, honest reviews of using Misoprostol. While there was plenty of generic information on sites like the NHS website—describing it as “period pains and bleeding”—I found very little about what the experience was truly like.
So, when I went through it, I promised myself that I would share my experience online for other women to read.
I understand that everyone’s experience with this method might be different, but I hope that by sharing my story, it can help you feel less alone in this, and know that someone else has been through it too.
When I found out that I had miscarried my baby at 8 weeks and 3 days, I was given three options: Expectant Management, Medical Management, or Surgical Management.
For me, Medical Management felt like the right choice because it was the only option that would allow me to complete the process before Christmas. I initially wanted a D&C and even asked for one, but I was told there wouldn’t be an available surgery slot until the 26th.
My biggest Christmas wish was to have everything ready and to feel well enough to celebrate with my family. I had spent the previous five weeks vomiting and feeling so sick. When you’re carrying a precious baby, the sickness feels worth it. But when you’ve known for over a week that your baby has stopped growing, all you want is to begin healing.
This is why waiting that long wasn’t something I could emotionally bear, so I chose medical management instead.
It was difficult to get the prescription processed. Because of Arizona’s strict laws, the way my midwife initially worded the reason for prescribing the medication prevented the pharmacist from being able to fill it. It wasn’t until my midwife corrected the wording that the prescription went through.
The pharmacist even apologized to me, saying, “I wish I could fill this for you—I know you want to get this over with.”
Her hands were tied because of the legal requirements, and it made an already painful situation even harder to navigate.
Originally, my prescription was called in on December 20th, but I had to wait until December 23rd for my midwife to correct it before I could finally pick it up and begin the process.
On December 23rd, at 1:45 p.m., my husband inserted the Misoprostol tablets vaginally.
By 5:00 p.m., the pain had become intense, and I decided to take Tylenol to help with the severe cramps and a pounding headache.
At 5:30 p.m., I forced myself to eat because my doctor had emphasized the importance of staying nourished and hydrated, even if it was difficult.
At 6:15 p.m., I felt a sudden pop, followed by a rush of liquid. I went to the restroom and passed a blood clot along with some blood.
I wasn’t sure if it was the baby or not. In hindsight, it was probably best that I didn’t know.
I put on an adult diaper to manage the bleeding (highly recommend these over pads) and went back to sit in my recliner. The pain was still quite intense at this point.
About 30 minutes later, I realized I had soaked through the diaper. When I returned to the bathroom, I noticed I had forgotten to flush from earlier.
What I saw next was something I hadn’t expected at all.
Since I had forgotten to flush earlier—likely due to the pain I was in—the blood had completely washed away, leaving my tiny baby visible. I could see the little hands, perfectly clear.
I screamed and broke down completely right there in the bathroom. My whole family rushed in to comfort me, but nothing could take away the devastation I felt in that moment.
It was, without question, the most heartbreaking moment—seeing my tiny, 8-week-old baby, who had been growing inside me, now in the toilet, gone forever with no way to hold on.
Once I calmed down, I returned to the recliner to rest and drink plenty of water. I continued to lose a significant amount of blood and passed many clots.
By 8 p.m., the volume and size of the clots I was passing started to become a bit concerning. However, I knew to expect a significant amount of blood, so I tried not to overthink it.
Around 1 a.m., on December 24th, I turned to my husband and said, “I feel like I’m bleeding a lot—I need to go to the restroom.”
Before I even fully sat down on the toilet, there was a sudden gush of blood and multiple really large clots. It went everywhere—all over the bathroom floor, in my diaper, in the toilet, and on me.
I yelled, “Shawn, I think I’m going to pass out!” He rushed in, holding our 10-month-old, and I said, “I can’t do this—I’m going to pass out.” By this point, my speech had slowed, and my words were starting to slur.
He quickly laid our sleeping baby down and rushed back to me. After that, I don’t remember anything.
When I came to, I was lying on the hallway floor with my husband standing over me, fear written all over his face as he kept repeating my name.
It took me a while to fully come to and stop speaking out of my head. Eventually, I ended up throwing up the taco I had eaten earlier that night.
Surprisingly, vomiting brought so much relief to my body.
My husband called an ambulance, and soon 8 paramedics arrived, checking my vitals and asking a series of questions. While lying down, my vitals seemed stable, but when I sat up, my heart rate spiked, and so did my blood pressure. They said it was best for me to go to the hospital to get checked out.
They had to carry me out because my body could no longer move on its own. I felt completely drained, as if every ounce of energy had been stripped away, leaving me with no desire to move at all.
By the time I arrived at the hospital, it was 3 a.m. on Christmas Eve. They drew so much blood from me, which felt like torture considering how much I had already lost.
They noticed my hemoglobin had dropped to 8 and kept a close watch on it, explaining that if it dropped to 7, I would need a transfusion.
They also saw that my white blood cell count was at 22, while normal levels are between 5 and 7. The significant increase indicated that I was fighting a serious infection, so they started me on antibiotics right away.
They took me back for an ultrasound, and it made me break down in tears.
Losing a baby is an experience that hits you in unexpected waves, and for me, the crying comes in bursts. It’s important for me to just let it out when it happens.
After the ultrasound, the OB came in and explained that he wasn’t happy with the amount of tissue still present and how thick my uterus was.
He wanted to schedule me for an emergency D&C as soon as possible.
My heart sank. It took me right back to when I heard those same words two years ago, when I lost my daughter.
It was 5:30 a.m. at that point, and I was scheduled for surgery at 8:30 a.m.
At 5 a.m., my husband went home to put the kids to bed and go back to our baby. He was going to return by 8 a.m. to be at the hospital during my surgery and to be there when I woke up.
I was supposed to be resting during this time, but I couldn’t sleep at all. No matter how hard I tried, it just wasn’t possible.
I was wheeled back to surgery prep at 7:00 a.m., where they went over all the potential risks and complications. But in that moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace, knowing everything would be okay.
I am so grateful to God for providing that peace during such a difficult time.
At 8:30 a.m., I was wheeled back for surgery and quickly put to sleep. When I woke up in recovery, I was relieved to hear that everything had gone smoothly with no complications—praise God.
My husband was waiting for me in the second recovery room, holding our baby boy.
I remember hearing the front desk answer the phone three or four times from back in recovery, saying, “She is doing good, Mr. Finley” or “You can see her soon, Mr. Finley.”
That moment stood out to me—no shame, just pure love and concern.
I couldn’t wait to see them and give them all the hugs I had missed. It was especially hard being away from my 10-month-old. I had never gone this long without seeing him before.
I look at my rainbow baby and hold him just a little tighter. Having him here, in the midst of two heartbreaking losses, fills me with so much gratitude that he made it.
I am deeply grateful for all four of my earthside babies who have made their way to me.
I am so thankful for my family—for supporting me and loving me the way they do. I honestly couldn’t have gotten through this without them.
My 16-year-old, 11-year-old, and 10-year-old stayed awake until 5 a.m. watching our 10-month-old (of course, FaceTiming and texting often) so that my husband could be by my side, and I wouldn’t have to be alone at the hospital.
When I returned home on Christmas Eve, the house was spotless, thanks to my oldest son. All the kids stepped up and served our family in the most selfless and beautiful way. I couldn’t be more proud of them.
My husband did what he always does—he cared deeply for me and our family, and it showed in every action. He loves me in a way that no one else could ever understand. He was terrified of losing me and was right there by my side, fighting to get me back to health. He’s been my absolute rock and best friend through it all.
I’m home, focusing on healing both mentally and physically. I made it back on Christmas Eve, and my husband and I got to continue our tradition of wrapping gifts together for our children.
We went on to have a beautiful Christmas Day filled with love and laughter. It was exactly what my heart needed.
I will move forward slowly, but I will never forget the lives I carried in my womb—the babies my heart will forever be attached to, and will forever be healing from.
To all the families out there going through this, my heart goes out to you. May you find peace in knowing that God always has a purpose, even in the pain.
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