My period was a little late, I felt
dreadful and I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something
different.
“I’m going to do a pregnancy test” I told
my husband (then boyfriend).
I really didn’t think much of it. There
were lots of other explanations. I’ll do the test, it will be negative and then
I can forget about it.
But it wasn’t negative.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My husband stood beside me. I didn’t need
to tell him. We had witnessed the two lines emerging on the stick together.
Although we had discussed marriage and
babies our relationship was still fairly new. We lived together. We’d met
each others families. We were going in that general direction… it was just a
little sooner than expected.
It was a shock. But as the shock wore off
we started to get excited. We talked and talked and talked some more.
I didn’t know much about pregnancy. Only
one of my close friends had a baby and she lived on the other side of the
world. There were lots of surprises, like achy boobs and incessant weeing. I
was constantly hungry, but couldn’t stomach food. I vomited. A lot.
My GP talked me through the scans and the
paperwork. I made notes. During my lunch breaks I devoured the internet. I was
scared. But I was happy. There was a time in my life that I didn’t want
children. Babies made me nervous. But when I met my husband my feelings
changed. I wanted to build a life with the wonderful man who made my heart
sing.
I remember the moment I saw the blood with
totally clarity. My stomach lurched, panic raced through my veins. At first it
was light spotting, but by the following morning I knew for sure – something
was very wrong.
My wonderful, kind, compassionate GP was
unavailable. Her colleague was detached. She ignored my sobs as she handed me a
referral
“Yes, you’ve had a miscarriage, you’ll need
a scan to determine whether or not you need a D&C”
I went straight to bed. My husband lay with
me. We both cried. Eventually we got up. We sat on our balcony playing
backgammon – the contrast of normality gave us a break from our grief.
I was only seven weeks, and had only known
for one of them. But in that brief time I had become a mother.
In those early days we walked a lot, it
hurt less while we moved. Distracted, busy. But whenever we stopped the pain
would catch up with me. I knew the hard facts, I understood that miscarriage is
common, the doctor informed me that as many as 1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage.
It didn’t stop me blaming myself. It didn’t stop me wondering if there was
something wrong.
At first my friends were amazing. But,
there is something about watching grief, or pain or misery. It’s uncomfortable.
It’s better all round if you recover quickly, go back to your old self… Move
on. Get over it. One friend said ‘It’s for the best’….
It was a dark time. My grief consumed me. I
could think of nothing else. Talk of nothing else... but I quickly ran out of
people who would listen. I didn’t know where to turn. I drank heavily. I stayed
in bed. My head told me that I hadn’t really lost anything… just a ball of
cells. My heart told me otherwise.
My husband and I dealt with our emotions
differently. It was make or break…
We had a weekend away. Leaving the
experience behind us. We decided to let nature take its course… no more
contraceptives, but not actively ‘trying’ either. We assumed it would take a
while. I was pregnant again by the end of the month.
I can’t imagine the enormous pain of
a stillbirth, or of a miscarriage at 10 weeks, or 14… I know women who live with
this grief. They say miscarriage is the last taboo, but I think it’s ridiculous
to sweep something that affects so many under the carpet. Through speaking up
and sharing stories we can support each other and let the healing begin.
