******************Warning – Talking about miscarriage***************************

At exactly 11 weeks pregnant my pregnancy stopped. My body stopped growing the babe that I had imagined and loved for those 7 weeks since finding the most beautiful two lines on a stick.

Millions of women have been there before me, and so many friends and family members have their stories, but I never imagined the heartbreak that is the reality of miscarriage

I can’t explain the loss of a little person that I’ll never meet. I never felt a kick or hiccup and I didn’t see that glorious 12-week scan where babes dance and kick and jump so how can I feel this grief?

Why was that connection so instant and strong and all consuming?

What went wrong? I was good at being pregnant. With my daughter, I fell pregnant straight away. I had taken a calm, relaxed approach to pregnancy and decided that if it happened, it would be great and if it took a while it didn’t matter – the next month we were pregnant! Pregnancy was smooth and fairly easy and birth as nice as possible. For this pregnancy, we had the same approach and the very next month, we were pregnant! Easy! I knew what to expect and I was bound to have the same experience. Wasn’t I?

We had a blood test, and a scan, and things were normal. I fell deeply in love with the fantasy of two children just under 2 years apart and visualised a family of four. I almost purchased a double pram in preparation but didn’t want to ‘jinx’ the pregnancy. We told family and friends and relished in the joy and love that those around us shared with us.

When the bleeding started, and the cramping began I was in shock and feeling as though this was definitely not happening. When we entered the hospital I thought I was prepared for the worst. I had told my husband that I had an awful feeling that things weren’t good but I had confidence that they would tell me otherwise and that I would be reassured that it was very normal during a healthy pregnancy.

When the Doctor rested his hand on my leg after an ultrasound and said, “I’m so sorry, but it isn’t good news” my world crashed around me. I could hear the words, and I could see the black and white picture of my child on the screen with no movement and no heartbeat but my brain shut down and would not receive any more information.

That night, I experienced labour again. It was awful. I even told my husband at one point that I thought I was dying. At 2am Sunday morning, that babe left my body. Was it a girl? A boy? Did it look like me? Was it going to be fierce and strong-willed like my daughter? I will never know. I will never meet that babe of mine that I lovingly carried for its’ whole life. I was meant to protect and nurture that babe – it was my sole responsibility.

This is where the grief comes from.

Before this moment, when friends and family had talked about miscarriage, I knew it was common and so never thought about all the heartbreak that they must have felt.

I don’t blame myself, I know there was probably nothing that could have prevented it and I know that there is no ‘safe’ time during pregnancy. But, I can’t help wondering if it was something that I ate? Or something I did? I will never know.

I am glad that we shared our news. Those around us loved that babe and through telling people we were pregnant we also receive incredible support through our miscarriage.

I have taken the week to feel all the feelings; sadness, grief, disappointment, heartbreak, and exhaustion. I had a massage, a bottle of wine, and purchased a tonic through my naturopath.

As common as miscarriage is, it is something that isn’t talked about and people don’t indulge in the sadness so it makes it so difficult to cope with when it happens to you. I don’t have any answers or advice other than it is awful and that taking time to heal and being gentle with yourself is the only way forward.

I am confident that I will have more children. I know that this feeling is temporary but it doesn’t make it any less devastating. I feel sad and heartbroken but I know I am not alone.

To everyone that has experienced this in their own way, I am sorry. It is awful.

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