Why We Need to Talk about Miscarriage
1
I am ”1 in 4*” but like many other women, I don’t ever talk about it.
Those of us that are will probably know that pregnancy and infant loss awareness week is coming up and is held annually from 9th â 15th October. I remember discovering this as I miscarried 27th September 2013 and the following week I thought it was apt that I should see so many reminders on Facebook of miscarriage.
Whilst some people might find these memes too sob story or self-indulgent, they remind women who have experienced miscarriage that they are not alone, when the
SelfishMother.com
2
experience can make you feel like you have never been more alone.
I miscarried at 8+5. I donât know why, but I always say 9 weeks as though the added day or 2 will somehow make it sound as significant as it felt at the time. But I’ve never really discussed it with anyone other than those who knew I was pregnant, which wasn’t many. I suppose in many ways because I know a lot of people have multiple miscarriages or lose a baby later on in pregnancy. And I can only imagine how hard this is in comparison to my experience. It’s just awful. I hate the
SelfishMother.com
3
thought of anyone thinking I am somehow comparing my loss to theirs.
I also wonder whether a loss at 8+5 just sounds trivial when said out loud – even though it wasnât to me or my other half. I would hate for anyone to think I was talking about it to seek attention. Even as I type this I am unsure whether I should share my thoughts because it just feels like something I shouldnât talk about.
The experience will always stay with me and I know lots of other women feel the same. And the sad thing is there is a woman going through this right now
SelfishMother.com
4
that will really need to talk about it, but wonât. We all need to vent and talk about the shit things that happen in life. Itâs the best kind of therapy. Itâs normal to grieve and feel sad, even if you do feel like you just have to get on with it. And to some extent, it’s comforting to know 1 in 4 women can relate to how you feel.
I fell pregnant quickly the second time round and I somewhat naively didnât have the same worries that I did when I was pregnant with my first, Brody. I felt like it was meant to be. Both of my sister-in-laws were
SelfishMother.com
5
pregnant. We had just bought a bigger house. The timing felt right and I felt like things were going our way.
Miscarriage took me by surprise. Like others, I had the stomach sinking experience of going to the toilet and noticing blood when wiping. When I later fell pregnant with our daughter, toilet trips were a source of anxiety.
In that moment, up until the very end, I felt sick, full of anxiety and desperate for it not to be happening to me. We were moving house the next day (brilliant timing, not that there is ever a good time) and when I
SelfishMother.com
6
called the hospital they just told me to phone in the morning if there was any more blood. I didnât feel reassured. I just felt completely helpless and alone.
The next day was a bank holiday (perfect) and we needed to get all of our stuff out of storage before it closed at midday and collect the keys to our house. My wonderfully sympathetic GP managed to get me an appointment at the hospital and my best friend came along with me to hold my hand (quite literally – forever grateful).
On the way there, I just knew the pregnancy had ended, despite
SelfishMother.com
7
reassurances about bleeding being common. I felt like I couldnât stand up without going into any more detail. It was horrible.
We went to a room where I was scanned and finally the sonographer uttered those words âno heart beatâ. Literally minutes later I had what they refer to as a âcomplete miscarriageâ.
We were taken in to a small room with white walls and leaflets where we sat for hours until a kind woman came in and asked me if I wanted to take my loss home in a pot or if Iâd prefer for it to be taken to a place at the crematorium,
SelfishMother.com
8
where there is apparently a plaque for women like me. I didnât expect this. At all. Neither did my best friend. We cried, I signed a piece of paper and an uncomfortable trip to gynaecology followed.
And then we left. That was it. Emptiness. I was no longer pregnant. There was no May baby. My only reminder was a trip back to the hospital at 6.00am a few days later when to add insult to injury I developed endometritis in my womb. I sometimes regret not asking for the scan picture, even though I donât know what I would have done with it in reality.
SelfishMother.com
9
Maybe thatâs morbid, but I do.
I didnât want to hear anyone say âeverything happens for a reasonâ, âitâll happen againâ or âit wasnât your timeâ. Sometimes, you just need someone to say âthis is shitâ and give you a hug. Because sometimes life is shit.
There are photos this week that are popping up on my Facebook âon this dayâ that just bring that week back to me. One of them is a photo of my son Brody looking up at me from underneath my parentâs kitchen chair. I remember feeling overwhelmed with sadness that day but
SelfishMother.com
10
looking at him I knew how lucky I was to have him. And I am. He was just what I needed.
But you know I wonât ever forget that day. And I know I’m not alone.
*1 in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage (Tommyâs)
This blog was originally written for Firefly Community.
SelfishMother.com
This blog was originally posted on SelfishMother.com - why not sign up & share what's on your mind, too?
Why not write for Selfish Mother, too? You can for free and post immediately.
We regularly share posts on @SelfishMother Instagram and Facebook :)
Laura Rutherford - 11 Oct 16
I am “1 in 4*” but like many other women, I don’t ever talk about it.
Those of us that are will probably know that pregnancy and infant loss awareness week is coming up and is held annually from 9th â 15th October. I remember discovering this as I miscarried 27th September 2013 and the following week I thought it was apt that I should see so many reminders on Facebook of miscarriage.
Whilst some people might find these memes too sob story or self-indulgent, they remind women who have experienced miscarriage that they are not alone, when the experience can make you feel like you have never been more alone.
I miscarried at 8+5. I donât know why, but I always say 9 weeks as though the added day or 2 will somehow make it sound as significant as it felt at the time. But I’ve never really discussed it with anyone other than those who knew I was pregnant, which wasn’t many. I suppose in many ways because I know a lot of people have multiple miscarriages or lose a baby later on in pregnancy. And I can only imagine how hard this is in comparison to my experience. It’s just awful. I hate the thought of anyone thinking I am somehow comparing my loss to theirs.
I also wonder whether a loss at 8+5 just sounds trivial when said out loud – even though it wasnât to me or my other half. I would hate for anyone to think I was talking about it to seek attention. Even as I type this I am unsure whether I should share my thoughts because it just feels like something I shouldnât talk about.
The experience will always stay with me and I know lots of other women feel the same. And the sad thing is there is a woman going through this right now that will really need to talk about it, but wonât. We all need to vent and talk about the shit things that happen in life. Itâs the best kind of therapy. Itâs normal to grieve and feel sad, even if you do feel like you just have to get on with it. And to some extent, it’s comforting to know 1 in 4 women can relate to how you feel.
I fell pregnant quickly the second time round and I somewhat naively didnât have the same worries that I did when I was pregnant with my first, Brody. I felt like it was meant to be. Both of my sister-in-laws were pregnant. We had just bought a bigger house. The timing felt right and I felt like things were going our way.
Miscarriage took me by surprise. Like others, I had the stomach sinking experience of going to the toilet and noticing blood when wiping. When I later fell pregnant with our daughter, toilet trips were a source of anxiety.
In that moment, up until the very end, I felt sick, full of anxiety and desperate for it not to be happening to me. We were moving house the next day (brilliant timing, not that there is ever a good time) and when I called the hospital they just told me to phone in the morning if there was any more blood. I didnât feel reassured. I just felt completely helpless and alone.
The next day was a bank holiday (perfect) and we needed to get all of our stuff out of storage before it closed at midday and collect the keys to our house. My wonderfully sympathetic GP managed to get me an appointment at the hospital and my best friend came along with me to hold my hand (quite literally – forever grateful).
On the way there, I just knew the pregnancy had ended, despite reassurances about bleeding being common. I felt like I couldnât stand up without going into any more detail. It was horrible.
We went to a room where I was scanned and finally the sonographer uttered those words âno heart beatâ. Literally minutes later I had what they refer to as a âcomplete miscarriageâ.
We were taken in to a small room with white walls and leaflets where we sat for hours until a kind woman came in and asked me if I wanted to take my loss home in a pot or if Iâd prefer for it to be taken to a place at the crematorium, where there is apparently a plaque for women like me. I didnât expect this. At all. Neither did my best friend. We cried, I signed a piece of paper and an uncomfortable trip to gynaecology followed.
And then we left. That was it. Emptiness. I was no longer pregnant. There was no May baby. My only reminder was a trip back to the hospital at 6.00am a few days later when to add insult to injury I developed endometritis in my womb. I sometimes regret not asking for the scan picture, even though I donât know what I would have done with it in reality. Maybe thatâs morbid, but I do.
I didnât want to hear anyone say âeverything happens for a reasonâ, âitâll happen againâ or âit wasnât your timeâ. Sometimes, you just need someone to say âthis is shitâ and give you a hug. Because sometimes life is shit.
There are photos this week that are popping up on my Facebook âon this dayâ that just bring that week back to me. One of them is a photo of my son Brody looking up at me from underneath my parentâs kitchen chair. I remember feeling overwhelmed with sadness that day but looking at him I knew how lucky I was to have him. And I am. He was just what I needed.
But you know I wonât ever forget that day. And I know I’m not alone.
*1 in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage (Tommyâs)
This blog was originally written for Firefly Community.
Did you enjoy this post? If so please support the writer: like, share and comment!
Why not , too? You can share posts & events immediately. It's free!
I'm Laura, mum to Brody & Sydney.
My blog is about my life with a primarily undiagnosed beauty, who just so happens to also have GDD, autism, epilepsy, hypotonia & hypermobility (& a few other things!).
I blog to keep sane & because it's good to get it all out (& even better when others "get it").
If you're a fellow tribe member, I'm sending you a virtual high five (& chocolate/wine/crisps - whatever floats your boat, I bet you deserve it!).
x