Loss.

Continuing from here…

The days turned into weeks and I became so aware of myself.  I saw my body as this baby’s cocoon and wanted to protect it as much as I could.  I couldn’t wait till the 12 weeks scan to see that little heart beat fluttering away and feel the relief that the baby was well.

So when, after about three weeks of excitement, I woke up on the 31st October and saw that I’d started bleeding, my world turned upside down.  We were rushing out to the dentist and I was meeting The Husband there.  I just had to just get on with it, with my 18 month old Chloe in tow.  It felt surreal; like it was happening to someone else.  It had to be happening to someone else. Please, just not me.

We went to see the GP and I was told I had to wait a week until I could be scanned.  So I just waited.  And bled.  And said goodbye to the baby I’d never meet.  There was nothing I could do to stop it.  Its awful to be told that you have lost a baby – but the pain I experienced in knowing that I was losing my baby – standing on the sidelines, watching it happen – was crippling.

The day of the scan came and I although I’d been told that it really looked as though I’d miscarried, I held on to the hope that things might just be ok.  These things did happen sometimes.  Bleeding can happen and it be ok.  I just wanted it to be ok.

They did an internal scan and the room was silent.  The lady finished and just looked at me.  She asked me to look at the screen and tell me what I though I could see.

“Nothing”.

There was nothing left there.  They took some blood to confirm a miscarriage and I was to call back that evening.

I needed to get away.   To just not be here.  My mum drove to get me and Chlloe and took us back to theirs for a few days.  I called the hospital and they said I still had levels of pregnancy harmones to confirm a miscarriage.  I asked what now and she asked what I meant.  What did she mean, what did I mean?? I meant, what now?? She didn’t say anything – just to let my cycle settle before starting all over again.

Miscarriage is common. NHS claim its one in five pregnancies end in miscarriage – 3/4 of those in the first twelve weeks.  That means nothing to you at the time.  when its’ you that’s grieving.  For you, you’re the only person to feel this raw pain of loss.  It selfish, I know.  But its’ true.

Time helps.  At some point you feel like you can really breathe again.  Women deal with it in different ways.  And that’s ok.  Its got to be ok, because no-one can tell you what or how to feel.  You just need to navigate it the best you can and in a way that works for you.  Me me, altough my baby was so tiny at 8 weeks, it was still may baby.  Nothing will undo that.  So for me it helped to acknowledge that, so that I could say goodbye.

Shooting forward in time – a little while ago Chloe asked something about babies in tummies or something – I don’t remember.  But I was able to explain that she had a baby brother or sister in heaven.  And even years on, that helped me.  It helped me to make sense of the pain and the loss and the confusion.

It never fully goes away. And that’s ok.  It’s ok that it becomes part of who you are.  There is so much support out there for those suffering from a miscarriage – for the whole family.  Below are a couple of really helpful sites:

http://www.tommys.org/miscarriage?gclid=CMHix7jF7LICFaTKtAodrXkA-w

http://www.nct.org.uk/pregnancy/miscarriage-support

If you’re in the thick of this, grab all the support you can.  That doesnt mean you have to talk when you dont’ want to talk.  It just means you can lean on those who love you.  Don’t shut them out because they can walk through this with you and it makes it a lot less lonely.