It's six months into the year and I've had two miscarriages.
Up to 25% of women go through at least one miscarriage in their reproductive years and yet so few women talk about it. When I fell pregnant with my first in January, I had no idea just how frequent it happens.
'It will never happen to me, it happens to others but never me' is what I thought so naively once two little pink lines appeared. I wasn't completely shielded from the truth, I work in theatres at a hospital so I see how many women come through with fertility issues and recurrent miscarriages; I never assumed that I would become one of them.
We told our close family, my mum cried while Alex's couldn't quite believe that she would finally get the grandchild she had desperately wanted for so many years. I also told my work colleagues, working so closely with other women they were sure to figure it out soon, so why wait? Why not tell everyone the happy news?
And then I miscarried.
I messaged a friend at work to tell them to spread what had happened to everyone, so I wouldn't have to explain once I returned to work. Once I returned it became apparent how many women had gone through the exact same thing that I had, that I wasn't as alone as I thought I was. It seemed as if nearly every woman I'd spoken to had experienced the pain of a pregnancy loss in some way, whether it was themselves or a relative or a friend; it floored me.
I remember thinking 'If this many women experience miscarriage, then why does no one talk about it?'
I don't know whether women don't talk about it because it feels more private and intimate for them not to, because of the feeling of shame and guilt that comes with it. It always seemed a bit ironic to me that the word 'miscarriage' is usually muttered in hushed tones and under breaths when miscarriages are anything but quiet. They're loud, messy, bloody and uncomfortable and the heartache that they leave in their wake is anything but quiet.
I kept reading online and kept being told by my doctors that it was common to miscarry your first, that most women go on to have normal healthy pregnancies but I knew that wouldn't make anything better. All I felt at the time was extreme sadness and all that anyone could say was that the sadness would fade and to look forward to the happy times ahead. I didn't want to look forward to the happy times ahead, they weren't happy anymore. The thought of a future pregnancy was no longer glittering and perfect; it was dark and ugly and terrifying.
I've just gone through my second miscarriage last month that was diagnosed as a missed miscarriage. Unlike my first, I didn't bleed but had minor spotting one morning which prompted me to race to the local EPU for a scan. I remember sitting hopeful, confident almost, that I'd go in and there would be a beautiful little blob with a flickering heartbeat that I could recognise so easily from all the scan pictures that are posted in the baby groups on Facebook. After all, most women go one to have normal healthy pregnancies right? Instead, there was a banana shaped sac with nothing in it. I knew it wasn't good, they're not meant to look like that, and at nearly 8 weeks there should have been something visible by now.
I was brought back a week later for a second scan to see if anything had progressed, my banana shaped sac had begun to collapse on itself due to being crushed by what I now know is a hydatidiform mole, or molar pregnancy. I had an ERPC (evacuation of retained products of conception) the next day and have been recovering ever since, physically and emotionally.
I remember going home from the scan before my operation and googling relentlessly for something more personal than a headline on an article that read 'my pregnancy gave me cancer' or 'six things everyone should know about miscarriage'. Something more accurate and real and true.
Which is why I've started this blog.
For those who are suffering their first miscarriage or their seventh. Those who have just been told that they have a molar pregnancy and have only had a leaflet shoved in their hand with no real explanation. For those experiencing fertility issues and infertility; for anyone going through this difficult time, I hope this blog helps you.
I hope that you stumble upon this blog by accident as I wouldn't ever wish any form of pregnancy loss on anyone, but if you're here for a good while then just know that whatever you're feeling right now, is perfectly valid whatever it is.
That's what I wish I had realised when I had my first, and I'm so glad I realise it now. That I don't have to be okay yet, I don't need the reassurance that my next pregnancy will be healthy because I'm not there yet. Losing a pregnancy requires a re-adjustment of the vision of how your future would be, it's not just the physical changes, but the emotional too.
So if you're here reading this, then I hope this helps you, even if only for a minute.
