Tag Archives: miscarriage

Everywhere I am there you’ll be

I had an awful dream this week. I was about four months pregnant and my waters broke and I knew that I would lose the baby but I went about my everyday life. Not able to accept the inevitable but being so so sad as I knew it was hopeless and the loss felt overwhelming. I thought if I can keep the baby inside me everything will be okay and none of this is real.

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Didn’t think she would make it through the night, day 5 after she was born

And the reason this was so realistic and horrible is because I had lost a number of babies before I was luckily enough to have my daughter, Lucia. With each of those pregnancies I got a little further along before the sonographer said ‘I’m really sorry I can’t find a heart beat’. When I was pregnant with Lucia my waters broke at 28 weeks and while I thought ‘oh, how lovely we will be able to take our baby home later today, earlier than planed but hey ho’, Not able to accept that really it was unlikely she would live and really I thought that this was just another pregnancy that was a little further along than the others and that realistically I would probably have another number of miscarriages before we actually managed to carry a baby to full term, ridiculous huh?.  As if that is how it works, that you get a bit further along each time you are pregnant until you hit the magic 40 week mark. But my 28 weeker did live, nine week in intensive care and then we could take her home,

With miscarriages, or in my experience anyway, once you are told your baby no longer has a heart beat you can wait for ‘nature to take its course’ and expel the baby or you can have an operation to have it removed. They do these ops on specific days of the week so you carry your dead baby inside you for at least a few days. These are only really options with early miscarriages. I know this sounds disturbing to some but to me I wanted to keep my baby inside me as long as possible, keeping it safe. I didn’t drink during my pregnancies but when I knew the babies had died I could have a drink if I wanted but the act of swallowing that first sip of wine felt so final, that when I took that sip it was acknowledging that the baby I was carrying was dead.

And then this week, a few days after my dream, a Facebook memory popped up of me at a cousin’s wedding a few years ago (see main picture). It was a few days after I had found out I was pregnant with my first baby and I was so thrilled. Little did I know that a few weeks later I would be in A&E bleeding and then a few weeks later being told ‘I’m really sorry…’.

Maybe subconsciously I had remembered that this time of year is the anniversary of my first pregnancy, I don’t know, but it made me feel sad. I always feel sad when I think of my lost babies, it make me weep, that never changes. The passage of time has enabled me to be able to not wake up crying even morning, to not cry every time I see a new born baby in the street, but the intensity of the pain in my broken heart doesn’t change however it no longer stops me in my tracks.

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The day Lucia came home after 9 weeks in intensive care

I wholeheartedly believe that having Lucia has helped me deal with my grief hugely. I am grateful every day that I am lucky enough to have her, she isn’t a replacement for my lost babies, but for me I knew that the only thing that would help me after losing my babies was to have a baby in my arms. This isn’t the same for all people, I know this. I wanted to try and get pregnant again as soon as I had physically recovered from the operations but my ex husband was reticent, he thought I needed to psychologically recover first but I was desperate, I wanted/needed a baby. Getting pregnant was never a problem, usually happened with in the first two months of trying. Keeping them alive inside me was the problem. I found great comfort in the people and forums on social media I encountered who were going through  the same thing. Whenever someone got pregnant you wished them luck and hoped that they had a #stickybean.

So, am I feeling nostalgic as a friend has commented? yes, I think I am, but not in a ‘wasn’t that a wonderful time, if I only I could relive it’, but in a ‘goodness wasn’t that a painful time in my life, and my, it still hurts now.’ I will be mindful of my self, look for signs that I am getting depressed and address them should they appear. But right now I am just a little wistful, wondering what the babies would have looked like, missing them and grieving them still, as I shall always do.

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Now its just Lulu and me, her daddy left when she was two. She is my hope, my reason and my love. xxx

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The Day I’ll Say Goodbye

I wrote this a couple of years ago, in 2012, when I had every intention of blogging regularly but, as I explained in my last piece, life got in the way. However, these words remain as relevant to me now as they did then.

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2012

I have spent a long time thinking about whether or not to attend the Saying Goodbye Service at St Paul’s Cathedral on 24th November. It has been organised by Zoe and Andy Clarke-Coates, a couple who have lost 6 babies and decided to organises services to enable other people to remember and grieve for their own lost children. It is a wonderful idea. I had early miscarriages, few people knew that I was pregnant, there were no funerals and I didn’t feel like I had an outlet for my grief. But every time I think about attending the service I cry and really don’t want to be an uncontrollable mess in church.

Dan (my husband at the time) doesn’t want to come with me as he chooses to grieve for our children in a different way which, of course, is fine. Well, its not really fine, we are both needy in different ways and how do you as a couple prioritise who gives more support to who when you are both in so much agony? Time has helped immensely and the resentment I felt towards Dan has gone and changed to a feeling of loneliness and disappointment instead. He is a very practical person and threw himself into work after each miscarriage while I felt like I was standing in the middle of a vortex watching everything (life) rush by. I could not understand how my unquantifiable grief had not caused a irrevocable rip in the fabric of the universe. But the sun rose and the sun set as usual.

And now it is time. I will dress up in my finery, as my babies deserve no less, and I will put one foot in front of the other until I get to St Paul’s and I will cry and I will remember and after the service my wonderful companion Chris will take me somewhere extremely glamorous for cocktails and we will toast to those who can’t be with us. And when I get up the next morning the sun will rise again and I will cuddle baby Lulu and tell her how much I love her.

Further details about Saying Goodbye and their service can be found at http://www.sayinggoodbye.org or Twitter @SayinggoodbyeUK

I have since attended another service in London and I brought my daughter Lulu with me. It was beautiful and I cried and then Lulu and I went home together hand in hand.