The biggest single feeling I have to describe my miscarriage, other than the utter grief, is guilt. There is this underlying voice that creeps into my thoughts that tells me I deserve this, it was always going to happen.
When I found out I was pregnant, my first reaction was worry. Not, ironically, concern about the viability of the pregnancy - it really didn't seem likely to me that after two healthy pregnancies, which resulted in two healthy children, plus age was on our side and we didn't have any illnesses in our families that could indicate an issue.
My worry was that our third baby was completely unplanned.
That night my husband and I sat down and spoke, very much practically, about whether we were to go ahead with the pregnancy. It became clear we were at a head vs heart decision.
I got as far as googling what was involved in a termination so that I could say I had looked into it, but we both knew even if it was a struggle financially, we couldn't not have our baby.
That instinct of protection, that fierce feeling that you have to guard your body to keep your baby safe and loved, was there from the beginning. And that was it.
We didn't tell anyone initially, in fact I told two of my friends first but not until 9 weeks. By this time I felt it was ok to talk about it, more than that, I was excited to share our news.
Parents were told next, making plans to help us with the third lot of childcare bills we may face. House was sized up as we would need another bedroom, cars were considered as neither company car would fit 3 car seats in the back. We had plans in motion. I felt sick, tired, and so so amazingly happy.
Four days after my 30th, I was 11 weeks pregnant, I just didn't feel pregnant anymore. Having passed the typical first trimester symptoms twice before, this just felt wrong. There was no pain, but I felt empty.
Later that day I had a bleed; more than a little but still not a lot. I phoned the GP and was seen that afternoon. I expected to be fobbed off to be honest, to be told I was probably just spotting and to go home.
The doctor was fantastic. She took my concerns seriously and called EPAU. We were seen the next day.
I already knew it was bad news, I had continued to bleed overnight, it wasn't heavy but it wasn't stopping. I wished I could just make it stop, there might have been a chance if it stopped.
The worst part was sitting in a very small, crowded, waiting area with other couples who were waiting to see if they were in the same position or not. They were running late and my anxiety was soaring.
45 minutes after our appointment time we were seen. There was no baby.
They scanned internally and measured the pregnancy sac. It was 24mm, 1mm too small to officially call it a miscarriage, there was a slim chance it was not being picked up. We knew, they knew, but they couldn't offer any medical assistance.
I'm not sure I would have taken it to be honest. We were sent home and told to come back the following Thursday, which should have been our first scan date.
The next day I needed a distraction and I also felt this overwhelming urge to prove I was coping.
We took the kids to the Trafford Centre. Every story I had read about miscarriages, it had taken a couple of days for the bleeding to build up to the heaviest part. Well, not for me.
My heavy bleeding, painful cramping and the tissue came away as I was walking around the centre trying desperately not to lose control. Taking my daughter to the toilet as she needed a wee too and trying to explain it away as nothing to worry about... was awful.
We bought them a toy each, panic set in and I told my husband we needed to leave. It took less than 12 hours for the worst part and I wished I had stayed at home and not tried to carry on like things were ok.
Things were not ok, I zoned out frequently, I exhausted myself crying, I felt so guilty and grief stricken. I didn't know how I would ever feel like I could accept this had happened.
We went back for the follow up scan, where there was a woman excitedly telling her toddler about how they would see their little brother/sister sat next to us as we waited. It was then confirmed that I had miscarried naturally and there was only a little blood left.
We were given assurances it was unlikely to happen again, if we wanted to try again. I couldn't imagine wanting to try again. To risk going through the experience again knowing what it was like to go through it; I wasn't brave enough for that.
It has been two months since my miscarriage, I am slowly coming to terms with it.
I can't read the stories here or watch soaps with the miscarriage plotline without crying, I can't sit in my office when people discuss having more children, I feel so conflicted when my friends announce their pregnancies or talk about their newborns.
But this weekend I held my friend's baby girl for the first time, she is 9 weeks old. She was born 9 days before my miscarriage. I held her and cuddled her and walked her up and down and didn't feel the emptiness like I have felt, at least, not in the same way.
My husband has been my everything through the whole experience, I worried that he wasn't dealing with his feelings but we have become more honest, more supportive of each other and I can really say that at my lowest, he has carried me through.
Neither of us could believe the 1 in 4 statistic, how miscarriage is just not spoken about and how isolated you can feel not being able to discuss it openly.
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