I've been through this three times in a row and I don't quite know how to see straight any more.

A couple of close friends know about the first two miscarriages but this third one is just too deeply private, too much.

Heartbreaking stories. Devastating stories. The miscarriage story needs to change. That's why we've created Tommy's book of #misCOURAGE. Read this story now and help spread the word that miscarriage can no longer be ignored. Help us change the story to save babies' lives.

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May 2016

There have been three in a row. One after the other. All very early; 6 weeks, 5 weeks, 4 weeks. And for this reason, I know I have to count myself lucky. I know how many women lose their babies later and I know how much harder that is. I also know, after three - now officially under the 'recurrent' label and lined up for specialist tests - that this road is only going to get harder and that I can't break down now, because one day this will just seem like an imperceptible first hurdle.

But that doesn't stop the waves of pain or what feels like a slow descent into despair and madness. After nine months of trying - my partner and I are both 35 - were worrying we'd left it too late. Then we finally saw the lines and finally felt hope. We allowed ourselves to think and smile. To know there's a future and a plan. I Googled 'is sleeping on your front OK at 6 weeks' and 'can I still run' and 'when to see the doctor'. Then we made the appointment. All of this, then one day I suddenly saw the bleeding.

I've been through this three times in a row and I don't quite know how to see straight any more.

I haven't told anyone. I've continued at work with no time off. A couple of close friends knew about the first two but this third one is just too deeply private, too much. I know no one will know what to say and then - through no fault of their own - will say the wrong thing: 'At least it was so early', 'At least it shows you can get pregnant', 'It wasn't meant to be.'

It's this last one that scars the most. The idea that that bundle of tests now stuffed at the back of a drawer were never meant to be anything more than that. That the babies I felt and saw and loved never even existed. That they never were.
And maybe they weren't to anyone else. Maybe they will always be just a pink line and a few weeks of hope then a smear of blood. But to me they were everything. To me they will always 'be'.

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Disclaimer

Please note that the opinions expressed by users in Tommy’s Book of #misCOURAGE are solely those of the user, who is unlikely to have had medical training. These opinions do not represent the opinions of Tommy’s and are not advice from Tommy's. Reading individual, real-life experiences can be a helpful resource, but it is never a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis or treatment from a qualified health care provider. We strongly advise readers not to take drugs that are not prescribed by your qualified healthcare provider. If you think you may have a medical emergency, call your doctor, midwife or hospital immediately. Read full disclaimer

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