Moving forward…

They say, ‘don’t tell people of your pregnancy until after 12 weeks.’ But why? Is it so expectant parents that find out their baby didn’t come to term don’t have to deal with telling people the news, “Yes, we were pregnant, but now we’re not.” Is it really better to wait until the second trimester when the risks of miscarriage drop before you share your news? What if this worst case scenario actually does happen? Who do you tell then?

After telling a few of our loss, we found others in our close circle of friends begin to open up and share with us their miscarriage ordeal. It really did help to find out that we were not alone. Hearing these stories from our friends who now have healthy children help give us hope. 

We had kept with this conventional 12 week announcement “protocol” and although we didn’t get the chance to tell many we were pregnant, we would like to share our journey of how we suddenly become ‘unpregnant.’ As personal, confronting and sensitive as the issue is, perhaps sharing our story may help with our grief. Perhaps it may help with the grief of other expectant mothers, fathers, grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles and aunts whose lives  have also been affected by this misfortune. Perhaps it may bring light to the stigma associated with miscarriage and let others know that there should be no shame in sharing their experience. Perhaps it won’t change a thing, I am simply reaching out. 

They say one in five pregnancies end in miscarriage. You would never know this until you mention your own. However, knowing these statistics don’t really help. So what will??  

I don’t believe that any first-time parent is truly ready for the way their life changes once they have kids. But psyching ourselves for this transition for twelve weeks only to be told we had miscarried at eight weeks truly has to be one of nature’s cruelest jokes. Lying in the ultrasound clinic, we were expecting to see our unborn bundle of joy. Instead, we saw unrecognizable shapes; we heard long, extended periods of silence. Then finally, those words we’ll never forget, “sorry, we can’t find a heartbeat.”

Nobody tells you about the stab to the heart you will feel when you hear those words. Or how hard it is to reach out to your family and friends to tell them the baby they were so excited about is no longer on its way. Nobody tells you how long it will be before you finally stop bursting into randomly (and sometimes inappropriately) timed floods of tears. Or when you can finally face the outside world and your responsibilities again. There’s no idea of when your appetite will get better, or when you can sleep easy again. Some say, “don’t worry… you’re still young… at least you know you can get pregnant… you can try again.”  But it is nerve-wracking even thinking about fall pregnant again. Marred with our first miscarriage, when we do decide we’re ready and fall pregnant again, we will most likely spend at least the first 12 weeks, and probably longer, worrying that our next baby may also not make it. 

They call our situation a ‘missed miscarriage.’ No symptoms of miscarriage, no bleeding, no idea that it had happened and no idea why. I still felt pregnant, or did I miss something there too? A missed miscarriage, like “sorry I missed your phonecall”… but instead, ‘sorry, your body didn’t realize your foetus had self-aborted.’ Within five days of finding out the news, I had booked myself to into hospital to have our baby scooped out of me. The ten hours my husband and I spent in that ‘day surgery’ is worthy of a separate blog post. But maybe another time. 

Since finding out the news we’ve been inundated with visits, calls and texts from our family and friends. It’s been nice, and we’re lucky to have such a strong support group. It has especially helped to keep my mind off the sadness. My husband has been my rock. We spent an entire week re-couping on the couch together. He cooks, cleans and helps wipe away my tears. I really don’t know how I could have gone through these dark days without him. 

Although it’s a part of our lives that we can never erase – when I think about it, it’s not a part I want to erase. It has been a really hard and trying time. It still is. But it has made us stronger. It has made us realise how important starting a family together really is. And though it seems that many do not talk about their miscarriage as it may be upsetting and too confronting to others, trying to ignore the subject may also make it harder to move on. This blog is not a sympathy grab. This blog is an outlet for our grief. So that anyone else out there going through the same ordeal will know that they are not alone. To let others know that they don’t need to keep it all inside. Eventually (hopefully) we all heal from this dark period of our lives. I do realise there are other parents out there who experience multiple miscarriages, stillbirths, or who simply can’t seem to be able to conceive. Our single experience in no way shuns your experience, or vice versa. We have all been struck with bad news and need to lean on one another for support. 

Everyday I have to gently remind myself that time will heal my pain. This experience and sorrow will stay with us for the rest of our lives. As the days go on, we hope this memory will be blurred with the joy of future children. But for now, we think about it everyday. 

Related articles

• Magical Monday: The Magic of Miscarriage (ctworkingmoms.com)