It’s often unspoken. You’re pregnant, there’s joy, anticipation, trepidation and then you’re not. In my case, I know in my heart, I miscarried because I went down an indoor slide with one of my children. I remember the moment, even though I lied to myself for years that I didn’t. There was a jolt halfway down and something shifted. I was aware but I immediately moved it to the closed box inside myself. I left not long after, picked up a new car and packed for our camping weekend. A deep, deep unease settled over me. There was spotting whilst camping and again, I told myself it was just fine. I knew. I knew. I knew it wasn’t .
I wore a red dress on the day the much wanted foetus passed. When I put it on, I knew I would never wear it again. It felt right. A public declaration I was bathed in blood. By the time I got to the ultrasound, I knew the would-be baby was gone. I can’t bear to say it but I can write it. I had been to the bathroom 6 minutes before the ultrasound and I knew she/he/they was gone. There was nothing in my uterus when the scan happened. No mini human, no grouping of cells, no heartbeat. I don’t want to say ‘it’ as the baby was already embodied for me from the time I saw the eight cell embryo on the IVF screen. It’s an odd experience, IVF. You are connected to the idea of a baby right at this point and you have a photo of a cell, ready for implantation.
I myself back from the appointment, one hour in the car. I berated myself and cried, moving on far too early by the time I pulled into town. There was more blood loss than I expected so I took myself off to casualty and stayed there for a few hours. I hid under the guise of illness rather than loss. Another way we pathologize grief instead of honouring it. I laid on the couch for five days wearing a long hot pink singlet. I had a great deal of support but I have never felt despair like I did those five days. And still do when I think about it. Less of a sharp edge exists now – it’s a wound which never quite healed right and occasionally, like now, I pick the scab off and feel it freshly cut.
I moved back into my world. I had two other live children. It wasn’t as bad as what other people had to deal with. I might fall pregnant naturally (not likely). Lies we tell ourselves to be able not to feel. After those days, we barely talked about it. Except when we did and the 15th January is a day when I take pause, to remember, to allow for a new expression of this grief. I yearn for the missing part of our family.
Tips (not top ones as each person will view this in their own way):
- Cry.
- Cry.
- Cry.
Parenting and paper cuts. 