Just over a month ago, I found out that I was pregnant. I’d had an inclination for a week that I was expecting, but every pregnancy test I took turned out to be negative. It sounds so stupid, but I just knew. I was experiencing symptoms and somehow, I just knew – even though I’ve never been pregnant before! I was happy, and so was my partner of 5 years. We hadn’t planned this but we viewed it as a nice surprise. I had started getting all excited about it and my brain was pretty much on my pregnancy the whole time.
One month ago today, I experienced the tragedy of an early miscarriage. I got up and went to work as normal. Set off in my car on a chilly spring morning, with the window half open and my music blaring. I arrived at work, said “good morning” to everyone and carried on with my daily tasks. I left my desk to go to the toilet around 11am only to find that I was bleeding quite heavily. I panicked. I must’ve been stood in the cubicle for 5 minutes or so although I have no idea. I ran out of the toilet and went outside of the office. I started to cry! I didn’t know what to do. Who could I talk to? What should I do? I tried to call my partner, but he didn’t answer his phone. I then called my dad. I was in tears, and must’ve been blubbing a lot because I could hear the upset and the “lost” feeling in my dad’s voice. He wanted me to go to hospital right there and then, but how could I! I was stuck at work, miles from anyone apart from colleagues. He said that he would get mum to call me. In the meantime, my partner called me and I guess he couldn’t really believe what he was hearing. Eventually after talking to my mother, father and partner and I had to go back inside – I’d almost been out of the office for an hour. Luckily I work in a very small team. I tried to compose myself before going inside, and as I walked back to my desk, my collague looked at me before I burst into tears. As I sobbed, she asked what was wrong. And the next words that I uttered, I didn’t think I’d ever have to say.
“I think I’m having a miscarriage…”
My colleague ran into the office next door and blurted it out, so everyone knew. One of the girls came running in but was most unsympathetic. Apparently I was just having a “really heavy period” because it’s simply not possible to be pregnant when all you’ve had are negative tests. So I was expected to carry on my day’s work as normal. No one battered an eyelid. Clearly I must’ve been a young woman who was lying about having a miscarriage in order to grab everyone’s attention. I got home from work and my partner was waiting for me. He sat me down to talk about what had happened. He urged me to seek medical attention, and I refused. I knew what was happening to me, and I didn’t want or need someone to confirm it for me, thank you very much. He threatened to drag me to hospital if I didn’t make a doctor’s appointment for the next day. At that time, I hated him for forcing me like that but I know he was only sick with worry. I still did not want to go. That I was sure of. I knew what was happening, and it wasn’t nice. I didn’t need anyone to try and sugar coat it for me or pretend to be kind. Much to my upset, I made an appointment for the next day and spent the rest of the evening keeled over with cramps – meaning the miscarriage was still ongoing.
I made my way to the doctor’s the following morning, and sat in the waiting room. I read a magazine article to occupy my mind. My name was called not long after I started reading the article. My doctor was smiling and he gestured for me to take a seat.
“I see you’re having ankle arthroscopy shortly!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, but that’s not what I’m hear to talk to you about.” I said. I wasn’t sure where to start.”Start from the beginning” he said.
So I did. I explained everything, and bit my lip to punish myself for wanting to cry. As soon as I said the word “miscarriage”, he reached out for my hand, which was sat on my lap and playing with my jewellery. He took my hand, put it on his desk and then placed his hand over mine and smiled encouragingly but with empathy. I was really taken by this because my doctor is usually the kind of person to ship you in and ship you out as soon as possible with little thought or care about your problems. He confirmed my fears, and said that I was probably 2 or 3 weeks gone when I started my miscarriage.
After the physical pain of the miscarriage, which went on for several days, came the mental torture. Suffering from low self esteem already, I couldn’t help but blame myself for the loss of our baby. I wasn’t good enough to carry a child. I wasn’t fit to become a mother. The worst thing is, that you’re not really supposed to talk about it. People will shrug you off, even though miscarriages are so common! My unborn child will never know me, or it’s wonderful daddy. My baby is someone everyone else has forgotten, but is someone I will remember forever even though I never saw it’s face. I will always have to refer to my unborn baby as an “it”. My baby shall always remain nameless. The 29th March will always haunt my thoughts, of what could have been and what wasn’t meant to be.
