Miscarriage Posts

To my son

The journey from trying to conceive right through to a baby being born and beyond is often not smooth. This powerful and honest letter from a mother to her son, shares the ups and downs of trusting God in the midst of challenging times…

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Sebastian,

You are so fearfully and wonderfully made by our creator. He has watched over you and held you in his hands while he knitted you together in the womb. I prayed so often during my pregnancy that he would protect you and bring you safely into this world. For someone who doesn’t like crying I shed many tears for you and had quite a journey as you grew inside me.

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We waited and prayed for the blessing of a second child for many many months and were so thrilled to finally have a positive pregnancy test in August 2015. But it was coupled with anxiety as at the same time I was experiencing bleeding and blood tests lead to the doctor telling us: ‘I’ve never seen such low hormone levels and it not be a miscarriage.’ While waiting for a second test to clarify the situation I went to church that Sunday and wept for the baby I thought I was losing. As I broke down in tears Ben and Mary came and looked after your sister (Daddy was on a plane to India with work), Mary made a coffee and Anna sat and prayed with me. While praying Anna had a picture which she was concerned about sharing due to the potential meaning but she spoke out in faith…she had a picture of Jochebed putting baby Moses in the basket and letting him drift down the river. There was an element of concern that this could mean God was taking the baby away but my over-riding feeling was that this was not the case. Instead I felt strongly that God was telling me that I needed to trust this baby to him, not just 90% and hold onto 10% but completely, totally, whole heartedly trust the pregnancy over to him like Jochebed did with Moses. Oh how that rang true over and over again.

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I trusted in God everytime the bleeding sporadically re-occurred over the next 6 weeks and when early scans found a bleed 3 times the size of the foetus. Medics were unable to say whether it would bleed out, be absorbed by the body or break away in clots triggering a miscarriage. Everytime I had another bleed I feared it was the beginning of the end.

I was so thankful when we reached the 12 week scan and there was still a heartbeat.

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I trusted God when we were told the screening tests had returned as high risk of chromosomal abnormalities. I stood firm in my decision not the take invasive tests and thanked God for his provision of finances that meant we could have a different screen which gave us more information without any risk of harm. I am thankful these tests came back clear and I stood firm every time a new doctor reviewed my case and I had to listen to the words ‘so you refused a chorionic villi test’. I wanted to scream back; ‘no, I haven’t refused, I have carefully considered, cried and discussed with many councillors on advice lines what I do with the information from the screen and my over-riding desire is to protect my baby and not risk any harm, so I am not going to have a needle placed in my womb when there are other options.’ I am so grateful for homegroup friends who listened and were completely non-judgemental in what I might want to do. I learnt in this situation that your mind can consider things you never previously thought you would. The most helpful thing a friend said when I asked about their similar experience was that they decided only to accept intervention that would help the baby and avoid any risk of harm. This became my mantra and really brought me peace of mind.

I trusted God when your growth checks were dropping off the projected size and further scans were booked for closer monitoring.

I trusted God when I spent Easter Sunday in hospital for low foetal movement. I trusted God when this lead to almost daily checks for pressure in the umbilical cord and placenta function.

Perhaps now is the time to caveat what I am saying. I say trusted God. I confess, I did not always stand strong in this trust. There were so many times I walked into church carrying a week of worry on my shoulders. No sooner did I get in the church door and I would collapse in an emotional heap exhausted by it. I am so grateful to the many many women who sat with me, prayed over me and listened to me speak out my fears for your well-being and my struggles not to listen to the enemy’s voice. Having experienced a colleague have an unexplained still birth at 42 weeks I feared everytime I went for a check that I would hear the words: ‘I’m sorry, but there is not heartbeat’.

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I trusted God when the Consultant made the call to admit me and bring you into the world on the day you turned 36 weeks. It was rather quicker and sooner than I had anticipated. I trusted God when your arrival was delayed while they awaited a neonatal bed to be available for you. I trusted God when you got into difficulty and we were rushed into theatre for an emergency C-section. Hearing the words: ‘this baby will not survive a normal delivery’ I then lay on that table, the lower half of my body numb from anaesthetic the upper half uncontrollably shaking. I waited for what felt like eternity to hear your cry…it didn’t come. Eventually your Dad caught site of you lying on the observation table, looking around with your big eyes not making a peep.

I trusted God when you struggled to feed and your blood sugars were unstable. I trusted God as we went down to NICU for feeding and praised the Lord as your admitting blood tests came back within acceptable range and we were given another 3 hours to keep you out of intensive care. And praise God we managed to keep you on the up. I am so thankful for the specialists who managed to get you feeding with aids and we no longer needed ‘top up’ bottles.

Looking back now I think I was in shock during those early days just processing all that had happened in such quick succession and trying to release 36 weeks of worry. It rather hit me like a brick wall when I spent a morning in hospital on my own with you. I was exhausted cycling round 1 hour of rest, 1 hour syringing 0.4ml of milk into you, 1 hour expressing 0.4ml of milk. Those quantities sound so ridiculously small now, they felt massive at the time. All I could do was weep.

I trusted God as the surgeon later cut your tongue tie to help your feeding further. It took another 4 months but we eventually got you feeding without support.

I trusted, I trusted and I trusted some more. I am still emotional when I think about all we went through. However, you are now strong, healthy and a growing happy boy. We love you so much. Your sister has adored you since the moment you came home. I will always feel a little sad you didn’t come into this world naturally and we didn’t get that immediate skin-to-skin contact – ironically something I didn’t really give much credit to before. I will always wonder if such high levels of medical intervention were actually needed or not. But you were safe and well, that was the main thing.

On reflection I recalled 2 dreams I had while pregnant. For some reason I asked God to tell me what we were having and that night I dreamt we had a baby boy. Later on, when there were concerns about your health, I asked the Lord to show me how everything would turn out. That night I had a picture of us standing holding a baby and saying over and over again ‘ It’s a boy and yes he is fine, he’s fine.’ After all the worries that was exactly what we found ourselves saying!

Finally, I am so grateful for 2 women God placed in my life. I met Joannah 2 days before your arrival while we sat next to each other for 3 hours waiting for our daily CTG. Both being monitored for low foetal growth. We immediately ‘clicked’ and exchanged contact details. Somehow she was one of the most supportive people when you arrived even though we’d only just met. We kept in touch and I was able to return the support when her boy arrived 2 weeks later. Sadly Samuel Archie went to be with the Lord shortly after that, but we have remained in touch and I am sure we will be lifelong friends.

God then placed Julie in my life. We met at gymnastics, both sat watching while bouncing a baby. Turns out you and Sophie were born 2 days apart, both a 36 weeks due to low Pappa-A hormone. It’s been so lovely having another person to chat to who is managing the same concerns and worries. During those chats we’ve sat quietly celebrating that our babies have made it onto the growth charts while other Mum’s are worrying that their baby has dropped to the 91st percentile.

I am so grateful for these 2 special friends I have met. Our shared experiences have meant so much as we have an understanding and insight into each other’s feelings that goes so much deeper than any good-willing person can offer unless they too have been in that same circumstance. In further conversations it’s come to light both women are also Christians and we have shared our faith together. We agreed it is no coincidence we were sat next to each other on those days, God was totally in it.

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So, as you see Sebastian, God watches over you, protects you, loves you and knows you intimately. We chose your name just because we liked it. But some name books suggest it can be shortened to Bastian – a wall of a castle that sticks out to protect it. Or another meaning is something that defends or keeps a belief or way of life that is disappearing / threatened. When I picture a ‘Bastion’ I think of a solid brick tower that is strong and then I think ‘how fitting’ for my son who fought off all those medical concerns and is strong and healthy.

 

All my love

 

Mummy x

Baby Loss Awareness Week 2016

So I am a day late (blame a sociable weekend) but was really keen to post something for baby loss awareness week this year. Two and a half years ago, I had a pretty horrendous week, the events of which were the initial inspiration for this project. I have learnt and grown so much from others sharing their stories and thought it was about time I shared some of my own.

For me, losing a baby (a term I’m not a big fan of by the way – it sounds like you’re an irresponsible parent who has just misplaced him/her) was a hard lesson in the need to experience and process grief in real time. The extracts below are from a journal entry several months later, by which point I was having panic episodes and really struggling with life because I’d tried to carry on as normal and hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge that it was hard. Months on, it’s easy to forget and play these things down which is why I’m doing a straight copy-paste job as I recount my thoughts and feelings on, what has become known in our household as, ‘the week of grief’. You’ll see a bit of added explanation in italics, which I hope makes it possible to follow and I’ve summarised the actual process of having a missed miscarriage (as I don’t have my journal entries for that on this computer but feel free to message me privately if this is something you’re going through and more information would be helpful).

I’m sharing this because I want people in the same position to know it’s okay to struggle, to be confused and to grieve even though you never met your child. I know this is different for different people, but for me the whole experience was about the disappointment of never meeting and knowing that particular child rather than a more general desire to have a baby and the sadness of that being (at least temporarily) taken away.

So, here we go…

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‘Just had a total meltdown as Matt [husband] left [just for a couple of hours to go to sports training]. That now all so familiar feeling of panic, fear, loneliness, losing control rising up… I feel like I’m totally losing it. Most of the time I can’t even pinpoint what it is that what has triggered the pain and upset or even what it is that I’m feeling so scared about it. One moment I’m fine and the next, a total wreck. Most of the time, I just feel numb. I just don’t care about anything. Things that would normally make me feel happy, excited, motivated feel fleeting and hollow, unstable, unsure. I get through them rather than relishing them; welcome distractions but I don’t find any real joy in them.

Thought it might be helpful to revisit that week and some of my thoughts and feelings around it. It already seems so distant. I don’t really want to forget. I’ve tried and it doesn’t make it better, so here’s to acknowledging that it sucked. Was going to say one of the worst weeks of my life but on reflection it’s the hands down winner.

Monday 28th April – The funeral of Harry, stillborn at 32 weeks.  Such a painful and emotional occasion. I remember Tony’s [the vicar] wisdom; Chris and Kat’s [Harry’s parents – read their honest, helpful and moving post herestrength but also the overwhelming sense of pain and loss. I couldn’t sing. I remember feeling guilty that I was carrying (what I thought at the time) was a healthy baby when there’s had gone. It was a beautiful day and there was a lightness I didn’t expect at the gathering afterwards.

Tuesday 29th April – We went for our dating scan. As soon as the lady scanning me said that the baby was looking a bit small, I knew it wasn’t good news. We has another technician come in for a second opinion who confirmed that the baby no longer had a heartbeat.

Wednesday 30th April – I opted for an induction rather than D&C (or whatever they call it now, I can’t remember) and went to my parents to await the outcome of that.

Thursday and Friday went by in a blur of drugs and distraction. I was totally unprepared for the physical discomfort of my milk coming in but not having a baby to feed – nobody had warned me that could happen.

Saturday 3rd May – The funeral of my uncle Raymond. Again the service felt totally surreal. I didn’t see Raymond every day so while I’m not at his house or a family party I can just pretend he’s still here. The tributes were witty and interesting but I just didn’t want to be there. Again a beautiful day, fantastic people but this time I felt no hope. I wanted to leave but I didn’t know what I wanted to leave to or for, I just wanted the week to rewind and replay a different story.

Sunday 4th May – In the afternoon, mum called and told us that a friend from church at home and old colleague, had been killed in a car crash the day before, leaving behind her husband and two small children. I couldn’t believe it. Enough. I turned over and went to sleep – a tactic I’ve frequently employed to silence my mind in the last few weeks.

I feel unable to live my normal life and yet the weird thing is pretty much nobody seems to have noticed and why would they, I’m a good bluffer. I know I need to grieve. To acknowledge it hurts and express that and move on, but I don’t know how. Someone needs to write a manual or something. I know God understands but I don’t feel like I have much to say to Him at the moment. I’m not angry or confused or anything just empty… there’s just nothing in the bit where normally my thoughts and feelings would all be swirling around.’

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To everyone I have interviewed, I’ve asked the same questions about anything other people said or did that helped or didn’t, so that we can all learn how to support each other better. So here’s my tuppence worth…

On the less helpful side, I am now an even bigger advocate of never ever asking anyone if they’re pregnant, planning to be, or their plans for having children. A few weeks after our second miscarriage I remember a well-meaning member of the congregation suggesting I was being unwise by ‘waiting’ to have children and I should hurry up and get on with it (I was at the grand old age of 26 don’t you know). Ouch! As someone who works with children, I cannot tell you how many hundreds of times I’ve had a variation on this question and I hear it all the time with the people around me. Just for a moment, let’s think through the options people. I’m not sure anyone, anywhere had ever got this response…

If someone is pregnant and at a stage where they are happy to tell people, they will probably tell you. If they don’t want kids; aren’t in a relationship; are struggling with infertility; are trying to conceive; are newly pregnant and nervous about it; have ever miscarried;  or (insert a million other common scenarios in here) then that question can be incredibly damaging. Given that you don’t know, seems like a pretty big gamble to go in for the question to me!

Some of the best advice I received was to ask God the names of our babies (I had also had a much earlier miscarriage). Although at the time I thought this was an odd suggestion, for me it has been an incredibly healing way to know they are not forgotten, and that one day I will get to meet them and to remember and cherish them but without remaining in a place of grief and sadness. I like knowing if they were boys and girls and to have a way of referring to them that isn’t any of the terms we commonly use, all of which to me feel detached and heartless.

I also had an amazing mentor who kept reminding me that grief was a normal, healthy process; that I wouldn’t always feel like this; and that I wasn’t going crazy. Listening and praying for me was absolutely the best gift that I received in that period. That said, another thoughtful friend gave me some really nice Hotel Chocolat chocolates and just said ‘I’ve no idea what you’re going through but thought you might need this’ and another sent me via post some amazing flowers – those things meant a lot too. Anything that acknowledges what’s happened is a big deal, not something minor to be brushed under the carpet, was really significant for my emotional processing and health.

I am a massive fan of the power of music and forcing yourself to be in a place of worship even when you know you’re not going to be able to get a single word out. I think it’s the adult equivalent of sitting on you parent’s knee when you’ve hurt yourself. Just knowing God is there and cares about your pain means that you don’t have to say anything which is an amazing relief and comfort. My absolute favourite song from that period is Beautiful Things by Gungor, so I’ll sign off with that.

As always, if you’ve got a story you’d like to share to help others, I’d love to hear it.

Freedom to not be okay

This was my second pregnancy.  The first one went pretty smoothly so this time round told quite a few people before the 12 week scan.  We told friends/family we just didn’t think anything would go wrong so why wouldn’t we tell people.   Even though before my first child I had a miscarriage but that was very early days and for some reason didn’t affect us that much (not that that would be the case now again for reasons I can’t explain).

So lying on the bed, the sonographer asks “Have you had any bleeding” and then I knew that something was wrong.  Looking at the screen where was the outline of a foetus?  Neil was saying it will all be OK but I knew that something was wrong.  A miscarriage I thought.  I’d had one before but that was at 5 weeks and no one knew but not at 12 weeks and not to be told at the scan.

We were escorted up to a ward and put into a room where we had to wait for the consultant.  While we were there I read literature on ways to get rid of the baby.  I had decided that I did not want an operation so I was going to choose surgical management.  Take some medicine to speed up a natural miscarriage.  However to my confusion the Doctor comes in to tell me that I am to be booked in for an operation – D and C commonly known as.  She told me they needed to send samples of the tissue off.  She told me I had a molar pregnancy and handed me some literature.  I had never heard of this and had no idea what she was talking about but I was incredibly confused.  She started talking about operations removing all the tissue and if it’s not all removed I could require chemotherapy.  Chemo?? That’s what you have when you have cancer.   So not only was I getting my head round a miscarriage,   I was also having to get my head round the fact that this baby was potentially cancerous. 

I had no idea what she was talking about and it wasn’t until several days later when I had done some extensive googling did I understand why I may require chemo.  However due to the fact that it is quite rare there was literally one official help website and a few other random sites.  Obviously only being one site there was a whole range of peoples stories and it freaked me out.

So then I had to go home and wait 10 days for an operation.  10 whole days.  Horrendous.

The next task was to tell people.  Peoples obvious response was “What??? I’ve never heard of that?” What’s that all about.  It was only out of care and love but after the tenth time of explaining I actually started saying to people to google it for themselves.  There was too much to explain.

How do you tell people?  It’s a topic that is so under spoken something that people deal with in the privacy of their homes which is wrong but how do you approach the subject?

The worst things people could say because I already had a child was so when are you having another.  I wanted to scream at them and say I wish now but I’m not allowed to get pregnant, I may need chemo etc etc.

I have learnt I will NEVER ask the question if people are trying for a baby unless they bring up the subject.  Even if they already have a child.  If someone wants to discuss that part of their life then they will.

Tears – uncontrollable tears.  I couldn’t help it I couldn’t stop it.  Days after weeks after.  To the point that my husband was telling me I needed to try and stop crying so much.  I know he meant well but this was something I couldn’t control – hormones/the sadness of it all/my future unknown/possibility  of chemo all of it was so overwhelming.

I honestly think I could have come to terms with it if it was just the baby I was grieving for but the fact that I wasn’t sure if I was going to be spending time in hospital having chemo away from my daughter just made the whole thing a million times worse.

What I wanted was a freedom pass to say it’s okay to cry just cry it out.  Be sad, its okay.  Just someone to give me the green light to deal with it how I wanted to deal with it.  It is all too easy to just carry on, put on a brave face.  OR after a week or two the expectation that you should be fine by then, you should be back at work, full of the joys of spring.  I didn’t want to be okay.

I’d had the operation and then I had to go to the local hospital to have regular blood tests which would be sent to Charing Cross.  This would then tell me if my levels were coming down.  They needed to be 0.  They started at over 200,000 so quite a way to go.

The first time I went I turned up at St Albans hospital in the afternoon.  I was told by the hospital that I could go whatever time I wanted.  However when I arrived I was told that I had missed the courier and as my blood needed to be taken to the lab straightaway it couldn’t wait at St Albans overnight so I had to do this another day.

It’s amazing how something so small as this completely set me back.  I became hysterical again.  I didn’t want to be having any blood test.   My mother in law was over at the time and she asked if I needed counselling. I was offered counselling by Charing Cross but I didn’t need counselling I just wanted to know that all was going to be Ok.  Was I going to need chemo or not? It was like a dark cloud hanging over me.  All I wanted to do was try and move on and get on with life but this wasn’t possible.  I wouldn’t know for at least a couple months.

I didn’t need counselling no counsellor was going to tell me what the results were going to be.  Why could no one understand that!?

Telling me well it wasn’t a proper baby, the baby wouldn’t have survived, it was meant to be are just some of the comments that I would hear.  And yes there was truth in all these comments but at the time it really wasn’t helpful.

Probably the one which I found the hardest to deal with was “It wasn’t a proper baby”.  Yes this is correct, the baby grows with 3 sets of Chromosomes instead of 2 sets so yes it hasn’t developed as it should but it still could have been a baby.  You still conceive, you still test positive on a pregnancy test, you have nausea/vomiting, your stomach gets bigger (bigger than what you normally would be for 12 weeks pregnant), and all the other signs of being pregnant.  There were times when I wanted to scream at the person saying this and say IT WAS!!!! But I didn’t.  I wanted to be able to deal with this, cope with it in a rational manner.  (I think part of my personality is to just deal with things and not crumble)  But this was one time when I didn’t want to have this personal trait.  I wanted to crumble and give up.  I was angry but more at the double whammy that was dealt.  Why have the extra upset of having to have blood tests every week, ringing up for results waiting to find out if I needed chemo….

As the weeks went on and my husband and I had grieved the loss of a baby I then had to still cope with the blood tests, the results, the not knowing.  Several weeks went by and I had another meltdown at the continuing tests etc. and also I thought my husband had got on with things and moved forward and wasn’t really thinking about what I was going through or what my possible future would be.  Of course he was thinking about it, of course he was thinking what would happen if his wife would spend months in and out of hospital having chemo he just didn’t want to say anything as he didn’t want to remind me of it/upset me/worry me.  Communication with your husband is a must but sometimes it is hard when you are so close to someone because somethings like this would greatly affect him as well.

Where was God in all of this?  I didn’t see him at all.  I didn’t really say “Why me” but I did say “Why God?”  I realised I was angry.  I realised I was angry at the thought that as well as all the upset that I had been through I also may be taken away from my family for a time and be in hospital.  Why would God allow this?

It didn’t help that at the same time (within weeks of the diagnosis)  My husband’s best friend died and my husband was in also a car accident where a drink driver drove into him head on and wrote off his car.  How much was God going to put us through?  All happening at the same time.

I remember going to Church one Sunday without my daughter and as soon as the first song was played and I sung about three words I had to leave.  I was again an emotional wreck.  And this was several weeks after my operation.  It was too much.  Lydia followed me out and we sat for the whole service in one of the rooms, she prayed while I shouted out to God all my anger.  Lydia was great non judging, not offering advice would just say “Shout out to God, swear at him if you want, ask him the questions”, she gave me the green card if you like, to be angry at God and shout at him.  No one has ever said I could do this.  It helped hugely.  I kept asking him,  why God, why the uncertain future, the unknown,  why take time away from spending with my daughter.  I didn’t really want prayer, my heart wasn’t open to it, but Lydia did it in a way that I didn’t feel like I needed to accept it.  If someone wanted to pray fine but I wasn’t going to be grateful for it.  How bad does that sound.  I just wasn’t open to feeling God.  However after an hour of just sitting there crying/shouting/questioning/praying, I was praying.  But there was no conclusion.  It wasn’t like she was expecting miracles.  That’s what I wanted I just wanted to walk out of the room.  As I did I went back into the service at the end and was able to tell a couple people.

I didn’t want people asking me if I wanted them to pray for me.  Just do it.  I wasn’t sure myself what to pray for specifically.  I remember going to Oasis and I said to my little group, please pray for me and all I said was life is rubbish at the moment, I’m feeling sad lots going on and not really sure where God is.  General prayers were great.  Just give me strength to get through this time in my life.  I actually didn’t want specific prayer of heal me so I didn’t need chemo it was more give me strength make me able to face these challenges.  But I didn’t really want to have to say this to people because this shows I’m not coping.  Again goes back to its okay not to cope at times in life, giving the green light to cry/be angry/question God etc etc etc

A few weeks went by and more sad news.  A friend’s baby died at 7 months pregnant.  This brought all those feelings flooding back and my husband and I were in tears again.  In a weird way we were grateful that we hadn’t lost our baby at 7 months which again conjures up strange emotions. I had an operation to remove the baby but my friend had to give birth.  I have no idea how you get through that.

I wanted to go to the funeral but my husband was worried that it would be too much probably because I was slowly getting there and moving forward and he was probably worried that I would be set back.  However I went and I am so glad I did.  I sat next to you and near the beginning of the funeral a thought entered my head (word from God) that you had had a miscarriage and that I should tell you what I was going through.  So after the service I told you.  You listened and that was that.  I went home thinking well maybe she hadn’t miscarried etc.  However the rest you might be able to remember.  You emailed that night to say you were due your scan the following day and then the following day you had your scan to receive the bad news and so you emailed me again.

From the darkness of your sad news came light.  I felt alive again.  God was with me.  As I was told by people” these things happen for a reason” and yes I know this but at the time I didn’t want to hear this.  However it does.  I have been able to show support ad truly understand what it is like to go through these situations.  Also my best friend’s sister in law was diagnosed with exactly the same thing as me 3 months later.  Something that is meant to be so rare and there was someone 20 mins down the road going through the same thing.  Unfortunately she had a worse time of it and needed full blown chemo and spent a year in and out of Charing Cross hospital.  But at the start of it I was able to support her via emails when she was going through all the tests.

I could support friends due to my experience.  Was this Gods plan???  I don’t know but I do believe he allowed this to happen so I could truly sympathise with friends going through similar situations.

I never once felt anger towards others or jealousy towards friends who had just had a baby.  My sister in law had a baby a month after I was due to have ours and I didn’t feel jealous or any negative emotions like that.  It took a little while before I was able to tell people.  I told a handful of people to start with, close friends and actually there were times when talking about what it was helped me deal with it.  And actually when friends asked questions about it made me feel like they cared, they got it, etc.  However this was only when I wold speak with people face to face.  I hated doing things via texts I couldn’t be bothered to explain it all. 

I had a friend who had experienced several miscarriages and she supported me via email however there was a major difference between her and I.  She couldn’t be around anyone with a young baby.  I didn’t have those feelings of resentment.  I didn’t begrudge others.

I would sometimes have the thought, why do some people have it so easy with this baby making?  The main issues I had were at work.   In my work (the police force) I meet a lot of people who have numerous children with numerous different fathers, children conceived on one night stands etc. and producing children seems to be so easy to them.  Or mothers choosing abusive partners over their children and their children being taken into care.  There were some days when it was worse than others especially cos no one knew at work.  My boss knew but he was a male who didn’t have children and wasn’t a very warm person so I couldn’t talk to him or confide in him.  I had to tell him purely cos I was going to be off for a couple of weeks.

Why is that though?  Why is this sort of thing quite an unspoken topic.  So many woman experience it but it isn’t spoken very much.  At work I didn’t feel very supported but then I guess I didn’t really tell anyone.

Of course people were understanding but sometimes people would come out with v unhelpful comments like I said earlier like it wasn’t a proper baby, it was meant to be, you will have another, try again.  I wasn’t allowed to try again and also I might not be able to have another.

It did force Neil and I to have a conversation about what would we do if we couldn’t have another and we both agreed we would adopt.

Another thing that was apparent that some friends who hadn’t been in contact for a while when they found out (once I had gone through it all) then started to feel bad for not being in touch, not being around.  Again something I have learnt from this is sending an odd text to friends just to check in with them see how they are is so important.  Those ten days when I had to wait for the operation, still feeling awful (this is a classic sign of Molar Pregnancy because you have so much more pregnancy hormone that all the symptoms you get first trimester are a million times worse like nausea/tiredness/sickness) was really hard.  One friend knew who came and helped me out and helped me look after my daughter but it was not something that I could just text someone.  I now just send texts to friends just to see if they are okay.

I now have a little boy and feel very blessed to have two children.  I’m not bitter upset or angry about what I went through.  I have dealt with it.  I am in a much better place to be able to comfort other woman experiencing miscarriages etc.

You can read about symptoms and treatments of molar pregnancy here.