May is the month when I reflect most on my journey to motherhood.
It is the month when my first pregnancy ended in miscarriage at 18 weeks back in 2012. Thankfully as the years have passed, the heartache has eased significantly. I have since been blessed with three children and my heart is full.
But the day when I was told at a routine scan that the baby’s heart had stopped beating is one I will never forget.
It was such a traumatic experience; I was caught so unbelievably off guard. I had no idea anything was wrong as there had been no warning signs at all.
I later learned it’s called a missed miscarriage. I remember having to send my boss a text message to explain that I wouldn’t be going back to work that afternoon – I literally couldn’t speak with the grief of it all, so I couldn’t make a phone call.
Texts were also sent to family members who had been glued to their phones expecting a photo of the baby scan to come through. It was not to be.
I was allowed to go home to process the terrible news, but I had to go into hospital a few days later. I was induced and delivered a tiny baby boy.
Despite all my sadness and confusion at that time, I distinctly remember the exceptional kindness shown to me by the nurses in Letterkenny University Hospital. I can’t believe it’s their job, day in, day out, to navigate that trauma with devastated mothers. Without a doubt, the dignity and compassion I was shown by them eased my suffering greatly.
Myself and my husband were both devastated by the loss, but we dealt with our grief differently.
I know now that everyone deals with such grief differently and that each experience of loss is unique. However, I did find comfort in the fact that I was not alone; so many of my colleagues and friends came forward to tell me of their own experiences of miscarriage. It was like being part of a really macabre club, but there was a comforting sense of solidarity nevertheless.
That’s why I still write about my experiences of pregnancy loss. Last May, my words may not have resonated with some people who are reading them now from a different perspective.
Miscarriage is a lonely road to walk, made worse by the clumsy things that people say in an attempt to cheer you up. My advice to anyone offering their sympathies to someone who has suffered pregnancy loss is not to try to put any kind of positive spin on it. Any sentence that starts with ‘At least…’ is definitely best left unsaid. Just sit with them in their grief and tell them it’s awful, because it is.
There comes a point when enough time has passed that people don’t bring up the loss anymore – as if the woman herself might have forgotten about it and they’re afraid they’ll remind her if they mention it.
On the contrary, one of the kindest things you can do is acknowledge that pregnancy again, particularly around the time of the due date. Let her know you remember and that you care. It will be a huge source of comfort.
To anyone who has recently experienced pregnancy loss, my heart goes out to you. It’s definitely one of life’s rock bottom moments.
I hope that in time, your heart will heal, as mine has.
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