Knowing but not knowing when I would miscarry was grim, with the cruel daily reminder of reducing pregnancy symptoms and expecting to bleed.  I was exhausted with stress, and of course my body still thought it was pregnant.  I hadn’t miscarried yet, but I had started to grieve, as the pregnancy wasn’t a cluster of cells to me, but a baby, where my heart swelled with love.  I created a future in my head, and a powerful bond, where they were part of my family.

‘What do I do now?’ I heard myself say.  I was in limbo land, trying to decide what I needed.  Luckily, I wasn’t expected in the office as I was on a course.  It may sound irresponsible as it was 25 miles away, but I really wanted it finished, and maybe I needed the distraction.  I told the course speakers, so I could leave without much explanation.  They were so understanding, and shared they had experienced loss, which was a real gift to help me be kind to me.  One eventually became a supportive friend, so maybe meant to be I was there.  I will also never forget the kindness of an ex-midwife there, who noticed my paleness, and reminded me about taking care, talking, and rest, which I would urge people to do.

I got through the course somehow, but knew I had reached my personal limit, so got signed off work by my GP.  I didn’t have the capacity to be present with my clients, I needed time for me. I am saddened by the shame I felt seeing ‘threatened miscarriage’ on my sick line, when I had done nothing wrong. I didn’t want anyone to know, not wanting them to see me as someone who needed support when I was the counsellor. I did share with some friends and family, particularly if they had had a loss, and their time and patience meant the world.  I protected some from it as they were pregnant, but knew deep down they would have been there, this was about me.

My next scan came, which showed there was a fetal pole, which is the thickening on the margin of the yolk sac of a fetus, basically demonstrating growth despite no heartbeat, which by now there should have been. The hospital acknowledged the slower growth, but again it was too soon for intervention, to fit in with hospital policy, or I would need to consent to a termination of pregnancy. I have no judgement with this procedure, but it wasn’t my story.   This is admittedly when I lost it.  All my usual calm, patience, and empathy vanished.  One insensitive midwife got the full pelt of my anger and upset, when she drew me a diagram to help me understand pregnancy progression. I made a complaint to the hospital, but reflecting on it, I know I was just enraged this was happening to me, and needed to be heard with compassion, which I received.

After another later scan, the hospital agreed it was a ‘slow growth non continuing pregnancy’, which brought huge relief and sadness.  I am still uneasy with the clinical medical terms which seems cold, but it makes it universal for hospitals to discuss easily.  Although it wasn’t a ‘missed miscarriage’, it was similar, as my body didn’t want to let go of the pregnancy, as the hormone levels were high enough, making my body think it was pregnant.  I am grateful I didn’t just find out at my 12 week scan like many women do, but the process wasn’t any less heart breaking. A lovely midwife explained it like a flower taken out of the ground and put in a vase with water.  It can only be sustained with life for a short time, but the growth will eventually sadly stop.

Thankfully the hospital intervened quickly, due to the risk of infection, and I couldn’t bare to wait any longer with Christmas day approaching. I opted to have surgical management which is a procedure under general anesthetic to remove the pregnancy tissue from the uterus….my baby. It’s a personal decision, but I know I didn’t want to be aware of the procedure like a medical intervention.  I remember hugging my mother-in-law when they gave me the surgery date, just the relief that this part would be over.  I will explore this process in another blog when I look at what to expect with early pregnancy loss.  I was so glad to be home after the operation, and although the physical loss was small, I knew the emotional loss was huge.  At that point, it was just trying to enjoy Christmas day with my husband and son…and do you know?……I did, although I see my sadness in the photographs.

If you need to talk to someone about the emotional impact of a miscarriage or pregnancy loss, please contact me at www.kjcounselling.co.uk or via my facebook page.  For further information on miscarriage support, check out www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk for guidance.