Last November I miscarried at 10 weeks. And it was horrfic. And horrific because I had no idea what to expect.
I remember the beginning so vividly. I was chatting with my very close circle of online friends about how I was going to approach the medical side of things with this pregnancy. I wanted a home birth and was wondering how my age would impact on how my choice was received by midwives etc, whether I would end up consultant led because I was ‘an old mum’ (sigh)
I went to the loo and there it was a big spot of blood, my heart sank and I shared my news with my tribe. I s;tarted to think what I could do to stop the bleeding before suddenly realising as I stood with a pan full of nettles to make tea that there was nothing I could do – this was it – this was why I hadn’t gone off tea or alcohol like I had with my previous pregnancies, why I felt so different than when I was pregnant with R and B.
As the days wore on the bleeding increased, a few clots came out and I assumed that was what was grown of the baby. I during this time I was teaching classes and hosting a charity fundraiser and everthing was hazy it felt like I was looking through a window – not really present.
Two days after I stopped bleeding and thought it was all over I felt something sticky stuck to my leg whilst going to the loo and reaching down found a – well – a baby but not a baby – certainly not a baby that was easily identifiable as such. I stood there with it in my hand totally stunned, one of those time standing still moments. What the hell was this – it seemed huge definitely took up a lot of the palm of my hand. I gently ran my thumb over what I thought was the head and it promptly detached from the rest. I was horrified, I’d knocked the head of my tiny baby. My mind whirled, could I put it in a little pot lined with a kitchen towel and keep it Show it to my other half? Put it in the freezer and maybe bury it some time?
But the stickyness of it, the coldness disgusted me and I dropped it in the loo and flushed the chain. And went and at int eh lounge and tried to gather my thoughts. Immediately of course I wanted to get it back, where was my gentleness, my feelings of sacredness for this little being – why was I so disgusted and shocked.
So regrets of course and ‘I wish’ thoughts.
If only I had known this might have happened I would have felt more prepared, maybe would have kept the little baby in the freezer with Bryn’s placenta and the milk I expressed the day he died (fancy tea round mine – there’s morbid humour for you)
So I talked, I shared I reached out and the more I did the more stories I heard, the more understanding I felt and the more I realised how much we need to share our stories so other women are not so shocked by this experience and can hopefully make decisions that they don’t regret later.
I see that it is 1 in 4 women that lose a baby at various stages of pregnancy – that is an enormous number, and certainly I am now more surprised to find women who haven’t lost a baby. (or more)
This baby’s name is Ruby and she hasnt got any special days – I am not totally sure of the day she was born and I didn’t ever really get to know her – I wonder if like they say each baby leaves some cells in their mother – whether I have a few of her cells floating around me – that would be nice.
So this October 15th I will be remembering Ruby and thinking of all m friends who have lost babies themselves.