If you’ve all been wondering where I’ve been for the past six months or so, this post will explain why I’ve been absent. I’m guessing you already know by the title of the post, so feel free to skip this if you don’t want to read about it. Believe me, I don’t want to read about it, and I’m sitting here typing it out and living it.
In the last three years, I’ve had four miscarriages. Some I’ve mourned, some I’ve blocked out in my mind as to try to stay sane.
My last miscarriage happened in March, shortly after my “I’m back!” post. It’s honestly taken a huge toll on my mental health. I was only five and a half weeks along; before many women even know they’re pregnant. I always know a little bit early, a curse of huge hormone surges and an unimaginably sensitive stomach I suppose.
After this miscarriage, I went to my doctor to see if there was any testing they could do to see why I keep miscarrying and what could be done about it. I basically got the “You already have one child, you should be happy”, and “The NHS will not explore further because you CAN get pregnant and you already have one healthy child”. That’s such a shitty thing to hear when you’re desperately wanting to add to your family, isn’t it?
It’s easy for someone who is not living the situation to say “It all happens for a reason” and just dismiss it as just an abnormal embryo. For women like me, it’s another missed chance to expand our families. It means mourning the loss so deeply that it feels like your soul is being ripped to shreds. To not have it explained in black and white on a sheet of paper after diagnostic testing leaves so much to the imagination. You begin to question yourself; Is it my fault? Is it something to do with my weight, my diet, my fitness levels? Do I have PCOS? Is there something worse wrong with me?
It’s a feeling that our bodies are betraying us and we’ll never again have the euphoric feeling of bringing another child into the world.
You mourn for each embryo lost. You begin to believe that you’ll never see another clear ultrasound, feel the first kick, or feel the first hiccup. You’ll never be able to go shopping and decorate your nursery. You mourn being able to stock up on tiny socks and onesies. That first newborn smell that you can only get in those first few hours vanish along with your hopes and dreams for their future.
Dreaming of rocking your baby to sleep after you’ve been up for so many hours you’ve lost count just hurts. Seeing people post their baby announcements on social media builds a resentment inside of you that turns into rage. You’re not raging because they’re happy and excited for their future, you’re raging because you can’t have those things.
I avoid Facebook like the plague now. I try to be happy for family and friends who are bringing precious babies into the world, but I can’t. I see tiny smushed newborn faces and want to cry and rage smash something because my own body will not cooperate the way it’s meant to. Mums pass me with their prams on Punky’s walk to school and I have to hide the tears welling up in my eyes.
The constant questions from people who see me on the street asking when I’ll have another child are too much to bear. It leaves me devastated because I want nothing more than to give Punky the sibling he longs for.
The worst part about all of this is that there are no clear answers as to why I keep miscarrying. There is no instruction book to read. There are no clear steps such as; diet, exercise, take your vitamins and all will be well. My bloodwork is normal, so everything is a mystery.
I’m frustrated with myself. Angry. Heartbroken. Devastated. There are no clear words or phrases to describe what I’m feeling because it’s a tangled web of emotions.
If I pass you on the street and you’re pushing your child in a stroller, or wearing them in a sling, please know that I’m trying to be happy for you, truly. Just don’t ask me when I’m having another baby.