A miscarriage takes you to the depths of hell – but amongst that absolute agony, these five women say there was something that helped during miscarriage, a small little moment that helped them get through the dark time.
TW: Miscarriage
This week is Baby Loss Awareness Week and here at Capsule we’re committed to sharing the stories and information about this topic which is SO important, yet so rarely openly discussed.
In NZ we don’t collect data on the number of miscarriages, but it’s estimated that between 13,000 to 15,000 women experience a miscarriage in NZ every year. That means for every four pregnancies, one ends in miscarriage.
Then, there are the babies who are stillborn – who die during pregnancy or in utero after the 20th week of pregnancy. Each year about one in every 200 pregnancies ends in stillbirth.
“All the People Who Were Willing to Hear My Story – Again and Again”
By Megan Wright
It took a long time for my experience to feel real. In fact, sometimes I still can’t believe that we lost our baby. I had to say it over and over and over again. Telling the story of how we lost her, saying it out loud, telling people it was how I processed it and made sense of it (even though it will likely never fully make sense).
Thankfully, no one in my life lost patience with me. They so kindly let me tell the story to them many times over, even though it must have been hard for them to hear it too.
Telling her story also felt like it kept her alive somewhere.
Now, the most beautiful thing I can hear is someone saying her name out loud. I know people worry that saying her name will upset me my reminding me of her. They don’t realise that I never forget about her, she is always there, always a part of me. I worry that everyone else has forgotten her, so hearing them say her name reminds me that it’s not a burden on me to ensure she isn’t forgotten – she is alive in everyone else.
“The Nurse Who Held My Hand”
By Kate Hall
I will always remember the nurse who held my hand as I was walked into surgery to have my right fallopian tube and growing baby removed (an ectopic pregnancy). She was part of the medical team, but for the duration of the time that the anaesthetists set everything up, she just stood there holding my hand and rubbing the back of it. It meant everything to me. In the darkest and scariest of days, she made me feel like I would actually be okay.
Having been pregnant twice, with no kids to show for it, it’s really weird to have conversations with other pregnant people. When they talk about their pregnancy symptoms, usually it would be normal conversational etiquette to chime in and relate to their experiences, but it’s usually not appropriate. I like it when I can have conversations with people who don’t get super dramatic or sullen when I casually mention ‘when I was pregnant’. It’s an experience that happened, and it’s freeing to talk about it in conversation rather than actively stifle mentions of it in case someone starts a ‘poor you’ conversation – which always sucks.
“I Stayed Off the Internet”
By Anonymous
It was my husband’s idea in the start. I spend a lot of time on my phone. We lost our little girl at 19 weeks and it was earth-shattering. We called the people closest to us and then my husband said maybe we should stay off our phones, only for talking on them. It was the best call. It feels harsh to say, but every time I had to leave the house, I felt angry seeing other people. For many weeks I felt angry. Why did this happen to me? Why did all these other people get to have a baby, who would grow into a toddler, and then a little kid and then a teenager and an adult, and I didn’t? Why did my daughter have to die?
I would see people and feel consumed by anger. I didn’t wish anyone what happened to us, but I felt so angry that it happened to us. I can’t imagine how I would have felt if I had to see people on Instagram during that time with their happy little lives. It felt like our whole world had stopped. It didn’t seem right that it hadn’t stopped for anyone else.
After six or so weeks I gradually put a toe back in, and found people so supportive. But still, three years later, after having a healthy little girl, I still occasionally have a surge of anger about it.
“I Lived on the Internet”
By Sarah Smith
When I lost our son at 15 weeks it was the biggest, most horrible shock of our lives. I didn’t know anyone who had had a miscarriage, let alone one outside of the first trimester. We had told everyone we knew at 12 weeks – it was so exciting! A miscarriage was the very last thing we expected.
Our friends and family were so kind and supportive, but I felt like none of them fully understood this very unique form of pain we were in. I felt so alone – there was only so many times my husband and I could have the same conversation over and over again.
I did a google and found reddit threads and community chats on What to Expect and Baby Centre, where women had very recently had miscarriages too. They knew exactly how we felt. They lived in places all over the world, were different ages but they were all going through the exact same thing. It was so comforting to have those women and men for us to lean on. I don’t know what I would have otherwise done. I also found women there who had miscarriages months or years before us and they gave great advice, and some interesting perspectives.
“A stranger at Labtests”
By Anonymous
After my miscarriage my GP sent me to get some blood tests. Something about being in there, in the waiting room triggered some real sadness and anxiety in me and I began crying.
There was only one other person in there – a very old man. I didn’t think he could see me crying, but he got up and brought me a wad of tissues. I said thank you and for some reason said, sorry, that I had a miscarriage and being back somewhere medical was bringing it up again.
He frowned and said he was so sorry to hear that. He told me his wife had a miscarriage and they lost their first child. They went on to have three children but he said he still thought of the child they lost very often. He took my hands in his and he said it does get better and my heart wouldn’t stay in pieces for long. Then, he asked me what we were going to name our child. I hadn’t told anyone this – everyone knew I suspected it was a girl though, in which case, I was hoping to call her Kate. I told him ‘Kate’. He smiled so wide and said ‘Kate’ over and over again. He said he would remember Kate.
It was such a small interaction, but it meant everything at that time.
