I’m not quite sure why I’ve chosen now to write this post. Well, that’s a lie. It is partially because I now have Noah so I can write this with a clear mind in a way that will bring comfort, hope and an aspect of realness (I hope) that others may be searching for. If I’d have written this at the time, it wouldn’t have made for very pleasant reading. I was a mess, I’ll be honest.
I also think it has something to do with conversations I’m having with The Divorced Dad (We’ll call him Dave, mainly because I’ve been listening to “The Twelve Daves of Christmas” on Absolute Radio and it’s obviously had an impact.)
Where to start? “At the beginning” I hear you say. Well of course. So,
We’d found out we were expecting our first baby on Wednesday 31st October 2017. We were absolutely elated, having been trying since April 2016.
Friday 15th December 2017. I was working as a Bank HCA (Healthcare Assistant) at the time. I’d not felt ‘right’ all day. Headache, cramps etc. I figured I’d maybe just overdone it and needed an early night.
I got home and realised I’d started bleeding. Now, obviously my first reaction was panic. Worry. Assume the worst. Tom very calmly told me to just ring the EPU (Early Pregnancy Unit) and see what they advise. I did and they booked me in to go down the following day at 2:30pm. This reassured me, surely if they’re happy for me to wait until tomorrow, everything is fine. They don’t sound worried.
So, 2:30 came the next day and we set off walking down to the hospital. I’d had no further bleeding that morning so I was trying to remain positive. On arrival at the unit, we were taken in to an examination room where the nurse attempted to conduct an ultrasound examination. As my bladder wasn’t full enough, she told me to go and try and empty my bladder completely and she would examine me internally. Even walking to the toilet, I knew that I was losing my baby. There was an insane amount of blood awaiting me and I just sobbed silently in the bathroom for a couple of minutes.
I cleaned myself up and headed back to the examination room where Tom and the midwife were waiting. Once the midwife had talked to us, offered comfort, advice and condolences, we left the clinic. Well, I think Tom had to near enough pull me along as I don’t think my brain and my legs were connecting enough for me to walk out of their of my own accord.
I collapsed on the corridor in tears, sobbing and repeating “no no no”. It wasn’t true, she’d got it wrong. She must have got it wrong.
That’s pretty much all I remember about the 24 hours that followed. A blur of tears, anger, exhaustion punctuated with “I’m sorry, but there’s no heartbeat” on repeat like a singing toy desperately needing replacement batteries. I also just remember, and think I’ll always remember, my Dad’s face. If I was asked to picture what utterly devastated, heartbroken and helpless looked like, I’d envision my Dad in that moment. He was crying, like sobbing, tears streaming down his face kind of crying. He’s a former Royal Marine, he’s always been rock solid. But, he’s also a human being. A Dad. He was excited at the thought of being a Grandad. As much as our dream of becoming parents was ripped from us on that day (we thank our lucky stars every day that it wasn’t to be like that forever) so was their dream of becoming Grandparents and my sister an aunty. We were all grieving together. I know, that seems very morbid but, family is everything for me and to have mine around me during one of my darkest times really did pull me through.
We will always remember our Daisy, our first Mullerbean. The one who made us parents. No, we didn’t actually know the sex as we miscarried at 11 weeks. But, during that fateful Friday shift at the hospital, one of the patients, a lovely lady who had the most beautiful smile, pointed behind me as I cleared her table and said “Oh hello, aren’t you beautiful”. She then said “Is that your little girl?” I just said “Oh no she’s not mine, I don’t have a little girl yet”. She smiled and went back to her knitting. Now, you might read this and think “well that’s completely irrelevant” but, I truly believe that our baby knew they were about to leave us (baby’s heart had stopped a couple of weeks earlier) and she was there to say goodbye. She was there to let me know that she was okay and she just wanted to let me know she was there. That will comfort me forever and so we named her “Daisy” so as to let her live on and never be forgotten.
I feel like now would be a really good time to direct you to an incredibly important and beautifully written blog post from none other than my wonderful husband, Tom. His perspective on our miscarriage touched so many people who then reached out to us about their own experiences. I mean, that’s why we share these heartbreaking and life shattering events isn’t it? To raise awareness and potentially help others who might not know where to turn or who to talk to.
I’m so incredibly lucky to have the support network that I do and to now be able to bring our little chap up to be the most awesome little dude. Plus, he loves The Big Bang Theory so we’ve won already!
I’d love to hear from anyone who may have been in a similar position, or know someone who has. I really hope I’ve helped at least one person to know that tough times don’t last, tough people do. You CAN do this my friend, I promise you will come through the other side and you’ll be all the stronger for it.
Much love,
Manic Mama M
x
Just Another Manic Mum Day 