I wasn’t sure whether or not to write this. I’m not sure if I will post it. It might simply be part of the healing process just to write it. But I also feel it is something that should be said. I know I will struggle to talk about it for some time still, so perhaps if I write it down, I’m at least taking a tiny step towards making this topic less taboo…
In November, I had a miscarriage. That’s hard to write. I can’t say it out loud without welling up. We’d not been trying to get pregnant for long, and were so excited to get that first positive pregnancy test. We saw the doctor, and told our immediate families and a few close friends. At 8 and a half weeks I started bleeding. At just over 9 weeks the miscarriage was confirmed. A blighted ovum. I had 2 weeks of bleeding and pain, and the trauma of physically losing my baby. Once the physical pain and bleeding finally subsided, I had a week or so more of pregnancy symptoms while I waited for the pregnancy hormone to leave my body. That’s a cruel addition to an already unbearable time.
The physical side was hard, and while it happened I wept a lot, and relied on the support of my wonderful husband just to get through each day. But afterwards was harder. Once I could no longer pin my pain on the physical pain I was feeling, I had to confront the emotional pain. That process is ongoing, and I don’t know if it every truly goes away. But I wanted to write of my recovery, because I am recovering, slowly but surely. There may be backward steps sometimes, but I take more steps forward.
On the day we found out for sure that we were miscarrying, when the sonographer told us that there was nothing there, just a sac that hadn’t developed properly, I was numb. Ollie and I spent the afternoon sat on the bed at home, trying to process it, to work out what had happened. We were so sure that this pregnancy was something God had wanted for us, and we didn’t understand how He could suddenly take it away. Since I had started bleeding, we’d prayed and prayed, but God had seemed silent, and the silence on the day we found out for sure was deafening.
Everything made me cry for a few days. Our friends left us a care package of dinner, chocolates and flowers that evening. I cried. My family sent flowers the next day. I cried. That evening, I cried like I’ve never cried before. I screamed and wailed and was desperate to let the pain come out somehow, but I felt like it filled me and sealed me, and nothing I did would start it flowing out. I could see no way out of the pain that day. I went back to work on the Friday, and talked to some colleagues. They were supportive, and I cried. At church on the Sunday, we sang of how God never lets us down. I didn’t feel like that. I had to leave the service, and yet again I cried. Our house started to
resemble a florist’s shop, and with every new bunch of flowers, that gift that says, “we love you, there are no words, but know that we are thinking of you”, I cried.
Finally, a few days later, I had 24 hours without tears. That felt like a turning point. I started to believe that I would come out of the pain, and I started to have hope again.
But I still didn’t feel like God was speaking to me. It was only on a call with my mother a little while afterwards that she helped me to work it out. God hadn’t been silent. He hadn’t ignored me. Every day, Ollie and I experienced the love of our friends. The care package, flowers, kind messages, hugs, prayers, distractions – whatever we needed, our friends and family provided for us. God sent so many people who love us to help lift us up and hold us until we were ready to hold ourselves up again.
By surrounding us with love and support, God also helped us to be honest about what we were going through. I let myself cry, and a few times I talked, really openly, about what we were experiencing. That honesty was the most important thing we could do. We didn’t bottle the pain, we didn’t ignore what was happening and try to move on. Instead we let ourselves do, feel and say whatever we needed.
We are not out the other side of this yet. I don’t think miscarriages are things that one “gets over”. But, we do have hope that one day we will have a successful pregnancy, and we know that when we do, or if we don’t, we will be surrounded by so much love from so many people.
And we’ve learnt a few things that I would want to say to everyone who goes through something like this. Firstly, talk about it – somewhere between 1 in 3 and 1 in 5 pregnancies end in miscarriage – we had no idea it was so common, nor that so many people we knew had gone through this, and it helped to be able to talk to people who had experienced it. Secondly, talk to God about it – I was so cross with Him, but I kept telling Him that until I was ready to receive comfort directly from Him. And in the meantime, He sent me comfort through those people from whom I would accept it willingly. Lastly, don’t put pressure on yourself – just let yourself have or do whatever you need in order to recover. Every recovery will be different so don’t expect it to go in a particular way or at a particular speed.
If you’re reading this and you’ve gone through something similar, you have my prayers. And to all of you who have been so wonderful in the past few weeks, you have my heartfelt thanks. I can’t imagine getting to this point without you.