The Unspoken Heartache Of Miscarriage: One Mum and Midwife’s Honest Story

In conversation with Lorraine Gleeson:

"You never think or believe it will happen to you. Peeing on that stick and seeing the '+' or even better - the word 'Pregnant,' the excitement begins from that very moment. You begin planning from the second you learn you are pregnant: names, boy, girl, due dates – going online to confirm your expected date of delivery; the whirlwind of planning begins from the very second the pregnancy is confirmed. You never for one second imagine that all that planning will be shortlived, or that your excitement could soon revert to sheer heartache. Then it begins: cramps, they're just 'stretching' pains, you say to yourself, that's all. Doesn't the uterus stretch in early pregnancy? Isn't it doing a lot of work growing your little bean? You convince yourself it couldn't be anything more than stretching. Then, you go to the bathroom for one of many trips; your bladder is in overdrive, even in the very early days. You see what resembles brown discharge, or worse, bright red. In that split second, you wonder if this is something a bit more than 'stretching?'

"No, it couldn't be, lots of women bleed in early pregnancy – it's just implantation bleed or stretching, that's all – nothing more, nothing less."

Until more bleeding, it's bright red now, and period-like cramps have started. You slowly begin to face reality that this may be something more than 'stretching.' You pick up that phone, while your tummy is doing summersaults and feels like a washing machine doing a 90-degree wash. You phone the EPAU of your local maternity hospital. They tell you if the bleeding persists or gets heavier, to come in for assessment, but in the meantime, take a paracetamol and rest. A paracetamol? Rest? Neither of which will give much relief when the unknown is occurring. "The bleeding gets heavier. You present to the Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit. You give your name to the administration staff, and she tells you to take a seat and wait to be called. You sit in a crowded waiting room, watching the faces of other women and couples. Some appear withdrawn and nervous – you know they are waiting for the unknown to be confirmed too. Then, there are the happy faces, the ones leaving the room gleaming, tightly holding fuzzy little scan images in their hands. You hope and pray that in a short while that will be you exiting the room with a smile and a fuzzy image in hand. That it was only 'stretching' after all. You hear your name being called. Your heart sinks. The sonographer does not say much, only that it will be an internal scan as the pregnancy is so early. He begins the scan. The room is silent. He looks intensely at the image on the screen, and you know, you just know. The silence tells a thousand stories. You don't need to be told. You know all your plans of pink or blue, 'Molly' or 'Jack' have been shattered. He then utters the dreaded words - 'there is no heartbeat.' "He tells you to go home and take a few days off work, rest up, take pain relief and return in a week to confirm that all 'products of conception' are gone. 'Products of conception' – those 'products' were my baby – my 'Molly' or 'Jack' You are handed a booklet on how to cope with miscarriage. A booklet, that is all. How can a booklet teach me how to cope with this heartache? Teach me how to cope with the pain? You leave the hospital as you pass by excited mothers with overdue bumps, or newborns wrapped up all cosy in their car seats on their journey from leaving hospital to start life with their excited families.

"You are empty; your heart is crushed like it has never been crushed before."

You partner doesn't know what to do or say, no matter what he says or does will probably be wrong. You forget he is going through heartache too – this was his baby too – he too had plans. You try to move forward, but it is so hard. Every week is a reminder that you should have been nine weeks now, or 10 or 20. Most people probably didn't even know you were pregnant, and those who did don't know what to say or just don't speak about it. Or worse, speak the wrong words "at least you know you can get pregnant," or "at least you have a child already," or "sure you were only seven weeks, it wasn't a baby yet," – that's if they speak about it at all. You rely on online forums, speaking to people in cyber space, those who have been through it and understand your heartache. Without those cyber friends, you would have nowhere to vent your upset, anger and heartache. Nowhere. Not many like to speak about miscarriage. Why? It does, after all, affect one in four pregnancies. One in four – that's a lot of couples' plans shattered for their 'Molly' or 'Jack'. Miscarriage really is the unspoken heartache."

Special thanks to Lorraine Gleeson for talking to us abut her experience. Lorraine is a midwife and mother of three, who has experienced two miscarriages.