A week has gone by since one of the worst nights of my life. A whole week. It doesn’t feel like that. It feels like it only just happened. Except now the bleeding has stopped and I just feel empty. Empty of emotion. Empty of my baby. Don’t get me wrong I have been smiling. I only have to walk into my daughters room in the morning and I can’t help smile at those shining eyes looking up at me like they’re saying “what adventure are we going on today, mum?”. And that is what is keeping me going but it doesn’t come easy. I feel incredibly lucky that I have her but I wanted this baby so much and that makes me feel guilty. Guilty for not thinking my daughter is enough (mum guilt, I’ll save that for another post!).
I have gone over and over in my head thinking if there was anything I had done to make this happen or anything I could have done to stop it. I blame myself. I blame my body. It has made me scared to start trying again. Unfortunately it has tainted any of my future pregnancies if we decide to try again because I will always be paranoid about every little sign that it may not be progressing as well as it should. I’m scared every time Stuart comes anywhere near me even for just a hug or a kiss as if I’m 6 years old again and I believe you can get pregnant from a boy just standing near you!
Everything around me has been reminding me. Not just of the miscarriage but of the precious five days that we were oblivious to what was about to happen. So cruel. The day after I miscarried a parcel arrived in the post. It was a set of pregnancy milestone cards I had ordered to, well; mark the future milestones in my pregnancy. The milestones that were never to come.
I also opened the bathroom cabinet to see the box containing the two positive pregnancy tests. This was something I did when I was pregnant with Ivy, I kept them in there to stare at them every once in a while to remember the excitement and overwhelming emotions that I felt the day we found out I was expecting her. So I did the same with this pregnancy. Only when I opened the bathroom cabinet this particular day it was a bittersweet feeling remembering running into Stuart with a huge smile on my face to tell him I was pregnant.
A few days ago I opened the door to under the stairs to see the exercise ball I used in the last few weeks of my pregnancy with Ivy, only the last time I used it was a few days previous because I had back ache and couldn’t get comfy on the couch and I had said to Stuart, “I didn’t think I’d be using this so early on in this pregnancy!” To which he laughed.
Even kind words from friends and family have been irritating me. Something I know I shouldn’t get upset about because they only mean well. Other people don’t understand but I wouldn’t want them to. People can’t, unless they have been through it themselves and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I feel like they see me differently now, like I have it plastered on my forehead “This woman went through a miscarriage!”
Thursday marked the day that would have been our first midwife appointment. I remember ringing the doctor and when they told me our appointment would be on the first September I was so over the moon. It is my mum’s birthday and this made telling her I was pregnant so much better. It felt like it was meant to be. Which we know now it wasn’t. I had been holding myself together since it happened. I only really cried a few days before I actually miscarried because I hated the not knowing when it was going to happen but knowing it was inevitable.
But when Thursday rolled around I knew I wanted to hold it together for my mum but all day I was holding in my heartache. And when 3pm came by, which was our appointment time, I couldn’t think of anything else. We went for a walk around Wigan Flashes; it was a lovely warm day, the sunlit clouds high in the bright blue sky. It felt like the perfect place to mourn something I couldn’t have but wanted with every fibre of my being. I thought of my “little bean” the whole walk, alone in my thoughts with everyone oblivious. I realise now I was finally saying my goodbyes which was something I thought I had already done on ‘the worst night of my life’ but I mustn’t have. That evening I shed all of the tears my body could possibly have made. Everything I had been holding in escaped out of my eyes and mouth and landed on Stuart.
I wanted to write this post because it helped me a lot writing it all down the day after it happened. But also because I was so overwhelmed with the response I got. Especially from other women who have gone or are going through the same thing. I wanted to write it with brutal honesty because I know that’s what I want. I said at the end of my first post I wrote about the miscarriage that I wanted to try and take something positive from it because that is the type of person that I am. But unfortunately I haven’t been feeling very positive at the moment. But I do know that some days might be better than others. I know that I am so grateful to everyone for their kind words. I know that I couldn’t stop what happened. I know that there will come a day when I can look forward to the future of trying to conceive again. I know that everything will continue to remind me of what happened but I know now that I want that. I want to always remember my “little bean”.