The Miscarriage Manual

My period started yesterday, exactly one month after I was in hospital having my surgical management. The first period after a miscarriage always feels like a kick in the uterus; it lasts twice as long, hurts more and is heavier. The hardest part though is it feels like my body is telling me it’s moving on and therefore I should move on too.

But I’m not ready to move on. I can’t move on.
I miss my baby everyday, I yearn to hold it within me. I can’t get through the day without crying, even on the good days. My heart is so heavy with sorrow, it feels like it’s going to fall out of my chest.

I’m so angry that I’m having to go through this again. I hate that my period arrived at the same point as it did after my previous miscarriages and that I know how this is going to pan out because it’s happened three times before.

Instead of having my period, I should be a month further along in my pregnancy now. I had a little bump by the time of my 12-week scan and I would definitely be showing now. But rather than holding my bump with maternal protection, I’m clutching my abdomen in pain.

They say it gets easier with time but that’s not my experience. The shock has gone but I’m left with raw pain and a deep fear that I will never be a mum. I have nightmares every night; either about being in hospital, having a scan or just general loss.

I am surrounded by triggers; the spare room that isn’t a nursery and the hallway Kyle cleared to make room for a pram. Whenever I hear a baby cry my heart aches knowing I will never hear our baby. I’m scared to tell people how heartbroken I am. I’m scared they won’t see my grief even though it’s right there in front of me and as big as any baby bump.

I hate the way I’m supposed to continue with my life as if nothing happened, as if I had never been pregnant. Earlier this week I went into the office for the first time. It was a calm morning and on the walk from the station to the office I followed my usual routine of picking up a coffee and croissant. However, by the time I reached the park outside my office my heart began to pound, my breath quickened and I was overwhelmed by sad thoughts. I tried to visual my “safe space” but as I’m new to meditation I couldn’t stop the grief attack. Fortunately I called a very good friend whose warmth and humour pulled me back. I then took some time to cry on the bench, fix my mascara and then walked into the office smiling as if nothing had happened.

I can play a role, laugh, smile and pretend I’m doing OK. But, dear body, although you may already be moving on, I’m going to grieve for however long it takes me.