Miscarriage & Media

Miscarriage & Media

I can’t remember if I’ve already mentioned that I’m a media volunteer for The Miscarriage Association. It basically means if any journalist wants to do a story or something, they’ll contact MA who will then contact me if I’m suitable for it. I’ve only done 2 newspaper interviews – one small piece for the Scottish Sun, and one for the Saturday Herald (out this Saturday if there’s any local folks reading!)

(if it appears online I’ll pop a link on this weekend)

Anyway, the journalist doing the interview asked me what difference – if any – the miscarriages have made to my life. I’d never really thought about that before…Sure, I’m more aware of miscarriages and the struggles of trying to conceive. I know all the statistics, and about all the delightful stages of our cervical mucus, but I didn’t think she wanted to stick that in her article!

I told her that it had made my marriage stronger – in our 2 years of marriage we’ve went through more shit than most do in a lifetime and we’re still here making each other laugh and pulling through it all together.

Later on I thought some more about it.

I  sat on the train home and thought about the past few years, and thought about the people on here that I’ve spoke to and read about, and do you know what I realised? How bloody strong are we all? How resilient are we? I’ve became a much stronger person since my losses – I seem to be able to bounce back more than I ever thought possible. We’ve been knocked down so many times and we keep getting back up. We’ve got that end goal in sight and we’re all fighting so hard to get it. I know it’s maybe cheesy but we should all be proud of ourselves. I never thought I would be able to get through all these losses.. I never thought I would be able to keep going, but yeah you know what? I bloody can. And I bloody will!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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What now?

What now?

I got the phone call on Thursday morning that my levels had dropped substantially. I’d miscarried. As if I thought anything else. 

They asked me to come in for  another blood test. Why? Why do I need to continue coming in to the pregnancy ward to be told the same thing every 2 days until my levels reach below 5. My hospital isn’t even local so the whole thing was pissing me off. I told her I wouldn’t be coming back in unless I was still bleeding in 2 weeks. This wasn’t my first time at the rodeo. 

Sorry – that sounds heartless. I’m just done. 

Where do we go from here? 

Again

Again

We found out I was pregnant on the 7th October.

Hubby and I sat staring at each other. Were we really pregnant? Could we celebrate? Could we get excited? Could we even be happy?

I’d say I was 60/40. 60% happy, 40% terrified. Considering our losses, I’m pretty impressed with that ratio.

As the weeks passed I over analysed every symptom. Were my boobs still sore? (hubbys squeeze test never failed!) Was that a cramp? Is that a pregnancy spot? Am I pooping a normal amount? (Yup it genuinely got to that stage)

Last Friday, as I was heading off to meet hubby from work I felt…. something... in my underwear. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew it wasn’t right. I rushed to the nearest toilet and there it was… blood.

It was brown, which I know is old blood and old blood isn’t necessarily bad blood blablabla, but whatever. Blood’s blood! I phoned Nikki at worked and we rushed to the Early Pregnancy Unit (EPAU) where the nurses told me they couldn’t do anything and I should just go home to “wait”.

“Excuse me? How very fucking dare you?!” (Is what I wished I said, instead of just silently and politely leaving.)  We decided not to listen to them and we trotted on over to A&E to see if they could do something. They took my blood and 5 hours later we left knowing that my HCG levels were 95 and I was either very early in my pregnancy, or I was miscarrying. So basically none the fucking wiser.

The weekend passed and as Sunday night arrived, so did the red blood. Now that’s not fucking old blood. The little hope I was clinging on to was now disappearing. It was happening again.

We returned to EPAU the following morning and I was given a transvaginal scan (eugh) and had more bloods taken. The nurse told me my original levels were too low and I was to prepare myself for the worst.

I go straight home, hubby brings in cookie dough ice cream (my second tub since Friday by the way) and we lay in bed watching T.V and crying.

I passed what looked like tissue on Tuesday night and again on Wednesday morning. I felt kind of numb. I don’t understand why this is happening. I was pregnant for fucks sake. Stop taking this away from me. I don’t deserve it.

Pity

Pity

I hate being pitied. People that tilt their head and lower their eyes if I ask about their pregnancy. Like they’re afraid to show any kind of excitement incase I throw something at their round glowing faces.

I despise the “hang in there” and “it’ll happen eventually” comments. One colleague even jokingly said she was going to start a GoFund Me Page for my crushing infertility. (At least I hope she was fucking joking)

When I corrected her and told her I wasn’t actually struggling with infertility she was baffled and questioned “so what is wrong with you”? Well luckily for you it’s not my inability to control my temper or reward people’s sheer stupidity with a swift kick to the shin.

Look, I totally appreciate people that sympathise or empathise with me. People that have genuine questions about miscarriages or the affects they can have. If you’re one of them then I have all the time in the world, but please do not bloody pity me. Please don’t think I am any less of a woman for not having a child. Please don’t think that I am so obsessed with getting pregnant that it’s the only thing I want to talk to you about. I’m a woman for fucks sake, compliment my hair or something.