I’ll never forget the shock and surprise when the first blue line changed my life forever. And the rollercoaster ride we embarked on, first with Daisy and then Poppy, was a journey like no other. But never did I think our journey would end here. In a waiting room getting ready for tests to try and answer the questions I have constantly whirling round my head: why have I lost three babies; will I have another? But no-one can tell us.
So this morning I found myself sitting in the clinic of a new hospital – I couldn’t face my old hospital having walked out there empty-bellied and empty-handed three times, the joyous memories of my two glorious girls there diminished. Pouring grains of rock salt into my raw wounds (my last miscarriage was only 5 weeks ago), two women sit in the clinic with me waiting for their newborn’s checkups, their post-baby bellies exulting their triumphs, while my flat stomach hosts only my grief. It doesn’t matter that I have two beautiful babies, they and any subsequent babies will never rub out the loss of my other three. All I have of two of them are the scans, and the sound of their heartbeats still thudding in the dark of the night as I lie awake, wondering.
I have nothing from the third. It was announced with a blue line on the day my previous pregnancy was due. But six weeks later it was gone. Like a new mother, I am intimate with the long lost hours of the night, sleepless as if my brain is expecting to be woken through the night, in denial that I have no baby to soothe. So instead I go and check on my girls, my glorious girls, and their sleeping smiles soothe me. Grief is the loneliest emotion. I cannot share it, I cannot explain it. It just is.
And suddenly I am lifted. A new doctor, and new face. She is kind and patient and authoritative and just what I need. We will have tests – antibodies, chromosomal, bloods, scans, but more importantly we have a plan. I’m not going into this alone. It may only be aspirin and hormones, but it feels as though I am doing something positive. It may lead to more heartbreak, but it may lead to a new wonderful life, and either way I’ll know we tried everything we could. It may be another rollercoaster, but I’m ready for the journey.
I promise to return to a more jolly festive fever soon…..
Oh, I wish you a happy 2010 – bringing good things, and a good conclusion to your heartbreaking story. I had 1 miscarriage, before my third baby – it was a missed miscarriage, so I didn't know until I was 11 weeks pregnant, although the baby died at about 7 weeks. I can't imagine how you must feel after 3 miscarriages. I still nurture my thoughts of the baby I didn't have and remember the due date – how painful it must be for you. Stay strong and positive.
alana, if you want to talk, feel free to contact me, i not only lost 2 within 6mos of each other but was pregnant by the next month with my little girl after the last one, with which i also prolapsed.
i also lost others before i had my boys many years earlier. so i am very familiar with the grief and the tentative hope you are feeling now. it's good someone is taking you seriously re: testing.
Wishing you some answers and all the luck in the world.
Much love xx
I really hope you get to find out. I can't say I know what you are going through, as it has never happened to me. But I really wish you all the best.
thank you all – i really appreciate it. It seems odd to be able to talk so honestly to people I've never met, but it's so cathargic. So thank you…. and i feel a new strength about going forward. Anyway, off to write something a little more uplifting.. it is the season to be jolly after all, and I have two girls to make me jolly all the time. talk soon, 🙂