'My hands are my source. They destroy, form and cross bridges - they clarify knowledge and give meaning to my voice which is sometimes weak with hurt, sometimes strong from joy' ~ extract taken from, 'And So I Sit'.
As the pregnancy test signified Life, I swayed and revelled in her dance. I allowed Life to flow and welcomed her signs. Life caressed and soothed me, she reached out and said, 'Come, we can play this game together'.
Life was ecstatic with her creation - she cavorted, glimmered and sparkled and I was entranced. I felt her fingers stroke my skin and her body cuddle into mine. I was comforted, held and supported and she whispered to me her dreams.
'This little one is forming, my darling'.
My body obeyed and revelled in growth - hormones increased. I swam in the nausea, my breasts became full as my belly ripened and I felt every movement as if I was swimming in water. Sickness moved me as if by tidal pull, and Life kept encouraging, 'Yes, my darling, feel everything. Feel it all'.
Calling to all the humans I needed, I tried to nest, to feel safe in the world. I needed to find the people who would support this pregnancy so I could meet this little one - to experience having a baby in this lifetime just. one. time.
And then one day at work, Death decided to visit and she called my baby's name.
Death sang softly and so sweetly, every note caressing the air around me. The spectral pied piper of the little womb ones. Death danced around me whilst Life started to shrivel and cry. Death shimmied, allowing her pendulous breasts to swing, and she shook her childbearing hips. Death waggled her finger and spoke to me with a smile on her lips, 'My darling, thank you for growing this little one of mine'.
I could see Life was helpless in the face of Death's call and could only witness the events unfolding. She watched as my baby heard and reached out in joy to suckle on her breasts, sit on her soft belly and be cradled in her sumptuous lap. Death sang, soothed and tended... whilst Life, and I, looked on in dismay.
My body was so full, then so empty, as I straddled and embodied Life and Death. My body understood what was happening and vomit, blood and tears seeped from me - ravaged by the loss of my little one. My husband collected my heaves, wiped the red from my legs and helped me collect the remains of our little one as I allowed the cramps to sweep my uterus, making sure Death took every last remnant.
Then I heard Death speak to me, 'You have given me four of your gorgeous babies and I am indebted by your kindness. I will leave you with four gifts in remembrance of your sacrifice'.
Death laid the gifts out in front of me, and smiled with gratefulness.
First of all, here is acceptance, which will also bring you peace. When you meet me without resistance, you will see I will also bring you a deep, resounding peace that will continue within you always. I know your resistance to me has devastated and exhausted you to the point that you are ready to receive this gift now. I nodded and took this gift into my hands.
My second gift to you is the ability to learn how to parent yourself - there is a little one within you that has waited so long for you to be able to embrace her. Now you can learn to look after her and allow her the healing she craves. This little one desires safety, comfort and love from you so very much. I understood the wisdom in these words and agreed.
I also allow you the capacity of compassion so that you can mother the lost ones in the world who are in desperate need of love. You are being given a limitless well of compassion so you can support others in their growth and allow them to find their own way. I took the gift without response.
Lastly, I bestow on you the title of 'Warrior'. A woman who has witnessed the dance of life and death of her own children she was unable to keep learns great courage and knowledge. A woman who can embody Life and Death and is able to hold them within is taught some of life's greatest secrets. There is very little in life you will be unable to handle. I bowed as I took on the title and tried to integrate this with who I think I am.
Death watched me receive these gifts, nodded and slowly bowed.
She then turned and walked away with my little one in her arms.
Play free my dear Little Sprouty, play with your brothers and sisters in the spirit world - come and find me when I am ready to dance with Death once again.
***There is some swearing in this post - please do not read this if you are easily offended. It is also LONG***
This is not an exhaustive list but this is one woman's guide to friends and family on how to support a woman going through a miscarriage. It is not intended to be sweet, sanitised and light, because miscarriage is none of those things. It is not intended to save you from the messy, anger inducing, tear-fest that miscarriage is, it is meant to show you what some women may actually be needing from you. If you have a friend or a family member that is going through a miscarriage, then reading this may help in some way but understand that every woman is unique.
After saying all that - you also need to understand that number 3 is essential for every woman.
If she has just told you that she has just found out she has miscarried, then she is going through one of the biggest upheavals in her life. Not only has she lost her baby and everything that goes with that, but most likely that baby is still inside of her and she still feels pregnant.
It is likely she doesn't feel she can trust her body anymore, her hormones are freaking her out and she cries at everything. She is most likely totally heartbroken and can't find anyone in Real Life who will sit and allow her to scream, cry and express her anger and fears. She now has to either wait for an operation or for the baby, placenta, cord and blood clots to come out of her vagina. Either way it will most likely involve pain, blood, tears, pads and out of control feelings - none of these she wants. She isn't looking forward to it and the process can take some time.
Things to do
1. Google miscarriage and what it actually entails - I highly recommend you read forums of other women who found out they miscarried and what happened to them. There are loads of forums - Mumsnet, Netmums, Baby and Bump, TheBump, Whattoexpect... the list goes on. This is where most women will flee to and ask questions, get advice and find out about support. They are a lifesaver. Learn about what she is going through before you ask her any questions - she is not there to teach you.
2. Learn about the stages: There's generally two ways a woman will find out she has miscarried, she will either:
- See blood in her pants and freak out
- Have no idea and have happily gone to hospital for a scan
Neither way is fun - either you have the agonising wait to have a scan to see if the baby is okay or you think everything is okay only to have your heart stamped on, squeezed and ripped apart when the Sonographer says, 'I'm sorry...'
- She will inevitably have to wait. Either she waits for an operation (can have complications) or she will take tablets and wait for them to start working and force the miscarriage process to happen (not always successful) or she will wait for a natural miscarriage (this can take weeks/months). Any way it happens, she will have her dead baby inside of her for some time and this can affect her mental health and how she responds to the world (ie. you).
- At some point the baby will come away from the woman's body - with any process this will involve blood.
- Afterwards, she will have to heal physically, mentally, emotionally, hormonally and possibly spiritually. This is different for every woman - it could be a week, months, years or a lifetime.
- She may decide to try again straight away, she may not be able to try again for a while for a number of reasons or she may never try again.
At any point, give her a break. If she is a complete bitch to you, if she shouts at you, if she doesn't speak to you, if she cries and screams and can't stop, if she is absolutely motionless and silent, if she only wants to talk about what's on TV and not talk about it.... basically, pick up whatever she is putting down for a while and be with her. She is in pain. The worst pain. All the pain. And she is probably scared out of her wits and doesn't know how to cope. Be kind.
- She will think of and be reminded of her baby for a long time to come, especially every month when she sees her period or when she sees others with their children.
3. Ask her how she wants to be supported. This will be absolutely unique to her and she may request different things from different people.
These stay a lot longer than your verbal words and can be a source of comfort during the sleepless nights.
5. Give or leave on the doorstep the following things:
- Anything that can help increase her blood production - drinks, herbs, vitamins, vegetables etc.
- Anything that will help maintain her iron levels - cherries, nettle tea bags, green smoothies, raspberries... Google it
- Anything that helps her uterus - raspberry leaf tea is amazing
- Chocolate - in any form: bars, hot chocolate, biscuits, ice-cream...
- Pads
- Meals - especially her favourite food
- New knickers/pants - chances are she has a lot of blood stained pants and she would like to throw them away
- Wine (if she drinks)
- Soft tissues with balm in it - toilet roll makes a woman blotchy
- A gift voucher for a session with a masseuse, acupuncturist, reflexologist, cranio sacral therapist or someone wonderful
- Pad and pen to write all the gunk in her mind down
- Anything you know she loves that is mindless - jigsaw puzzles, books, colouring pencils/book, magazines (with no pregnancy or baby related material), facemask/hairmask, anything that makes a woman feel pretty, whatever...
If you are a super close friend and you know that she is going to have a natural miscarriage, you can support her with buying ingredients that help the miscarriage along. You could also provide her with names and telephone numbers of amazing counsellors or therapists in the area that work with women who experience loss, for when she is ready, if she's into that sort of thing.
6. You can also send her online:
- Netflix recommendations that involve no babies and or pregnancies that will make her feel better eg. Queer Eye
- YouTube videos of cats and dogs
- YouTube videos of meditations to cope with loss or healing after grief.
- Pages that you think might help - Tommy's, Miscarriage Association, forums, blogs, poetry etc.
7. Do say something other than, 'I'm sorry.'
I have been told that some women are okay with people saying, 'I'm sorry.' If they are okay with it, then go for it and say it until the cows come home.
This is probably controversial, but most of the time everyone says this and for some women the meaning behind it can become meaningless. Additionally, most likely this is the first thing a sonographer will say to the woman and she could associate this with being told that her baby had died.
Instead, you can also say something like:
'My heart is breaking for you...'
'I'm absolutely gutted for you...'
'This is fucking terrible and it's awful you have to go through this...'
'I am sending you so much love and strength right now whilst you go through this shitty time...'
FYI - For me... please don't say 'I'm sorry.' When I hear it I am like, 'What are you sorry for? You are sorry I lost my baby? How does that help me?' I can't stand it when people say it to me. It also reminds of the Sonographer.
8. Help her heal
If she has passed a number of weeks of pregnancy, she will most likely have put on weight. This can be difficult to shift because of the different hormonal profile she will have for a while. Additionally, miscarriages can cause hormonal/thyroid issues and that might affect her weight, energy levels, mood etc.
Additionally, some women can experience low mood, anxiety and PTSD, particularly when they have a period. They could also be feeling all sorts of guilt about the things they could have done or should have done, which is absolutely natural.
Basically, for a while there, she isn't going to be right and she will most likely feel raw.
If you want, you can do the following:
- Ask her open questions - 'How are you?' 'How are you feeling?' 'How can I support you?' 'Tell me anything you need to express right now...' 'What is happening for you right now...' and then LISTEN. Listen until your ears bleed and then get a tissue to dab the blood and listen some more.
- Try not to ask closed questions that force her to say yes or no and don't use questions starting with 'Why..'.
- If you are trained in something lovely like massage, cranio sacral therapy, energy healing, shamanic work... Invite her into your space and give her some love.
- If you know of anyone who is awesome with women who have just lost their babies, buy them a session to show your love.
- Send her a lovely yoga class specifically for those who have miscarried.
9. Make sure you remain in contact
She may not contact you or respond to any of your messages but it is worth texting / whatsapping every few days with a short message - send her something that you think she will appreciate.
Some people appreciate a 'Thinking of you.' Again, if they like that, say that as often as you like. It's not my thing, I don't see any point in that but others like it.
You can go to her door and say you want nothing from her but you just want to give her a hug. That's okay. But if she doesn't answer the door because she is a mess and doesn't want anyone to see her, then don't persist.
You being silent isn't necessary even if she is silent. She may not be communicating with you but she will be aware you are communicating with her. Try not to take it personally if she is being silent.
10. LOVE
If you know her, if you are sad for her, if you are thinking of her and want to care for her... Pray for her, meditate on her wellbeing, tell the universe you want the very best for her, imagine your heart beaming beautiful light towards her, send her metta, sing for her, cry for her... It's okay to do that. Send her your love - you can do that from afar. You don't need to tell her because on some level she will receive that love and healing.
So, these are some things you can do to support her and show her that you love her.
I was hauling a brown splattered 17kg suitcase through the mud of Bushy Park just a day after I had passed the majority of my third baby and all that entails. We had just buried little Noodle with their other siblings by the tree we had chosen nearly two years ago.
As we were trawling through, I looked up at the sky and said, 'Why are you pushing me to my limit?'
And I heard a voice say, 'Let go and all will come.'
The day I heard that I had lost this little one I had to make my way to a friend's house over an hour away. Diving into overcrowded, claustrophobic tubes, doubling over with cramp, I sweated my way to a hug and a goodbye as she left to look after her relative. I grabbed a hot water bottle, sat down and let the warmth of the water seep into my abdomen, which was indignant as I had allowed another internal scanner to poke, push and annoy.
Sitting on that couch, I soon experienced a sense of blissfulness. I fell into the deepest gratitude as I was so grateful for this pregnancy, one that took over a year to achieve. I was so thankful for every single hormonal signal - from the positive pregnancy test, the sore breasts, the bloating and nausea to the increased saliva and deep deep exhaustion. Food never tasted better, sleep never felt so refreshing and the knowledge that a little life had chosen to grace my uterus with their presence was gratifying and humbling. I promised myself this time that I would love every second of the pregnancy and I did. I relished every single second of being a mama and immersed myself in the maternal love kept only for this little being.
That evening, I felt this deep joy and relaxed deeper and deeper, knowing it wouldn't last forever and that the inevitable pain of attachment would soon catch up. I tasted sweetness from the cup of gratitude and allowed my body to submit and let go - glowing, free and relaxed.
That evening, a friend sent me information about a film maker called Richard Martini who speaks about how miscarriages can occur for the spiritual development of the parents. Since reading up on him, I have been guided to read, 'Letting Go' by David R Hawkins and 'Ask and It Is Given' by Esther and Jerry Hicks. I have had dreams instructing me to meditate and I am trying to come back into my body slowly.
Clearly, this is another opportunity for spiritual growth and development that I need to work on although I am a very slow learner at the best of times.
Though I was provided a taste of how I could feel if I just let go, I know I am resisting and as a consequence feel a build up of anger, pain, upset, hurt and can feel myself drowning into waves of this. I find it difficult to find peace and see myself react, react react.
Because, for me, nothing feels right after experiencing deep maternal loss. Physically, emotionally, hormonally, spiritually and in relationship to any or everything. I feel off kilter, unlike myself and raw - as if layers of my skin has been hacked off and my sores are left to bleed. I find human interaction exhausting, limiting and frustrating. In Real Life, I have found nobody who can truly understand how lonely, sad, painful, brutal, traumatising and heartbreaking repeated miscarriage is and so I know it is only up to me to brave this initiation, find a way through and learn.
I keep being told that it is up to me to choose the way forward, that I can make the decision to be joyful whilst processing this grief healthily, so I can heal and set myself free. I know the universe is on my side and will help me to learn. In the meantime, I will just take one day at a time and trust that it is possible even if I am not there yet.
***WARNING - long graphic post and a little bit of swearing***
I no longer believe in blowing away eyelashes and making wishes.
My whole life I used to get so excited when I saw the tiny hair fall from someone's eyes. I would carefully scoop it up and present it to them... 'Make a wish,' I would fervently say, believing that this was their special moment to call on the magic and power of the universe.
When someone would give me my eyelash, or I would find my own, I would solemnly compose my wish, send it out and blow my wishes into the air. For the last few months my wish has been the same and I would wish our little baby, our second pregnancy, would stay with their mama and papa this time. We affectionately named it a name that would have no meaning in our daily life, but the song was significant and I thought to myself, you can't have a second miscarriage when you have named your baby Chumba - short for Chumbawamba - that would be ridiculous. Yet here we are again, and the poor little one is stuck with a ludicrous name now.
I had lost my innocence of pregnancy the first time around. When we told family and friends that we had become pregnant again, without exception everyone congratulated us and then wished us luck. Every single time I went to the toilet I felt anxiety and scanned my knickers for any signs. I would check for the discharge to make sure it was the right colour and consistency. If I felt a twinge or cramp I would run to the toilet for a quick check. Sometimes I wouldn't even go the toilet, at home I would just drop my knickers and ask my husband to confirm my findings.
On my 8th week I had slight brown coloured discharge.
I was at work and left everything. I called my husband and he collected me and we went straight to Accident & Emergency. We were so lucky as within 30 minutes we had been assessed and sent to the Early Pregnancy Unit (EPU) and was scanned. To our delight we saw our little perfect baby - they were the right size, there was a regular heartbeat and nothing seemed to be wrong. The nurses placated us with how lots of women bleed throughout their first trimester, that we haven't had pain and it was only a little brown blood so there should be no need to worry. Together we hoped so much they were right and I fled to the forums - all of them, I became a forums slut - Mumsnet, Netmums, Babycentre... you name it, I read it. There were so many stories of women who have bled and have been okay, even after miscarrying before.
Two days later at work I found more blood - red blood that filled my knickers - and I again called EPU. The next afternoon I was scanned again, fear filling me up and anxiety nipping at my heels, and I cried when the sonographer let me hear the heartbeat. I saw our baby who was very much alive. The Doctor later came in and gave me an internal, 'Your cervix is closed. There's no sign of cervical erosion. This just happens.'
So I calmed down. There were only spots of brown blood after that. No pain. No problem.
Except it wasn't.
A scan is a snapshot in time.
We went for a 'comfort scan' two weeks before the 12 week nuchal scan and we weren't worried as everything seemed to be back to normal. The bleeding hadn't returned, my belly did not seem so tender and I was feeling all the symptoms.
My husband had to park the car but as we were late I went in to the EPU first. I joked with the sonographer about my bloating, at 10 weeks my belly was so large I was wearing maternity trousers. The sonographer placed the scanner on me and said nothing, then after a while she said there was so much gas she couldn't see what was happening and asked if she could do an internal scan.
I asked if I could go to the toilet, stalling time till my husband arrived because I already knew what she was going to say.
He arrived just as she was placing the internal scanner in me and then she said the words I hate the most, 'I'm sorry.' No woman in the world wants to hear those words when they are being scanned. Ever. Now, whenever I have to let anyone know about my situation and the first words I hear are, 'I'm sorry,' I feel like I am experiencing a flashback and my reaction is anger - honestly, when someone says that, I may be saying some sort of trite response in return but I actually am just trying to find ways to stop myself from scratching that person's eyes out.
This time I left the sonographer's eyes alone but I burst into tears and clung on to my husband for dear life as yet again I realised I had lost a tiny little soul I so desperately wanted to meet.
So here we are again, on the merry-go-round of miscarriage.
I have calculated that I have spent just under six months in first trimester this year. Six months of nausea (and weight gain as the only way to stop my nausea is through eating), painful breasts, peeing constantly, and bloating so much I generally looked six months pregnant with a constant need to sleep at all times. What I have in return for this permanent hungover state is two babies to bury, a very deep and intimate relationship with my bed and so much knowledge about miscarriage and loss I didn't have previously. I am not sure this is much of a return on our investment - it has left me bereft, heartbroken, grief-stricken but most of all, it has made me fucking furious.
One of the hardest part of the situation is the loneliness of it all - the first time around everyone I knew had a story of miscarriage they could tell, they could relate to one miscarriage and the pain, discomfort and unfairness of the situation. Yet, this time around, the usual first response after the ubiquitous, painful, fury-inducing, 'I'm sorry' is about my being tested to see what's wrong with me, compounding the sense of failure I am already feeling. After that, it's usually silence or a random, 'Thinking of you' or an emoticon to let me know they are there. I am now not just a case of bad luck, I am recurrent. I don't blame people, life goes on, there's a world to be part of, but it is an uncomfortable place to be in - full of hard edges and muted impotent responses.
Being on the merry-go-round means I already know how to process the emotional response I am experiencing, I know what to do and where to seek support and advice. I know the process of grief and the journey that is laid out for my husband and I. I know about the possible tests I could take, what I would need to do to start them, how they are not always successful and how there may even be nothing wrong with me. I know about the physical process I am about to embark on and what I could try differently when we try again.
I also know I need to accept that the journey of parenthood is a path to becoming a warrior, whether we have a baby to hold in our hands or not. The whole process is refining us to be people who are courageous in the face of extreme adversity and forcing us to continually embrace acceptance and surrender in the deepest way.
Statistically, I still have a very good chance of becoming a mother. However, I also need to accept I may never become a mother in this lifetime. I may never know the joy of having a child in my arms that I can watch grow and become. I may never experience the labour of a woman who sees their child for the first time with a heartbeat and open eyes. I may only experience loss in this chapter of my life and somehow if I can make peace with this I will find freedom in this process.
I also need to accept that others will have the experience of motherhood and it is just as important for me to be able to remain open-hearted to their joy even in my deepest hurt - to be able to embrace everything this world has to offer so my heart can be open to it all. It will take some time, but that's okay.
But if I see an eyelash, there will be no more wishes.
I have never been in this position before and to be honest, before I found myself here, I had never thought about all the women who have been through this, who are experiencing the waiting for a natural missed miscarriage right now. It's comforting to know I am not the only woman in the world who is preparing for their child to enter the world even though we know they will never take a breath.
No one tells you about limbo - the waiting and uncertainty of each moment. The time between finding out your child's heart is not beating until the moment they can find their resting place. No one tells you about the agony of looking for and analysing blood on your pad or when you wipe and perceiving a glimmer of pain, hoping and fearing the process is about to start. No one tells you the tumult of emotions, looking at your belly every so often, knowing this is one of the last times you will see this child creating a hillock inside. No one ever tells you the struggle of never being too far from home. Just. In. Case. It. Happens.
Yet on motherhood forums there are stories, crashing together, all unique. On these pages there is fear, pain, agony, heartbreak, upset and the torture of waiting. And blood - lots and lots of blood, mixed with hCG levels, hormones, placenta, cord and the sac which some women will cut open so they can see whom they have carried, their particular miracle that was not meant to be, whom they call their Angels. I have read words of encouragement around the world from a sisterhood who have been there, who say you can do this and you will get through this, 'You have got this mama, you are a warrior and you will make this baby proud.'
And for those who had no indication of an imminent miscarriage, there is anger - so much fury at the injustice, treachery and deception. No one tells you how utterly betrayed a woman can feel by their body's lies. There is talk about hCG levels and how when they are still high, the symptoms of pregnancy continue - the broken sleep, waking up to nausea and having larger sore breasts. Women who are walking as if in water as exhaustion sits on their shoulders, their brains less capable of processing the world around them. And because of these hormones, their body still won't let go. It refuses to believe it will not be a mother to this particular child. It cradles the remains in mourning, clinging to its lifeless form.
No one tells you that if you are far enough along, a natural missed miscarriage can be like labour and you can experience the cramping, labour pains and blood just like any other pregnancy. No one tells you about women all around the world lying on their bathroom floor, almost wanting to pass out in pain or vomit with extreme nausea or sitting in a bathtub in bright red water needing heat or holding a sieve under themselves when sitting on the toilet as they don't want to lose their baby amongst the diarrhoea that is exploding because of the hormonal changes.
They don't tell you of women who want to miscarry naturally but who are bleeding so much they have to rush to A & E to be operated on.
Yet there is a huddling of women all around the world who repeatedly say they can't express what is happening to them to people in their Real Life because it's too intimate, real, gory and painful. The worry that people will not understand makes these women mute in front of family members and friends who can only say, 'I'm sorry' or 'I wish I could give you a hug.' Magnifying the impotence of friends and family who have no idea what to do or how to help, who have no idea what happens to a woman, or their partner, who is experiencing this. All I can say to those people is become aware, learn what it means when a woman says they are going to lose their baby. Please sit alongside them - whether in person, on the phone or by text - listen to them and hold them when they howl with grief, feel endless guilt, express their anger or anxiety about one tiny thing they think they did wrong.
Otherwise, your 'I'm sorry' means absolutely nothing.
And how to speak of the unbearable sadness of when you hear a pregnancy announcement, when you see another woman who is pregnant or have babies in their arms, against their chests. How to speak of the heartbreak and mixed emotions when people close to you bring a beautiful one in this world, ready for their adventure of joy. Sometimes no words can express what is felt very deeply inside.
One beautiful thing about humans is that it is in our nature to find a way through this. So in the forums there is also something else, other stories, and they are of hope, possibility and joy. Women who have braved the process again and have come out the other side with their baby's heart beating and breathing. Women who have had countless miscarriages, years of pain and heartbreak, who suddenly find themselves with a family of their own. Women who thought it was too late but managed one more time for their dreams to come true. 'It can happen!' 'You will be like us too!'
Now, in the waiting, I document everything. I document the slightest change, because I know that I will want to share my story with others so that whilst they are waiting, in fear of the pain, blood and their transition from motherhood into shidu fumu - a status so unbearable to the English language, we have to borrow from the Chinese. I will write so I am able to give someone else a little respite from their worry or concern and maybe one day, I will also be able to post a message of hope.
