Rebecca’s story
Rebecca shares her story of miscarriage, with details of being in hospital and how difficult it can be to talk about.
Maybe one day I will make sense of it all, I would love to try and work out a way to stop the embarrassment, and the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach when I hear the word miscarriage.
I lost a baby.
I’ve never said those words out loud.
It happened, and I have never been able to say that sentence out loud ever since.
There have only been a handful of times I’ve had to confront it the last 3 years since it happened, and each time I have tried to find every possible way I can think of to avoid using those 4 words.
I lost a baby.
Early 2017, I found out I was pregnant with baby number 3 and we were absolutely thrilled about it. 3 had always been the magic number in my mind. 3 was like the cherry on top, the icing on the cake, that last piece of jigsaw puzzle.
When I saw those two red lines on the pregnancy test , in my mind I was having a baby! I’d had two before, two big beautiful healthy babies, so another one was going to be easy peasy! I did not for a second think that those two lines staring up at me wouldn’t result in a baby being placed in my arms.
12 weeks went by,
12 weeks of growing another tiny human inside of me,
12 weeks of wondering if my children would be getting a brother or a sister
12 weeks of watching my bump grow
12 weeks of loving that tiny heartbeat.
And then it all stopped.
I lost a baby.
Easter Sunday 2017 I was woken up by a huge contraction, when I pulled back the sheets I saw I had bled through my pyjamas and I knew exactly what was happening.
My body had gone into labour and I was losing my baby. Contractions continued as we made our way to the hospital and I remember so vividly being in the passenger seat clutching my bump whilst two white owls flew alongside the car. Take from that what you will, I’m not religious by any means but it was a moment, just a tiny moment amongst the pain that I felt completely calm.
As we pulled up in the hospital car park the pain was unbearable, the contractions were still coming and as I stood up out of the car I felt an almighty gush between my legs as my waters broke. I scrambled my way to the A&E department, my husband holding me up as I tried to put one foot in front of the other. As the automatic doors parted the lights from the hospital stung my tear-filled eyes, I could see my white trainers were now stained red and I was leaving a trail of blood where I walked. I saw people starring at me through sympathetic eyes and I felt completely overwhelmed with embarrassment as I stood centre stage in the waiting room, dripping with blood whist my husband shouted through the glass at the receptionist.
“My wife is pregnant and bleeding”
The events that followed throughout that evening were horrific. Too horrific to relive and speak about even 3 years later but in short I had to push out a 12 week (later finding out I was actually 14 weeks) fetus that was stuck in my cervix whilst a doctor assisted with forceps to rip my baby away from me forever.
I will never forget the image of my deceased baby being tossed onto a steel table so carelessly by the doctor. Disgarded like a piece of rubbish.
The events of that night will stay with me for the rest of my life.
I felt empty. Completely hollow.
I think a part of me will always feel that way.
We hadn’t told many people I was pregnant, we had planned 12 weeks to be the time we announced it so going home from the hospital and having to encounter people who knew I was pregnant filled me with dread.
How do I tell people I’m not pregnant anymore?
How do I say my baby is gone when no one knew it was there in the first place?
I still don’t have the answer to that and I still cant bring myself to say the words
I. Lost. My. Baby.
Maybe one day I will make sense of it all, I would love to try and work out a way to stop the embarrassment, and the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach when I hear the word miscarriage.
What I have taken from the horrendous experience, is that miscarriage is not talked about enough. It happens to 1 in 4 women. That’s so many women suffering in silence, just like me.
Strong women who wake up every morning, slap on a smile and face the world whilst dealing with the heartbreaking mental and physical effects of miscarriage.
It’s so different for everyone but fortunately for us our story did get a happy ending, 3 months after my miscarriage I fell pregnant with our beautiful little girl, our cherry on the top. Ruby, the first colour of the rainbow. My heart will always have an empty little space, but my arms are once again full, she is our rainbow, after I lost a baby.