To The Baby That Will Never Be…

This week was meant to be very different.

I should be nesting. Struggling to tie my shoes and cursing the cold weather as there isn’t much point buying a maternity coat with only two weeks left. Our family of 4 should soon becoming 5. And I’m so heartbroken that it’s never going to happen.

In a cruel twist of fate, all of this is falling during Baby Loss Awareness week, so stories just like mine are everywhere for me to see. I feel like I’m in an ever decreasing room and I can’t find the door. My worse nightmare came true and now it’s plastered across every news outlet as far as the eye can see. We need to talk about it, we need to remove the taboo, but I just wish it wasn’t this week.

The Baby That Will Never Be

I’m a walking, talking statistic. 1 in 3 pregnancies end in a miscarriage. I had two healthy babies and failed at attempt number three.

Seeing ‘pregnant 3+ weeks’ flash up on the test my mind ran away with itself. This was my boy. I was sure of it. I didn’t even know how much I longed for a son until that very moment. A mummy’s boy. The bond my husband had with his mum. That enduring love. My boy.

The baby that will never be.

I ran and told my neighbour as soon as I got off the phone to Mr L. Hands shaking as I showed her the photo of the test on my phone, no words able to come our of my mouth other than ones I cannot repeat on here. I worked out I would be 6 weeks, give or take, and kicked myself that I might not be able to ski when we left for France the next week. I said I’d keep it quiet for a while, until the sickness kicked in, I liked the idea of it being our little secret.

That didn’t last long. I had told two more people by the end of the day. And then a few of my good ‘mum friends’ at the school gate the next morning. I’m glad I had really, it made telling them the bad news easier somehow.

I woke up at 6am in pain. I remembered the same feeling, adrenaline tearing through my veins and an uneasy taste in my mouth, from going into labour with the girls. I knew then what was to come.

I did the school run with a smile plastered on my face, but I think my glazed over eyes gave me away. I had to stop the car twice on the way home when the pain got too much. As I fell through the front door I was rushed to A&E.

No heartbeat. Low HPG levels and a grey area around my tubes on the scan. As the words Ectopic bounced around my head I began to panic. I knew the risks. In trying to give the girls a bigger family I had inadvertently put my life in danger. The guilt I felt in that moment hurt more than the pain my body was going through. I hated myself. I was a selfish mother, who deserved exactly what was happening to her.

All I wanted was to go home. I wanted my babies. I needed my babies. I longed for my own bed.

Right in that moment I could have crawled under the covers and never came out again. It was the lowest I had ever felt. Everything was black. My heart as empty as my womb.

I did the only thing I could. I took a shower, got the suitcase out the loft and packed for skiing.

By the Friday I was given the all clear, I wouldn’t need surgery, my body was dealing with this on its own.

We went to France and I cried inside my ski goggles everyday.

Things have got easier. I still cry a lot when I’m on my own. Mainly through grief; at a life we will never know, but through guilt too. Guilt that I couldn’t look after that baby like I did my other two, and then guilt that I’m crying over a baby I never knew when I have two beautiful girls asleep upstairs. The guilt of a miscarriage is endless.

Pregnancy announcements have been hard. There is more guilt there too. I’m so happy for my friends, but it hurts me all over again. Like picking off a scab and watching the cut start to bleed again. I smile, hug and ask excited questions – but then when I’m on my own and it all sinks in, the tears fall. I hate being the person people are scared to tell that news to.

A door had closed on us, and we are just too scared to open it again.

There is a chapter of my life that is over now. And that is hard to come to terms with.I will never watch my body change, feel that first kick or meet my child for the very first time again. There won’t be more presents under the tree at Christmas. There won’t be an extra name in my Mothers Day cards.

I just have to keep going and not look back. If I stop and think for too long the pain may rip me down from the inside.

He will always be a part of me, the baby that will never be. A piece of my heart missing that can never be replaced.

But that is the life I have been given, and we must look at the positives now.

I’m alive, I’m loved and I’m strong.

And I will get through this.

 

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11 comments

  1. I just want to give you a massive hug and let you cry on my shoulder. I hate to think that you are feeling this. Miscarriage presents so many conflicting and upsetting emotions. And guilt is so strong. But you should be proud at how you are coping. This week will be tough and emotionally draining. Soon it will pass and then things will seem a little brighter. Hugs Lucy xxxx

  2. Oh Alice I’m so sorry I really really am. It’s a pain quite like no other but you will get through this and I hope writing this might have helped a little. Sending all the love in the world xx

  3. Reading this is so moving esp as it reminds me so much of myself. I have 2 wonderful adored daughters and wanted a 3rd child,the big family I never had. A few years ago when my youngest was 6 I was lucky enough to get pg. However at my 12 week scan I discovered the mmc having had an earlier scan that was fine. I’m in my 40s now and trying to accept its too late but struggling. And all the many 3rd pregnancy announcements are difficult. Sending big hugs xxx

  4. Huge hugs. I am so sorry. Thank you for posting this as there isn’t as much awareness about ectopic pregnancies.
    I lost my baby to an ectopic only four weeks ago and it was an awful and traumatic experience. One of the most stressful and heartbreaking things I’ve been through. It was a very much wanted baby and the 2nd one I’ve lost this year (last one was an early m/c) I have no guilt about my loss though. I was dealt with by a really lovely team at the hospital who were very kind and one of the best things they said to me was that it wasn’t my fault and there was absolutely nothing I could have done to change anything. Telling me that released me from feeling any guilt as I knew it was all out of my hands and just a very unfortunate event. I cried a lot of tears and felt very low. It’s taking time to heal up physically and emotionally. I also have started to avoid Facebook because I can’t deal with all the pregnancy announcements right now. I am so very happy for my friends, but everytime there is a random announcement, it catches me off guard and I get acutely aware of what I’ve just lost all over again and the tears start really flowing. I guess I just need a little more time to heal. I never told anyone in real life other than my husband so I had to walk round pretending everything was OK when it really wasn’t and that was so hard.
    You said you felt selfish for putting your life in danger by wanting another baby, but I don’t think you were selfish to want another baby at all. Wanting another baby is completely normal – you were never in the wrong there either and you definitely did not deserve to be punished for anything. What happened to you (and me) was a completely random event and we were just very, very unlucky. Luckily we live where good medical care was available. Huge hugs and wishing you all the best in your journey towards healing. It isn’t easy.

    1. What kind, kind words. Thank you so much for taking the time to comment – reading that has really helped. Thank you again

  5. I’m so sorry to read the pain and heartache you’ve gone through Alice. There are no words of comfort, and I can only (luckily) imagine the horror and grief you are feeling. But big hugs to you and hope that sharing your loss has helped in some way xx

  6. I felt I had to comment on this. I’m so sorry for your loss. I had a miscarriage 5 years ago and even now my brain will occasionally think “I should have a 5 year old, a middle child between my other two, how would life have been?” I found out there was no heartbeat at the 12 week scan. By that point, we had told everyone. We’d made so many plans. As well as the loss, I vividly remember feeling silly somehow. I felt like I had been so stupid and naive to make plans and tell everyone and just assume it would be ok because my other pregnancy had been. I was embarrassed everyone knew my body had failed. And I had to relive the grief so many times over, telling everyone who said @how’s your bump?” And it felt like such a waste, what was the point of those 3 months of sickness and tiredness, and all those plans? Like you, it would hit me when I least expected it and when I was alone. Of course, it gets easier, I focused all my energy on my daughter and made us as busy as possible so I couldn’t think and dwell. I thought, at least she can have 100% of my focus now and won’t have to share me with a sibling for the time being. We did lots of things we wouldn’t have done if I’d been pregnant or had a newborn, I just kept telling myself This was How It Was Meant To Be, after the initial gut wrenching grief, it does make you appreciate the children you do have even more. You have to find your own reason for why it happened, your own strange silver lining you can cling to. Wishing you all the best xxx

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