The power of talking

This morning I was helping at a playgroup I used to take my boy to. It reminded me how valuable my mummy friends are as we talked honestly and openly about the difficulties we all face at times. They were the first non family I left my boy with when he was still a tiny baby. They were the ones I've talked to about our infertility issues and how sometimes I think I am slowly going mad. They reassure me I'm not alone and give me a hug and a cup of tea and I feel better. 

And yet I didn't talk to any of them about my miscarriage. I'm not sure if it was embarrassment or shame. After all, the medical professionals had made it clear that it was nothing, something so common it was undeserving of anything beyond cursory acknowledgement. When doctors and nurses and specialists tell you it's nothing why would you think any different ? It's being daft to make a big deal about something that happens to so many women isn't it ? To think you'd be entitled to any kind of support or counselling to get through something so minor. 

It happens to so many of us and yet the experience of miscarriage is marked by the silence required by not having a space in which to share it. That and the personal emotions linked to something so personal and yet so common.

We found out on a Sunday morning that I was pregnant - we had been trying for over a year so it was a pretty big deal and we agreed that as it was early December we'd see how it was going before deciding if we'd tell our families at Christmas or not. We were so delighted that we were already thinking about what to tell our 2 year old son and if he would understand what it meant.

A short while later I was at the doctor's surgery with my son for something else and I mentioned that I was pregnant and something wasn't right. The doctor dismissed me with a "let's wait and see what happens" and sent me on my way.  He didn't ask what was wrong. The following day I knew something was badly wrong and took a test and it said I was not pregnant. I was distraught and phoned Hubbie at work to tell him what had happened. I punished myself for not waiting for Hubbie to be at home with me when I took the test. Then I made call after call for help. I called the surgery to see if I could see someone. I couldn't. I called the hospital infertility unit to see if they would see me for an early scan and left message after message - most were unintelligible from the tears as I tried to explain what was happening to my much longed for pregnancy.

Then I took my son to playgroup and talked to a complete stranger who told me she had miscarried a few times and she hoped it wasn't happening to me. I thanked her and called my neighbour to see if she could watch the boy while I went for a scan as a walk-in. She kindly agreed and didn't ask too many questions about why.

At the hospital I sat surrounded by pregnant women and waited. I felt increasingly scared and upset as I kept being asked what I was there for. Then I finally got called into a side room that was adjacent to the one where the scan was to take place. As I got undressed and waited to get called I heard one  woman after another expressing joy at the sight of her precious baby as I waited and prayed that  they would find something in my womb. The last time I'd been for a scan it was with Hubbie and it was to check how our son was doing. It was a joyful and exciting time. 

When I was finally called in the woman didn't look up, she just asked, "was it you who left all those messages in tears ?" I nodded that I had and apologised for being upset. She got on with the business of applying gel and had a prod around before doing the scan and telling me - very matter of fact, "nope, there's nothing there." Big fat tears rolled down my face against my will. I ached. I wanted to howl with the pain. She asked my age, I told her I was 42 and she said, " Oh well it happens at your age." We were done. I asked if there was anything I had to do and she said no and left me to get dressed.

• I didn't tell my family -  most of them still don't know and won't unless they read this. I told one friend the day after I had the scan that confirmed it and even then I dismissed it as 'nothing really.'

• Hubbie and I agreed to treat it as thought nothing had happened and we did.

• I felt stupid for making a fuss, so I didn't. It was nothing, the doctor and sonographer had said as much.

• I was annoyed with myself for doing the test, because if I hadn't I would never have known and we wouldn't have been so uplifted by the false promise of a baby that wasn't to be.

• I hated my body for failing to keep the baby, for being so useless.

• I was angry that I hadn't seen the signs when all the websites I was looking at kept talking about miscarriage. If I hadn't read them I wouldn't have cursed it and made it happen. Yes, I really did believe this.

I felt alone. As though it was just me and no one else - after all it happened so early on it didn't count did it ? Everyone else was entitled to feel pain and upset and anger as they had a 'real pregnancy' and a 'real miscarriage.'

It was ungrateful of me to be so hurt wasn't it ? I have one son already, surely another is just being greedy ? After all some women can't even have one child and I want to have another ?

Without support services women drive themselves crazy with self-loathing, punishment and judgment about something that frankly we have no influence over at all. The medical profession sees miscarriage as a perfectly normal thing to happen. Miscarriage isn't a medical or chemical process to me. It's the loss of a real person. The end of a baby that might have been.

I am grateful and blessed that I have my son and I give thanks for him every day. It isn't ok to tell me that I'm ungrateful for wanting another. Genuine and heartfelt empathy from other women has been my greatest support. It's not a competition to see who has suffered the most, but a shared experience that far too many of us have had. 

Mumsnet conducted a survey of the support services provided to women who have experienced miscarriage - this post is part of the campaign to illustrate and address the shortfall in appropriate counselling and care. Read here about the Mumsnet miscarriage care campaign.

My imaginary family (and other first world problems)

I have a lot more than this 

Talk to anyone who has known me for a few years and they will tell you about my compulsive shoe and handbag habit. Neil will tell you how at Uni I was invited to most concerts because I was the only one who had a credit card to pay for gig tickets. This is the only explanation I can (or will) offer for having been to see Clannad. Bee will tell you how I own more coats than it is possible to wear - I know this because when we were watching Buffy once I mentioned that she had a different coat on every night and Bee said the words, "Pot, Kettle, Black." SJ will tell you I have accessories ranging from belts and bangles to perky hats and pashminas. I might not remember what day it is, but I will be damned if I'm going out uncoordinated.

I mention these oddities as my evil capitalist ways have been curbed in recent years, due to a combination of reduction in income and changed priorities. Yes I know being a stay at home parent is reward enough - blah, blah, blah - and I genuinely do prefer to buy things for my son and Hubbie. However I appear to have swapped one overindulgent habit for another. It became apparent to me as I found myself picking up far too many Easter gifts yesterday - I can't say any more than that as Hubbie does read this and I don't want to spoil the surprise.

Hot Cross buns a-go-go

You see there are three of us and yet I grocery shop like the apocalypse is imminent. At Christmas I bought 4 Christmas puddings - 4 !! Our boy doesn't even eat Christmas pudding and we still have two of them. I've just stopped myself from buying a bumper pack of Easter eggs from Thorntons - I've already bought enough for all of us and all our siblings. In the supermarket the other day I bought up one of every type of Easter cake for a 'special Easter afternoon tea' and we currently have four flavours of hot cross buns at home. I reiterate, there are three of us.

Don't panic though, I think I've worked it out. I'm shopping for my imaginary family. I know, I know. Bear with me here. I'm one of four siblings, my father is too and my mother is one of five. Hubbie has one brother and we have one son. I always thought I'd have a pretty big family. I wanted to have four and Hubbie was kind of ok with two. Before we had our boy we were approved to adopt two children and at one point were asked to consider three children - a toddler and younger twins - so we would have been a pretty big family overnight.

As it is we have one child and he is gorgeous and we adore him. However, we had thought we'd have more and part of me clearly hasn't let that go. In my head I was supposed to have a brood of kids and I'm clearly shopping for them. That's why I have enough cakes to sink a small fleet, a freezer filled with mini twister lollies and enough straws to build a replica Eiffel Tower.

I saw someone this afternoon who I haven't seen for a few years. She asked me if I'd had any luck in falling pregnant again and I told her I had been and it hadn't worked out. She said, "Oh well at least you've got little one." Of course I have and he's not a consolation prize. She's not the only one to remind me that our family is incomplete. It's a regular question and I dread any family event where I'll see someone who's onto their second or third or more pregnancy. It reminds me what I don't have and it prompts them or others to ask if we want to have more children.

Of course we do.

I'm not ungrateful for my small family. I love how close we all are. I just have to get real about how much chocolate, cake and biscuits we can get through.