i dont talk much about that friday afternoon when our world shattered into pieces. i don’t know what to say…
DP and I went in together to hear the heartbeat… within minutes we were broken. We were just…..I don’t know…. we were nothing.
I remember sitting on the curb, beside the car and i weeping. I don’t remember much apart from sitting on that curb, looking around and thinking that this wasn’t real. this isn’t happening. DP was slumped in the passenger seat also crying and I looked around and saw that we were parked outside the hairdressers.
I couldn’t understand how people could be getting their hair done and sitting there laughing when OUR world just shattered. When we were left so broken, so alone. I was (and still am) amazed that the sky didn’t fall….
But the thing that I remember the most, was just sheer silence. It lasted for days. My world was ‘mute’. It was surreal. It was oppressing. It was actually scary.
I go online… I look at people who have been through so much, like matt and heather and mike and I know what I’m going through is just a drop in the ocean… and i feel stupid…
I just stumbled across your blog and wanted to say I’m so sorry. I have been in your shoes. I remember being 10 weeks pregnant and hearing my sweet, caring doctor say, “I’m sorry, Honey, there’s no heartbeat.” I refused to believe her and she sent us directly to a maternal fetal medicine specialist for a more high tech ultrasound, even though I know she knew what the result would be. There was no baby anymore. My grain of rice was gone.
I think the cruelest part of a loss at the end of the first trimester is that oftentimes you have waited until the end of the trimester to tell anyone, you know — just in case. Well, when the “just in case” happened, I didn’t know what to do — just suffer in silence or tell friends, “Hey, guess what, I hadn’t told anyone yet, but I was pregnant and now I’m not and I’m really sad.” I ended up telling family and very close friends. It felt so awful and so empty.
I can tell you that I went on to get pregnant quite soon after the loss. While I still remember the shock and pain (emotional, that is) and horror I felt when I lost my baby, I can now look at my beautiful, smart, silly, perfect 5 year old little girl and know that she would not be here if I hadn’t lost the one before her. But that is a perspective that you cannot have yet — it took me until her birth to feel that way. Give yourself time, let yourself grieve. I hope that oneday in the not too distant future, you will be holding a beautiful, perfect baby and will be happy again.
thank you… it means so much to know that there is a light at the end of this tunnel. i need to know that women recover, that they go on. i’ve been told that for 2 weeks now, but its always been with what people think are caring comments such as ‘oh but it happens so often….’ etc. i don’t know whether to laugh or cry because in my case, every single person who said it has never experienced miscarriage.
thank you for your words of encouragement. thank you for giving me hope.