Losing, and starting over

*Tw ⚠️ miscarriage story*


I’ve been debating whether or not to write something down about all this. And then whether or not to share. People say “people don’t talk about this”. But I feel today people do, don’t we? Or maybe we just read a lot about it? Maybe it’s just one of those things that happen and we try to move on from it and keep to ourselves. I could just write “we had a miscarriage.” and that’s it. In a way it is, and some prefer it that way. But I’m interested in the bigger picture. Contemplating life and death matters I think becomes a natural process when life gets taken away from us. We’re reminded how little control we do have, after all.

What I like about sharing is what can be the scary part about it; that it comes out for all to see and stays there, but then again – that’s what made writers and poets all those years ago. It might be a lot more modern these days and anyone can consider themselves a writer or poet (don’t worry, I don’t), but it is how history and art and in the end- we, live on. I believe we live on through others (our children, friends and family), in who we have been, who we were to others, the kindness and hurt we brought, in memories and moments shared with others, even in the food we cooked or liked… And then there are the things that are physically still there after we’re gone; words, our handwriting, if we ever wrote a book or a blog post, videos and music and pictures, art, birthday cards, notes, recipes, contributions, donations, money, clothes and so on. We’re never really gone, as we’re still there; in all those things.
I’ve always been a person who would rather say something (or a lot) if I think it might help someone. I’ve always been an open book with my heart on my sleeve. And I’d rather stay that way. I truly believe we’re not meant to do any of it alone. We need and crave connection, support and love as human beings. We’re all born into a tribe, or we create our own. It’s how we survive.

Going through this whole process made me think a lot about loss in general and how we’re all a bit lost and lonely after the doors shut. After the dramatic events, the tearful hugs and the “I’m sorry”s – we’re left standing, with this confusion. What now? There’s a physical and psychological aftermath, all of the leftovers and dishes to deal with. And we have to be adults and keep living life, get from A to B, take care of others, do chores and jobs. The healing begins, in the middle of it all. I believe healing can be lonely, painful, sad, aggressive, happy, rejuvenating, confusing, numbing and distracting at the same time. That’s what I think we talk less about. The recovery process. And we all heal differently.

The physical stuff takes turns with the psychological, and it’s difficult to differentiate what is what. I asked myself many times; am I exhausted or just sad? Is there something wrong with me physically (naturally my hormones are all over the place) or is it just all in my head? Can I control any of it? What’s normal? What Should I be doing? Grief isn’t something that is encouraged to simply move on from, at least not without dealing with it first. But how does one deal with it?

The events

One ultrasound, chock, tears, hugs, a lot of pills, a lot of pain, contractions, boobs ready to feed a child that never came, fainting 3 times (once straight into the bathroom tiles head first), huge amounts of blood, more pills, vomit, thinking I would die and leave my family alone (terrifying), trying to manage recovery with a 2-year old running around (who also saw her mother bloody on the bathroom floor), uncontrollable hormones, blood transfusions, so much confusion, and trying to be an adult with responsibilities at the same time. That’s the short and raw version really of everything that went down. Maybe it’s good to get it out. Even the sad and painful bits. Reading it on paper and talking about it is different than the experience. Easier. Just words.

A relief, as well as one of the most painful things, was when we had our first ultrasound at week 12. It looked like nothing was there and I was so confused. I know what week 12 ultrasounds are supposed to look like, so I knew immediately something was wrong. I started thinking maybe I got the period wrong. But it turned out the fetus had stopped growing at week 6. It got to me, that we had to wait until week 12 (and from the start of this pregnancy I felt absolutely horrible the entire time) to find out I’d been walking around with a baby that wasn’t actually growing, alive and well. I had a feeling at times. I would f.ex ask K if the belly was getting smaller, but without any blood coming out, I was still pregnant. My whole body thought so. Inside of my physically capable body. Yes, even though I know it’s got nothing(!) to do with a capable body, I always felt “that would never happen to me, not with my healthy young capable body”. What an insult, I realise, even thinking that. Which is why I’m writing that down. People tell you “it happens often” because it does. It is very common. But it does hit you, when it happens to you personally. I’ve always said, with life-altering events that you don’t know what it’s like until you do. Losing someone close to you or someone getting really ill. We can all imagine, but we don’t really know. I haven’t lost a person that I spent every day with for x amount of years or so, but I imagine we all try to seek solutions and understanding of the world. Especially when it doesn’t make sense to us. We want an answer to the question why. So I thought maybe we lost the baby because I had covid for 2 weeks or maybe I did this too much or too little of that Maybe it’s because I might have issues with my thyroid. It’s hard not to go there.

And it’s hard to find a way back. I’ve lost my appetite, a lot of muscles and weight. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this weak and I’m still bleeding leftovers. But it’s all over. Life goes on. Maybe writing this helps. Maybe it helps someone else. Recovery is different for everyone, but one thing is for sure – healing takes time. We have to let it take time.