This morning I am going to meet Jenny the founder of Rock Up Frock Up - unique pop up re-homing fashion events across Hertfordshire and London. With 10% of all sales donated to the Butterflies Community with the aim to raise enough to make a real difference to a local mum who needs it, please visit www.rockupfrockup.co.uk to find out more.
The Butterfies Community provide a safe space where you will be listened to without judgement, a group run by mums for mums providing support to those based in Ware, Welwyn Garden City, Borehamwood, Hitchin and Stotfold. To find out more please contact Rebecca firstname.lastname@example.org.
"This is not an easy post to write and one I felt undecided about tackling but as I in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage there is a high probability that like me you could be one of this number.
I had 3 miscarriages between my first and second child. Those years when everyone asks when you’re having another, are you trying? Oh are you pregnant you look fatter/rounder/tired/ sick. It’s a tough time to miscarry not that anytime is easy. The first time I didn’t tell anyone my period was late, not unusual my periods are all over the place. I took a test and the line appeared and I thought oh fuck, I can’t do this again. We were not trying anyway. My husband was away with work and by the time he had come home I’d started bleeding. I put it down to one of those things; it was very early the test was probably wrong. Move on no one need know. I hadn’t felt pregnant so it was easy to ignore and anyway I had a child and was happy with one.
The second time I had been to the doctor, got the forms, the date of the first scan booked in and although my husband knew, we hadn’t told anyone else. Then on the Sunday I felt really ill, I had a really sharp pain in my side. Our daughter was playing up we were all in a foul mood and I remember sitting on the chair by the door saying to my husband this isn’t right. My husband thinks I am hypochondriac, and to be fair I probably am a little, this had got worse after the birth of my daughter with depression and anxiety every cold felt like the final ailment which would push me over the edge. He ignored me, then after crying for about half an hour we called the out of hours. Hours and hours later the doctor agreed that something wasn’t right, but by now it was late and she booked us in for scan at the early pregnancy unit at Lister (EPU – I had to google it) for the next day. It was an ectopic pregnancy, we went in and out of rooms with posters about God on the walls – I learnt quickly that If you get the room with the religious posters that’s a bad sign, if you get the other room it’s a good sign. We got the bad room then a string of consultants and then a vicar (I’m not sure why, I’m not even religious). It was late for an ectopic at 10 weeks. More rooms, then an operation and no time to go home and get anything. A bed on a geriatric ward (it was all they could find) where the lady next to me died of ovarian cancer and I cried so much they decided to move me. Then back in the EPU and back into the happy room, it had been two pregnancies. The scans and blood tests had confused them. This is very rare and hadn’t happened at Lister before. Now lots of worry about the General anaesthetic and the effects on the baby. Leaflets, more consultants, more scans. Moved to the happy room, the sad room, the happy room, more waiting. Go home, come back each week. It was my husbands birthday I had organised a surprise party for him. Off we went to the party. I looked like death, tore the plasters from the catheter off in the car, unsure if I should be happy or sad and pretended that I was surprising him so much I couldn’t be bothered to get changed from jogging bottoms and vest top at the party. Sister carried me home to bed and I lay there listening to all his friends who were staying in our cottage drunkenly lurch about. Another week, another scan all was still fine. I had to go to a work trip abroad, off I went. I came back another trip to the EPU this time was about 18 weeks. We had the scan everyone was laughing and smiling and talking about how good can come from bad then the sonographer went to get a consultant, who got another then another one who all whispered and then we were told this pregnancy is no longer a viable option. We need to book you in for another operation this afternoon. I can’t even remember why, there was a huge whoosing in my ears all I could think was the consultant was telling me this and her spanx were longer than her dress. We were taken to the bad room and out of the window I could see some sort of industrial chimney wafting smoke into the sky, which in my head was burning all the lost babies that week from Lister (*I have no idea what it is and it’s probably not even in the hospital). Clutching more leaflets which I couldn’t read through tears and another operation when I wanted to go home. I went home and cried for a week, and then I went back to work. A handful of people knew, family and childminder and I went back to women at NCT groups asking when I would have another. I did have another child, we spent the early weeks in the happy room at the EPU unit. I managed to not tell anyone other than when people asked me outright all the way to the end when I then turned up with my very special miracle baby. I have a girl and a boy, I would have had 2 girls or even 3 girls if fate had played me a different set of cards that night."
For anyone suffering through the loss of a miscarriage please find the link for Tommy's, who have a support line you can call that are run by midwives, trained in bereavement: