The 5th of October was supposed to be the day we could shout our news from the rooftops. The day we were allowed to openly express how much our hearts were bursting with love at this new little being who was about to change our lives.
Our 12 week scan instead, showed our baby’s heart had stopped beating at 8 weeks.
I think I can honestly say, I felt my heart shatter at the sound of those words. My screams felt silent as I clasped onto Lewis begging him to wake me up.
We’d had a ‘missed miscarriage’ commonly known as a ‘silent miscarriage’.
Well, I for one refuse to be silent about it.
I always wondered why the first 12 weeks are treated like a secret, why when you’re feeling at your most vulnerable and out of sorts you’re supposed to pretend everything is normal? We decided from the beginning that we weren’t going to keep quiet. In fact, Lewis told the neighbours before we got a chance to tell our parents!
We got to see your little heart beating at just 7 weeks. Your little flipper hands melted our hearts and made us feel on top of the world – a memory we will forever cherish.
The excitement we both felt was too much to contain and we both agreed that if anything was to happen then we would need all the support we could get anyway, so why not share the highs with the lows?
The love and support we have felt from our family, friends and colleagues has been overwhelming, in a time of darkness they have been there for us making sure we don’t get lost. We shared our joy and now we share our sorrow- something I don’t think could have been done if we hadn’t been open about our happiness to begin with.
Our world will never be the same again, we will never forget what was going to be. But that’s not to say that our future has to be overshadowed by this tragedy.
I’m a firm believer that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. And my goodness me little baby have you made us stronger. You gave us so much love we thought our hearts would burst. You also taught us how to pick up the pieces after our hearts had been broken. You taught us how to handle the physical side of miscarriage, the contractions, the endless hot water bottle run, the colossal amount of clary sage oil we rubbed to quicken the process. The realisation when contractions disappeared that our worst nightmare of having surgery to get you out was coming true.
You see, you just didn’t want to leave. My body didn’t want to give you up. I like to think there was just too much love in there.
Not only had I lost you, I was unable to lose you properly.
I had moments of feeling like a failure, I had failed to keep you alive and now I was failing to let you go.
But you taught me that, just like any labour, things don’t always go the way you want to. Sometimes you have to give into the fear and face them with love instead.
I love my body for wanting you so much it didn’t want to let go. I opted for a local anaesthetic so that I could experience you leaving me. The thought of waking up from a general to having you gone was too much for me. I was scared my body wouldn’t know you had gone, I was afraid I would pretend you were still there and forever hold on.
We spent the 50 minutes in surgery holding each other (along with possibly the best NHS nurse we could have ever wished for), laughing and crying through the most surreal moment of our lives.
We are so thankful for the love you brought us little one, and for the courage you brought us.
Never in a million years did i think I would have had the strength to cope with something like this. But you showed us just how strong we are, you showed us that life is there to be lived and nothing is to be taken for granted. Thanks to you we feel incredibly lucky to have the most amazing people around us.
You will always be in our hearts Mini Mushk. Never ever forgotten. Sleep tight.
Facebook ‘on this day’. My oh my aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.
Is it just me, or does everyone else absolutely cringe at some of their past statuses or should I say humiliating cries out for help.
Every January I get the same thing. 8 years ago, my heart was broken. Broken is probably an understatement. It felt as if someone had ripped my heart out in one swift motion and repeatedly stamped on it until i could breath no more.
I had recently turned 19, trying to settle in to my new life at performing arts school. Exposing my soul to further my Acting career and co-habiting with an array of colourful characters to say the least. To say I was vulnerable is a given, naive and vulnerable. Not the best combination.
Anyway, every year I get to be reminded of this god awful time of my life in which I felt so desperate to claw back my secure long term relationship (4 years and 10 months to a 19 year old feels like an absolute lifetime)- the only relationship I had had of its kind – that I turned to Facebook to express my cries for help. You might think that I was one of those people that wanted the world to ask me if I’m ok, or what had happened. But no, I was worse, I was the person that would write a status to sound like it was ‘ambiguous’ but really it was so obviously aimed at one person to read.
The worst kind.
I’m sharing this because a) it is funny really, in a you’ve got to laugh at yourself kind of way and b) because perhaps out there, there is a young girl who has just had her heart ripped out and thinks it’ll never mend again. And perhaps I could give her that tiny glimmer of hope that things are going to be just ok.
See, as dramatic as it may sound, I truly felt that at that time there was no point in me being in the world. I distinctively remember floating around in a dream like state, numb to the world around me. Feeling only the tear that seemed to live on my cheek, replaced by another within a second of falling.
I spent nights staring at my dorm bedroom door, willing it to burst open and see my ex rescuing me with a bunch of flowers, begging for me back. Telling me that it was all a mistake- I was worth something.
Nada. I stared for hours. Prayed. Only to be left with the realisation that, actually, I wasn’t worth much at all. At least that’s what I thought. I carried on this notion for a number of years (my therapist may say it still lives on in me, that little nook in my head that tells me I wasn’t worth coming back for). I carried it through an eating disorder, countless flings, an anxiety disorder, my career choices… the list could go on.
The point is that, yes it stayed with me. In some way or another, all these things stay, they are all part of what makes us who we are.
But I am happily married now, to the most wonderful man I could have ever wished for. To my best friend and favourite person in the world. If I had told my 19 year old self not to worry, that I would find the most perfect man who would love me for me. Who would make a vow to love me through sickness and health, till death us do part. Who would appreciate me every day, be as loony as me and who would declare in his speech at our Wedding that he can’t wait to start a family with me (absolute swoon).
Well, I just wouldn’t have believed it. I would have reminded myself that I’m not worthy of that love. My ex didn’t want me, and no one else ever will. (I was stubborn and an Actress – drama is my nature)
So, if you’re out there. And you’re sitting up late at night, about to pour your heart out on Facebook (or Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat.. there’s no escape!). Please don’t. Whoever left you heartbroken doesn’t deserve another inch of your heart splattered all over social media. You’re much too precious for that.
Peace and Love