Our Second Miscarriage
*TRIGGER WARNING*
This post talks about miscarriage, the detail and content could cause upset and distress to those who may have experienced something similar. Please stop reading at any point if it is too much for you right now. Sometimes reading these types of stories help, sometimes they don’t.
My intent is to inform readers of the reality of miscarriage, physically and emotionally, and to share my experience to help others feel comfort that they are not alone in such a traumatic time.
Last year I posted the story of our missed miscarriage, what made it so gut wrenching was that it was our first experience of pregnancy, and first experience of loss. What I haven’t spoken about in any detail until now is our second miscarriage. It wasn’t as dramatic as the first, in fact it happened so fast and naturally that it could appear quite insignificant by comparison. But whilst the physical miscarriage was much easier to cope with, the fact that I’d lost a second baby impacted me mentally in a totally different way.
WHAT HAPPENED AFTER MY FIRST MISCARRIAGE
When I was scanned on the day we found out our first baby had died unbeknown to us, the sonographer found a cyst on one of my ovaries. She said it wasn’t likely to be related to the miscarriage but that it was sizeable and would need to be dealt with to ensure any future pregnancies were not made complicated. The consultant who we saw that evening and who conducted the miscarriage surgery confirmed it was a dermoid (mature teratoma) cyst and I was under very strict instruction not to do any kind of exercise or fast movements due to the risk of it twisting and severely damaging my ovary, or worse rupturing internally.
I had to fully recover from the miscarriage procedure physically first and by early April I was able to go for a second surgery with the same consultant and she removed the cyst from my ovary successfully (although it did rupture on the way out!). I was left with three small scars and more recovery time for the foreseeable.
There was a lot to recover from, my body had undergone two general aesthetic surgical procedures in the space of 3 months, my body had also been pregnant and then not so everything from my hormones to my scars all needed to heal and revert. I had to be kind to my body, nurture it with rest and care - it was a hard juxtaposition because mentally I was battling with the betrayal I felt my body had caused.
One positive thing the first miscarriage did accomplish however, was confirming that my husband and I were on the same page. We both definitely wanted a baby - perhaps more than we ever realised we did before trying to conceive the first time - and I remember very clearly my husband asking when we could try again.
THE PREGNANCY
Getting pregnant for us had not been an issue before, and soon after we agreed to start trying again low and behold I fell pregnant. We were both a bit more apprehensive about the two lines on the test we’d been hoping to see, but I couldn’t help but feel excited again too. I told one friend but caveat the news with a cautious “but we’ll just see what happens” because experience had taught me that not every positive pregnancy test results in a baby.
Miscarriage is horrific to deal with at the time, but what was apparent now was that miscarriage also brings a dark shadow that will forever hang over a person, tarnishing what should be life’s most magical moments. Finding out I was pregnant was no longer a joyous occasional full of hope and excitement. Miscarriage had wiped out the chance of the blissful happiness I’d always imagined would come from finding out I was pregnant. It wasn’t all bad though, by nature I am a positive person so it was natural that I felt a little excitement deep down and I couldn’t stop my mind imagining what if this pregnancy panned out.
But, within a week of finding out we were pregnant I started bleeding.
I knew instinctively that it was a miscarriage. It wasn’t spotting, it was bleeding. My pregnancy was over, again.
COMPOUNDED LOSS
For me, because it was so early this time, the miscarriage physically felt more like a heavy/late period. There was a lot of blood and this time it was full of clots. I feel very grateful that I wasn’t ever able to see any recognisable fetus in either miscarriage, I think it would be an image I’d find very difficult to process. But whilst the physical side this time was more manageable, emotionally it still felt devastating.
Weather it was due to how soon it happened, or because of our experience before, I had definitely stopped myself getting quite as connected and invested in this pregnancy, but it had still been real. A real life, a part of me, a baby in the making. I had still thought at times “this might be the baby we get to meet”, and pictured that perfect image of finally being a family of three, even though it was all with the reality of knowing it also might not happen this time either. But no matter how much you’ve thought about it and allowed yourself to picture the future or not, a loss is a loss.
A second miscarriage is a loss that is compounded by the first. A loss that felt heavier because it was a loss I’d felt before. The loss of something I was so desperate to have, and did have albeit for a super short time. The loss of a dream that had been taken away from me once again. The loss of a future as a mother to this baby. Another loss I had to grieve.
MAKING SENSE OF IT
It was less than ideal timing, I was miscarrying on my birthday and instead of being in the mood to celebrate my mind was in a dark place questioning so many things. What did I do wrong this time? Why can’t I stay pregnant? How many more times is this going to happen? What is wrong with me?
Not knowing the reason why a miscarriage has occurred is torture - and I’m not exaggerating. With the first miscarriage you can possibly find comfort through some of the clichés like ‘it’s something many women go through’ or ‘my body knew what it was doing’, but when it happens for a second time the natural (and quick) response is to blame yourself. I was the common denominator after all.
With the self blame came hatred, resentment, and sadness. It is a dark spiral of thoughts and feelings when you are craving answers and reasons you’ll never get. You question yourself, your body, your ability; you wonder if this repeat experience is the universe or higher power trying to tell you that motherhood isn’t part of your plan. I can remember trying to convince myself that perhaps I was destined to just be the coolest auntie to my friends and families kids instead.
While there is absolutely nothing wrong with not having children and throwing yourself wholeheartedly into being the greatest auntie or godparent or friend, for me this didn’t feel like a choice. My choice was to become a mother, that was my wish, my desire, my hope. My body wasn’t cooperating and I felt so out of control and angry that mother nature seemed to have given me a maternal gene and drive and desire, but not the physical capabilities of sustaining a successful pregnancy. It felt so incredibly unfair and upsetting, and difficult to understand.
It took a lot of strength to pull myself out of the negative spiral and inner talk. And it took a huge amount of courage (or perhaps it was sheer bloody mindedness) to try and conceive again.
LOOKING FOR HELP
With the missed miscarriage we had needed medical professionals to have scans and procedures imminently, but with a natural miscarriage I was just at home dealing with it alone. I didn’t need intervention - and for that I’m sure I should be grateful - but I also wondered how and who I should tell that this was happening again. I knew that you don’t get a referral until you’ve had three miscarriages so with the need to tell someone official I thought it best to tell my GP so at least it was on record as happening a second time, and I’d be one step (or should I say one miscarriage) closer to potentially getting some medical help.
I got a GP appointment but was faced with a rather uncaring doctor who didn’t really understand why I was there or what I wanted from her - and to be fair I wasn’t sure either. I knew she wouldn’t have a magic wand or solution up her sleeve, but I had expected a little more compassion than I received. She could see I was upset, and when she asked what I wanted I just blurted it out… I asked if I could be referred to a specialist as I didn’t want to go through it again before being seen. She agreed! And put in a referral for me to be seen at a specialist hospital in just over a months time.
When you experience miscarriage for the first time you hear about how common it is. But when you read up on multiple miscarriages you start reading about how rare it is. Suddenly the stats that brought a tiny bit of comfort the first time, can suddenly make you feel like quite the outsider and anomaly. I’d never wanted to be part of the 1 in 4 statistic of pregnancies that end in miscarriage, and now I was part of the 2% that experience two miscarriages in a row. I suddenly became paranoid that I was destined to become part of the 1% who experience three or more. I was dealing with a second miscarriage whilst simultaneously panicking about potential future ones.
I had a feeling that at the specialist appointment they’d tell me they couldn’t do anything until it happened a third time, but by some kind of fate I never needed that appointment. I fell pregnant successfully in my very next cycle - but kept the appointment up until the day before just in case I lost this one too.
DID YOU KNOW?
Miscarriages are not categorised as ‘Recurrent Miscarriages’ or ‘Recurrent Pregnancy Loss’ until you’ve endured three. THREE! You have to go through what I can only describe as some of the most traumatic times of my life three times over before someone will even think about helping you medically. And even then you go to appointments knowing that the likelihood of actually getting an answer as to why your body cannot sustain a pregnancy is slim to none. You have to have your hope crushed, your heart broken, and have babies die three times in a row before you can ask for official medical help to look into any possible reason as to why this is happening.
It boggles my mind that one miscarriage isn’t enough for your GP to refer you to a specialist or for investigations to start. After the second time, you are so incredibly fragile having gone through something traumatic twice over and the heinous thing is that you know you have to go through it all at least once more before any medical assistance can be provided. This rule angers me so much, and if it sparks even a little notion of injustice in you I urge and plead you to sign the petition to have miscarriage addressed medically from the first instance.
My heart goes out to anyone who has suffered a miscarriage, one or many. Each one is a loss and whatever your feelings are, please know they are valid.
I am not a trained expert but my door (and inbox) is always open to offer comfort, empathy, and support. Please do not feel you are alone no matter where you are on your journey to motherhood.
