Miscarriage Stories: It’s hard to explain how much you love someone you have never met
'All I want to do is scream and shout and cry for my little baby'
On my second pregnancy, I was six weeks pregnant when I started to bleed. I rang my GP who told me that given the volume, it was very likely I was miscarrying. I went home and curled up in bed. Feeling empty and dreams for the little bud dashed.
Carrying on as normal to those around you was so tough when all you wanted to do was cry. Thankfully a colleague at work had previously confided in me so when I mentioned it to her, there was such a feeling of solidarity which was the beginning of my healing.
On my third pregnancy, an early scan at 8 weeks allayed our fears of miscarriage as all looked well. We were shell shocked at our 12-week scan to learn there was no heartbeat.
I'll never forget the tenderness of the doctor when he informed us that there was no heartbeat. Somehow I kept it together, I felt so numb but my husband broke down, which is forever etched in my memory.
The next day, we went for a follow-up scan at the early pregnancy unit and chose a prescription rather than waiting. I took the pill at 6 pm and started bleeding at 11 pm. I passed the foetus in the toilet at around 3 am. It was woefully traumatic.
Unfortunately, the bleeding got heavier and I began to pass out. An ambulance was called and I was rushed to A&E by two lovely paramedics who allayed how scared I was. Some of the placenta was still left so I was scheduled for a D&C as soon as I was stable.
The medical team were lovely and clinical enough but what really stuck with me was the number of nurses who squeezed my hand and empathised, they too had lost babies and understood. Our little bulb wasn't meant to be it seems. I often wonder if our little bulb was a boy or a girl.
I went on to have my second child but miscarriages never leave you. It's not ‘ok because you already have children’. It's not something you can just ‘get over’.
Magic happened. There was a spark. Just because it didn't have a chance to light up, doesn't mean it doesn't matter. It does, to both creators, partners, families. It's relevant. It's a major life event. It is a loss. It's not something to be ashamed of. It's nobody's fault. It just wasn't meant to be. But it should be discussed, supported, comforted.
I miscarried days before Mother's Day and told no one, in fact, the day after I miscarried I got on a plane to the U.S for work and pretended nothing happened. It wasn't until I lit a candle and asked my Nan and Grandad in heaven to look after my little star -️ that I felt like I could grieve and let go.
I went on to have a beautiful healthy baby boy but on Mother's Day, the grief came flooding back! It's so hard to explain that you love someone so fierce even though you have never met.
I remember being eight years old waiting in the car with my three younger siblings while Dad went into Roscommon Hospital to visit my Mum. She had a cold sore on her lip at the time and I remember trying to console my little brother that our Mammy would be back soon.
We thought that was why she was in hospital. A little sore on her lip. We came home and I overheard a conversation between my mother and her mother in law where they talked about a baby that was lost. I will never forget the feeling of myself and my sisters taking on the task of finding ‘the lost baby’.
We must have searched for days around the streets of Strokestown, so determined were we to find this little lost baby.
Mum went on to have two more children so I'm the eldest of six but only years later did I realise that Roscommon hospital visit was because Mum had miscarried her fifth child.
Up until her death last July at 83 she never forgot that loss. And it wasn't recognised or respected at that time which would have been 1968/1969.
My heart goes out to all women who have suffered this kind of loss And didn’t have any support for their grief.
I had a miscarriage at Christmas 2019 when I was 10 weeks pregnant. In one sense I was lucky it happened when it did, because it was Christmas I knew I wouldn't be able to hide not drinking from everyone so I told my family and a few friends.
It meant that when I lost the baby I had to tell them and so I had more support then if I'd been waiting for the 12 weeks.
I don't know if I would have told people about it otherwise, I live in the UK and when I lost the baby I spent almost two weeks in bed, unable to leave the house without crying.
I had a complete miscarriage so didn't need any physical intervention so after the scan where they told me the baby was gone and there was no aftercare.
I made myself a GP appointment for a sick note, as nice as the GP was, there was no advice about how I might feel, that it was a grieving period, that I could take more time off work. That doesn't mean people weren't supportive but there didn't seem to be any active support, I had to seek it out.
I was given a link to a charity that provides counselling services. Not an appointment or referral, just their website. It was like the professionals couldn't speak to me about it. I wish they had offered more, I wasn't prepared for how devastating it was.
My husband and family were amazing throughout, my dad suggesting counselling before the medical professionals. I had offers of visits from my mom, sister and friend, but in the immediate aftermath, I couldn't think of how I would manage that. I did go home for a week in February and just wrapped myself up in my family.
It's why I think that a special leave policy for pregnancy loss is so important. I didn't know how hard it would hit me and knowing that time off would be automatic would have been such a help. Partners need it too, my husband went to work most days and then came home to look after me. I can't imagine the stress he went through over those weeks, coaxing me out of bed and then out of the house, while also dealing with his own loss.
I threw myself into getting pregnant afterwards, there was a soul-crushing month where I didn't fall pregnant but by March I was pregnant. Being pregnant again was both elating and terrifying and in December we welcomed our beautiful daughter. It was definitely a blessing for me to get pregnant so quickly but it delayed grieving my first baby.
Giving Ailbhe her first bath left me in tears because I should have been doing this six months earlier.
18 months on I can speak more openly about it, telling more friends because if it should happen to them I want them to know there's someone to talk to about it.
But that isn't something to be ashamed of, we need to be able to talk about pregnancy and pregnancy loss more openly. It's the only way to make sure that the support needed is there for everyone.
I miscarried during my third pregnancy, I remember just feeling something wasn't right, it was my second baby's first birthday that day, so I carried on, hoping everything would be ok but knowing deep down it wasn't.
The staff in Portlaoise hospital were amazing. I remember crying, saying I had two healthy babies and I shouldn't be upset, the sonographer said that ‘it doesn't matter if you have ten babies: a loss is a loss’. It was the loneliest, emptiest, saddest time, and it's something that doesn't ever leave you, and with subsequent pregnancy that worry is always there.
I now have eight babies. I just had my last baby last September, and even during her pregnancy, I was still haunted by my loss.
It is 11 years this August since my miscarriage. I was absolutely devastated. I had the nursery planned and I was on cloud nine. I was out shopping and I started to get pains that slowly worsened and I was also bleeding. I was clinging on with the hope that this was just something that happened during pregnancy.
Frantically Googling everything but I knew deep down it wasn't right. I went to the hospital and was told there was no heartbeat but they needed a doctor to confirm it so I was sent home in pain. I passed the fetus that evening myself at home.
The shock and not knowing what I should do always stay with me.
I had to go back for a scan four days later. It is shocking that you have to wait that long. It was my first baby and I really didn't talk about it. I felt it was my fault and you feel shame. I'm so happy to see more people come to the forefront to discuss their experiences because it will help others.
I had a miscarriage two weeks ago and it has honestly been such a tough time. I have four happy healthy little boys at home and myself and my husband wanted to try for one more. Obviously, with four kids at home, it's busy so when I initially found out I was pregnant I was worried about how we’d cope and a thousand other things but was also excited that I was lucky enough to be pregnant again.
I had bleeding so went privately for a scan at eight weeks and everything was fine. Had more bleeding at ten weeks but I’ve always bled throughout my pregnancies so wasn’t overly worried about this either. But when I went for my scan I was told that the baby had died.
I knew before they told me because of how they were acting but because of restrictions in the hospitals, I had to hear that news by myself.
I felt terrible like it was somehow my fault because I wasn’t overly excited at the start or because of a thousand other things I felt I should have done differently even though I know the hospital says not to blame yourself, but it’s hard not to.
I hadn’t told people because we were waiting for my scan but the people that knew and we had to tell, I’ve been avoiding them since because I just can’t face seeing them. Our families and friends are absolutely amazing but I just feel now I’m meant to just get on with it and I don’t even know how to be normal when all I want to do is scream and shout and cry for my little baby but I feel like no one will even understand that because I was only ten weeks gone.
It was such a hard difficult time. I remember coming out of my scan and thinking one or more of those women in the early morning clinic are going to have to go through this in a minute and feeling so sorry for them that they would have to experience what I had just experienced.
All I want is to feel normal and not have to pretend I’m ok when I’m not but I just have to get on with it now for my little boy’s sakes because they have no clue why Mommy is so sad and angry at the minute and hope that in time I won't feel like this.
I was a newlywed living in Sydney when I found out I was pregnant in early May 2016, just weeks before I was due to move to Dublin with my Irish husband. It was unexpected but very welcome news. I arrived in Dublin at the end of May and two weeks later had a traumatic, very painful miscarriage that ended in surgery.
I was navigating life as a newlywed in a new country without a job, away from my family and friends. I only knew my husband, my in-laws and some of his friends. I went through a miscarriage without my usual support network. I was so focused on getting over the loss I decided to distract myself with travelling in Europe and looking for a new job.
I didn't give myself time to grieve and deal with the trauma. A few months later we got pregnant again but this time I had hyperemesis gravidarum. I haven't even dealt with the trauma of the miscarriage and there I was dealing with a different kind of trauma. That pregnancy continued thankfully but the long labour and birth ended in an emergency c-section which was another trauma that I wasn't able to deal with as I was busy looking after a newborn.
Fast forward to the pandemic and I broke after the first lockdown. I thought the depression and anxiety was brought about by the lockdown but what it did was it brought to the surface all the trauma from my previous loss and difficult pregnancy and birth. I never talked to anyone about it before because society dictates to just get on with it, it's all part of pregnancy and motherhood.
But it's not. Women should be able to talk about these things. Women shouldn't even wonder if it's ok to talk. I should've received the support I needed from the first trauma of pregnancy loss but I was too afraid to admit and ask for it.
I'm currently pregnant now with hyperemesis again and this time it's worse. It's a surprise baby, I was supposed to be one and done - after all the trauma I experienced I didn't want to be pregnant again.
I’m talking to a therapist about all this but it’s very hard as I’m still processing the trauma from the past and I’m thrown into yet another traumatic pregnancy. One day, in the midst of violently throwing up non stop I told my husband I hate being pregnant. What I really wanted to say was "I wish I have another miscarriage". I didn't think I'd ever wish that. If only I got the help and support I needed from the very start.
Recently we went through IVF. We were lucky to get pregnant on our first cycle but at our 6-week scan we were told the sac was empty. I spent the next two weeks in and out of the maternity hospital getting blood and scans.
They were worried it was a molar pregnancy so I ended up being admitted for surgery. I had never experienced a miscarriage before and while all the midwives and doctors were amazing, I will never forget the feeling of loneliness I had.
I suppose that was compounded by the fact I had to go through everything alone due to Covid restrictions (which I totally understand). I didn't realise the sense of shame you carry after a miscarriage. I was grieving but angry at myself for grieving something I never really had. I also learned that it is something not openly talked about and that, in itself, increases loneliness and shame.
‘I didn’t know what to expect’ My third pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 10 weeks. I was heartbroken. I felt I was treated very badly as a whole. When I rang the hospital after I had started to bleed, they were very matter of fact. I was scared and worried but all they advised was to stay home unless I bled so heavily that it became unmanageable. It felt like they were discussing a bloody nose.
When I attended the hospital to confirm the miscarriage they left me standing in the corridor with other pregnant women. I was desperately trying to hide my urine sample as it was full of blood so it didn’t upset anyone else.
When I was finally brought into the early pregnancy unit, nothing was discussed with me except I was challenged repeatedly about my dates. I was on my own, my husband was left outside the door, I don’t know why this happened.
When the scan ended I was handed a sample tub with what I now assume was the remains of what I hadn’t already passed and asked if I wanted to keep it. At this stage it was too much and I burst into tears and begged the nurse to get my husband.
I think we were handed leaflets. I actually ran out of the hospital to our car. Overall I couldn’t believe how coldly I’d been treated, this was my first miscarriage (and only) and I really didn’t know what to expect. I really feel I could have been treated a bit gentler and with a bit more understanding and compassion.
On our first pregnancy, we miscarried at 8 weeks in June 2019. It was the most difficult thing we have been through as a couple. I was not aware of the statistics before I experienced one. The Miscarriage Association of Ireland really helped me to cope in the days and weeks after.
‘Never let someone tell you how you ‘should’ be feeling’ I had a missed miscarriage in my third pregnancy. I had two little girls at home and we were overjoyed to find out we were expecting again. As a GP, supporting women through miscarriage is something I am very privileged to be able to do, but it also drives home the reality that not every pregnancy ends with taking a baby home in a car seat.
That said, I was delighted when my usual pregnancy nausea made an appearance and I headed in for an early scan without being overly concerned. My wonderful consultant told me she was worried that the baby was measuring a week or so behind, but that there was a strong heartbeat so maybe my dates were off. I knew deep down that they weren't but we needed to see over the next few weeks what would happen.
A fortnight later, just before my follow up scan, I began to bleed and my nausea disappeared. The scan confirmed what at that stage I already knew. The pregnancy had stopped developing around the time of my first scan. The uncertainty of the previous two weeks was replaced with sadness but also with a relief that at least I now had clarity.
I scheduled an ERPC for the following week (commonly called a D&C), but miscarried at home over the weekend. The physical aspect of things was not as gruelling as I expected, and I had the support of my wonderful husband and a few close friends through it all. The staff in CUMH were also wonderful in every way, especially the lovely sonographers in the Aislinn Suite.
We were lucky enough to conceive our little rainbow a few months later, so our story has a happy ending. But there is no doubt that a miscarriage or later pregnancy loss changes you, and colours your experience of any pregnancy to come.
I dared not to hope that things would go well, even though my ‘medical brain’ told me that the odds were in my favour. I spent the first-trimester second-guessing symptoms and holding my breath every time I wiped in the toilet for fear there would be blood. It was like I no longer trusted my body to do what it had done before. But it did - and I feel incredibly grateful that we were fortunate enough to have another little girl last year.
I am not sure if it was the fact that I talk about miscarriages regularly at work, or that I had several friends who had spoken so openly about their own experiences, but I never felt it was something I should keep to myself. And I hope that it has meant I have been able to support friends through the same experience.
No two people experiencing miscarriage experience it in the same way, so never let someone tell you how you ‘should’ be feeling. Your feelings and fears are valid, seek help from family and friends, but also from a professional if you need assistance in processing what is a devastating experience.
Be kind to yourself, you did not make this happen even though at times it feels like it. You have lost not only something you have known for six, seven, eight weeks but the possibilities of an entire lifetime that lay ahead of that little embryo. But know you are not alone, many of your friends, mothers, sisters, aunts have walked this road before you. Reach out, ask for help and share your story if it feels right too.
I experienced two miscarriages one after the other. To say it was soul-destroying would be an understatement. I blamed myself. I’ve had two children since that time in 2017 and in both pregnancies I had anxiety and I worried constantly. It’s something that I’ll carry forever!
I had an early miscarriage at nearly 8 weeks. I went to the GP who just said ‘you're lucky to have two kids already, it happens to two out of four - go home and wait for it to pass’.
No follow-up, just get on with it.
My GP is female and about the same age (early 30’s) as me. I’m still grieving two years later and to be honest it has changed me as a person. I’m bitter and find it hard to find joy in things.
My husband refuses to talk about it and it has not been mentioned in any extended capacity since the day it started happening.
I feel weak to admit that, and selfish and self-centred because I know people have suffered through much more than I have. I feel a grief and just an overwhelming sadness that doesn’t go away.
I know I probably need help to deal with it but I would feel selfish if I was to look for it. I am too scared to try again, so I won’t. And with all my grief and sadness I still feel like I am unjustified in feeling this way because there are people so much worse off.
I have three beautiful children from two pregnancies, I have twins. I have been pregnant ten times, I have lost nine babies, in that a set of twins. Every time I lost a pregnancy I lost a little piece of my heart.
I only ever told my sister and of course, my husband shared the grief. The pain is so real and so agonizing.
Initially, when pregnant I would imagine the future of that child, as the miscarriages continue I started to try to force myself not to imagine the future of this baby as a means to protect myself though that’s like trying to stop nature. Miscarriage is just awful.
I have had two. The first one was my first pregnancy and it was horrendous. I was hospitalised for two days. The second was my second round of IVF. That was earlier so not as physically painful but emotionally worse.
No one really knows about my second one as after the first I didn't know what to do with everyone else's feelings. It was hard enough to deal with my own. Also, while people mean well, there is no shortage of advice and platitudes like "you'll get pregnant straight away now" or "it's nature's way". These don't help anyone. Miscarriage is a very very lonesome place. I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
I got pregnant for the first time aged 29 after nine months of trying to conceive. I lost the baby at 12 weeks the day after we had told everyone we were expecting. We were completely devastated. I went on to have two healthy babies but I will never forget our first one and what might have been.
I have unfortunately suffered four miscarriages. We are lucky to have a daughter and son already but have always wanted another child. Our first loss was in 2016. It was a missed miscarriage so we attended for our 12 week scan,excited to tell the world afterwards of our news. Unfortunately our baby had no heartbeat.
That first loss fundamentally changed me. I spiralled into a deep depression. The worst part is the silent grief. You seem fine to everyone, no obvious evidence that you were ever even pregnant. But it is true what they say, a woman becomes a mother the moment they get a positive result on that test.
So the loss you feel when that is gone is a lot larger than one would think, no matter the stage of the loss. We continued to try to get pregnant again for another 4 years. Eventually, we got lucky again.
This was early 2020. I think it was because I was sidetracked at the time, my Dad was very unwell. Unfortunately at eight weeks, I started bleeding. I attended the hospital and it was confirmed I was miscarrying. The pain was unbearable as I was actually having contractions. I ended up passing my tiny baby at home but still had to attend for a D&C. I cried all day and all night. I remember being discharged home, it was Valentine's Day and trying to smile for my two children's sake who had made Valentine's cards in school.
Just four days after we suffered our second loss, my lovely Dad passed away. Looking back now, I don't actually know how I got through that time. I had this one, very obvious, public loss, with sympathy cards and condolences and support and understanding. And then there was this silent grief. Two very different losses, both equally devastating.
Unfortunately, we then went on to have two miscarriages during the pandemic. We lost a little girl in August 2020. I know she was a girl because it was my third loss, I was able to get chromosomal studies done, one silver lining they called it.
Such a thing should be standard as now I will never know what gender my previous losses were, not that it matters greatly I suppose. But I did find it comforting. This time around we had taken matters into our own hands. Our loss in February had taken 4 years and I didn't want to wait that long again to get pregnant.
So we decided to do IVF. Controlling the controllables, I called it. Best egg, best sperm, best conditions, all the medications to help. I had thought this has to work. Because it was IVF, I was offered early scans.
I was scanned at six weeks, seven weeks and eight weeks. However, because of Covid, I had to attend these scans alone. For the seven-week scan, I got to see our baby's heart beating. But then just one week later, I was told the baby's heartbeat could not be found.
I had to have another D&C and recover on the ward in a room totally alone. I cried and cried. My third time leaving a maternity hospital without a baby. My recovery this time was complicated as I had to be readmitted with an infection post-surgery. I decided to drive myself to the hospital during the night as I knew my husband would not be permitted in anyway. I will never forget the pain.
I lay there in the Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit in agony unable to get medication to control my pain but worse was that I was surrounded by women in labour with nothing but a curtain between us. I could hear their baby's hearts beating healthily while I cried and cried. We didn't hear from our IVF clinic after they diagnosed our loss. No phone call offering support.
They had our money, the rest was our problem or so it felt. Their accountant did ring my husband two weeks after our loss looking for our bill to be settled though. My husband had a few choice words for her. Poor timing and absolute lack of compassion. We felt very let down. We haven't heard from them since.
My most recent loss was in February 2021. A little boy. As bad as this sounds, I half expected it. My hope had diminished. I so wanted to be proven wrong. But again an early scan at 8 weeks showed no heartbeat. My husband and I hadn't told anyone this time. So our grief was ever more silent and lonely. My husband didn't get closure for either pregnancy during the pandemic. He never got to see our babies on the scans. I remember thinking when we lost our little girl, this is insane. My husband could have legally gone to the local bar to have a pint (so long as he got his €9 meal) but he could not be there to see our baby's heartbeat while it did beat, to hear our baby's heart had stopped beating or to help and support me during this devastating time.
And to think that even today, this is still the case is barbaric. I started seeing a therapist after my first loss. As I have mentioned, I genuinely believe it absolutely changed me.
My priorities changed completely. I started over worrying about my two children. Needing to keep them safe. If I could lose an unborn baby, I could lose anything. So I needed to protect them. I left my job the following year and am now a stay at home mom. I don't regret that decision now but it was completely a consequence of our loss. Today I still have hope.
Feel a bit pathetic saying so though. It stings a lot when I see someone announce their pregnancy. I don't want to be bitter because it's not resentment or jealousy of that person and their good fortune. It's just a sadness for myself.
What if it doesn’t? Can I live with that? The hardest part is not knowing why. That's another area where our health system fails us.
Why women should have to go through three losses before testing or investigations are done is absolutely barbaric. There is also no real care or follow up for finding a cause. The standard tests are done but outside of that, it seems like the docs shrug their shoulders. Try again they would say, maybe this one will stick. Right now we are in limbo. I'm in between wanting to try again and trying to protect myself and what little hope I have left.
I feel completely alone. No one is guiding my care or advising us what to do. All I know for sure is that I will never mentally recover from any of it. The silent grief will follow me everywhere.
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