My Story of Miscarriage by Michelle

In January 2016 I found out I was 6 weeks pregnant. I was excited but also nervous and felt so surreal that I’m actually pregnant. We had only been trying for 2 months and had decided after our holiday we would start a family. As the weeks went on, I was reassured things were going well, I was feeling excited to becoming a mum, would it be a boy or a girl? What would they look like? Who would they take after, mum or dad?

The excitement I was feeling waiting to meet our child and hearing a heartbeat was about to become crushed within one moment -  this was one of the worst days of my life. At the 12 week ultrasound, there was no heartbeat, and just a circle where there was meant to be a baby. The sonographer had told me I had a miscarriage, how was this possible? There was no bleeding, no sign, I was 12 weeks, I thought they happened earlier. I walked out devastated, upset and in tears. My child had left me and gone up to heaven. 

The following week I had to go back to the GP, and was given the option of whether to miscarry naturally or undergo a D&C at the hospital. I chose to have a D&C because I could not deal with the pain of waiting for it to happen naturally, it was too much to bear. I was told this is so common to happen by people around me, and I thought next time would be different. 

2 months later we decided to start trying again; I fell pregnant within another 2 months. Unfortunately things were not looking good this time either, after 3 weeks of blood tests I was told the pregnancy was not viable. I drove home from work devastated, in so much pain and all I wanted to do was not exist, it would be easier not to be here then go through the pain of another miscarriage. What if the doctor was wrong and it was just a scare? Days later I had another ultrasound, there was no heartbeat and I had miscarried again.

Back at the early pregnancy unit for the worst 3 days ever at the hospital. I was met by 3 unsupportive gynaecologists: it was normal and I may have to have a few miscarriages before I was successful, they would not investigate until I had 3 miscarriages. How dare they!!! I had just lost another child and it hurt, they acted like I just should detach and just push on and accept it as normal. I had the D&C and mum took me back to my home town to be with family for a few days.

Over the 6 months I had off from trying, I was told by people who were trying to be helpful to not think about being pregnant, relax and let it happen. You see this was not the problem, I had actually got pregnant quickly, I just could not seem to stay pregnant. I felt no one understood me, the only people who did were the ones who had been through a miscarriage, talking to anyone else was pointless. 

The pain had not gone away, I had flashbacks of the miscarriage constantly playing over and over in my head, I cried myself to sleep most nights. I felt depressed and did not want to be here anymore. I had gained weight, felt unmotivated to go out and had to force myself to do so. I was not the happy fit person who loved martial arts anymore. Life went on, I still had to work. I work around people with mental health issues and had to hold it together and help them while I was broken myself. Months later I had enough and went to see a psychologist who diagnosed me with PTSD.

After getting help from a specialist and my GP I am now 8 months pregnant. I am looking forward to meeting my daughter in a couple of months, but my current pregnancy has not been anxiety free, I have to keep reminding myself things are going well and try not to worry too much about things going bad or being too good to be true. The memory of my children who did not make it into the world has not gone away and I will always remember them, when each milestone comes up but they will always be with me and not forgotten.  

Michelle

If you require support after reading this blog, please contact Sands on 13000 72637

Michelle Peruzzi

I have a Bachelor of Applied Social Science in Counselling, and currently work as a mental health advocate. I am studying for a Graduate Diploma in Psychological Science. I am passionate about helping others, love martial arts and am very active within this community. In my spare time I like to do puzzles, walk my two dogs and spend time with friends and family. I have a loving and supportive partner who I have been with for 10 years.

The Shock…and trying to look beyond the pain - Stevie

One of the incredibly hard things to deal with after a pre-term loss of a baby is the unexpected nature of it. We had plenty of time before the expected arrival of our bundle of joy and never in a million years did we think, just like that, it would change. The shock, the trauma, the trying to get our head around how yesterday/a week ago/a month ago I was pregnant but now I no longer am, but I should still be.  The “how did it happen?” and the “did it actually happen?” is almost too hard to digest.

My husband looked at his facebook account- there up the top was a post letting our friends and family know our beautiful baby was born but didn’t make it, and right under was the announcement of our pregnancy with him. A pregnancy announcement followed by a death announcement in a space of 10 days with nothing in between on his wall. That’s the shock of it- we were expecting, then suddenly we weren’t. The thing is though, something did happen in between. Our baby didn’t just disappear… we had him.  He was real, he existed and he mattered. We just didn’t get to take him home and live a life with him. Instead we will live a whole life without him… and it hurts.

Seeing our pregnancy announcement again after his passing cut through us, right to our core. Everywhere we turned there were things that taunted us in this quick change of life. A parcel of maternity clothes that arrived just two days before he was born was sitting on our couch waiting for us when we came home from hospital. It remained there for two weeks, unopened and now unneeded. I was too terrified to touch it, just as we didn’t touch the new pram we just bought that stared at us every time we went into the spare room. The week before I went through my wardrobe and packed away anything that wouldn’t see me out the second half of my pregnancy. So every day the simple task of getting clothes became almost traumatic. I still haven’t pulled out all the clothes I could wear now, as it seems too awful to wear something I shouldn’t be able to right now.

I deliberately chose not to look at photos of myself with my belly. And then one day I decided I wanted to. It hurt beyond words but as I stared at a photo of my staff members standing around me pointing at my belly with big grins on their faces, it surprisingly also made me smile. Because it was a photo of HIM. It was a photo of him alive and how we were already celebrating him, and that was wonderful. It was a photo of a time where I carried him, a time I feel honoured to have had, no matter how much I feel like it’s killing me inside. I decided then not to hide the photos anymore and have looked at them a fair bit since. I do however make sure I don’t look at them when I am too fragile to handle them.

And now although I don’t ever choose the clothes my other children wore in the pregnancy announcement, if they pick them out themselves I let them wear them. When they wear them I instantly think of the matching bodysuit to their tee shirts, the one that sits in his memory box that our angel will never wear. Although it saddens me greatly, it reaffirms to me that even though he is gone, they will always be his big brother and big sister, and that he is still very much a part of our family.

No matter what, the pain is always there. The pain can be crippling, consuming and devastating but I try my best to look beyond it to see the happiness and love behind. The happiness that was there in those moments, in those photos, and try to honour that. I need to try and hold onto the happy memories and the feeling of pride I have of him, how he just like every baby, is miraculous and wonderful, even though he didn’t get to stay. I need to revisit the joy and warmth and feel the love…because I simply can’t live if there’s only the pain. And I NEED to live. Not just for our other children but for him as well.

Stevie

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Stevie Vowles

Stevie Vowles has a 7 year old daughter, 4 year old son and a son who was born sleeping on 28/10/16.  Her journey led her to the upsetting discovery that there is often a great lack of understanding and awareness of pregnancy and infant loss. She has started an open and honest blog sharing her journey of Elliott's birth and the life that leads after for herself, her husband and her two other children, who also grieve greatly, as the first step in wanting to spread awareness and help other bereaved parents the blog can be found here https://elliottsstardust.family.blog/blog/