Trying to Conceive Following Miscarriages by Emily

As I sit here writing this I am currently in limbo land, still possibly pregnant and experiencing the odd reminder through a wave of nausea, but looming is an impending miscarriage, now my sixth in total. Having seen a heartbeat last week, we were told that it was too slow for 6.5 weeks and that loss was inevitable.

Waiting to miscarry is almost as bad as the miscarrying stage itself, at least then you can start to pick up the pieces and try to move on, but the waiting game is well, a cruel joke.

My partner and I have been trying to conceive for coming up to 2.5 years and while we've had no trouble falling pregnant, maintaining a pregnancy beyond the first trimester seems to evade us. Over this time I've seen A LOT of friends and work mates announce their pregnancies, often just as I am experiencing a loss. Although you may think it gets easier, each happy announcement is a huge blow and makes me wonder time and time again "What is wrong with me?"

I think my most difficult loss to date was my second. We saw the heartbeat at 6.5 weeks and everything was looking perfect, a strong heart rate and the foetus was to size. Fast forward a week or so and I noticed I felt a lot 'less pregnant' and a lot more 'normal'. I organised a GP appt and the Dr reluctantly let me book an early scan at 9 weeks for my peace of mind. Needless to say my intuition was spot on and as the silence lingered during my scan, the doctor taking longer and longer to say anything, I knew we'd had another loss. Even though I had my suspicions, it still threw me for six as really I knew little about pregnancy symptoms still. The aftermath of that loss still makes me feel sick. I cried, I mean bawled, deep primal bawls when I got home, not stopping for days. Waking up in the mornings and remembering I wasn't pregnant anymore would set me off for another round of being a sobbing mess. I now hate, I mean truly detest, going for scans and will be in a bad mood leading up to them, picking petty arguments with my partner. Luckily for me he can now see I am only lashing out due to my anxiety levels going through the roof, but it's not nice.

Something I mourn still is my former trust in my body. No one believes they are going to be the 1 in 8 females that has trouble conceiving naturally. Although like a lot of females I have never completely loved my body, I always believed that if I looked after it, it would serve its purposes and love me. Every time I endure a loss it takes me a long time to even want to start to nourish my body again, it's like I feel like punishing it with bad food and no exercise for letting me down...again.

I've decided to start this blog for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I believe it will serve me in a cathartic sense, a place where I can freely express my thoughts as they arise. Secondly and less selfishly, I really hope anyone reading may identify with some, anything,  that I share and feel less isolated in their own journey.  

Emily

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

Emily Allen

Hi my name is Emily, I live in Tasmania. My partner and I are not going through the nicest journey, having now had 6 unexplained miscarriages in total. We've had every test done imaginable (which haven't given us any idea of what is going wrong) and are now looking to go down the pre-genetic screening route.  I know we will get there soon, we have to, but the path to parenthood is definitely tougher than I ever imagined it would be

I hope that in sharing some of my thoughts and experiences I might help someone else feel less isolated.

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.

Losing a Lifetime of Dreams by Mel

On the 28th of September, 2014 at 10:15am, I welcomed & said goodbye to my daughter Lacey. She was stillborn at 30 weeks gestation. The pregnancy had been normal, with just the usual morning sickness. The morning of the 27th of September I had woken up & noticed a lack of movement.  Having had my first daughter delivered at 33 weeks by emergency c section, I was pretty certain things weren't right. I had to work that day:  I am a hairdresser & was doing a wedding up at Noosa.   I couldn't get to the hospital straight away, so went against my instincts & drove to Noosa. I thought Lacey was still moving a little bit, just not a lot. I called my obstetrician & told him she wasn't moving as much & I felt like I was in the early stages of labour. I was told to go home & rest. My gut instinct told me something was definitely wrong, I drove to the hospital to be checked. I can remember every detail of that night. The Doppler placed on my belly, the deafening silence. The midwife trying her best to reassure me that everything would be ok.   I knew she was gone.  My obstetrician came & scanned me.  I saw her little chest where her heart should be beating. 

His words .. "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat." 

In that exact moment I could feel myself breaking from the inside out.  I immediately went into survival mode. I contacted everyone I needed to & prepared myself mentally for what I was about to endure. I was induced 3 times. I felt as though I had left my body & was watching this nightmare unfold. My midwife, Carla, was absolutely amazing.

When it came time to push, I panicked & said I couldn't do it. She held my hand tight. "You're not alone, I am here & I will help you"; 3 pushes & my beautiful daughter was  born & placed on my chest. She was perfect, silent, still. I remember praying so hard that she would cry, I held her tightly, please wake up.  I kissed her little face & perfect fingers. I rocked her & hugged her. I was able to spend the night with her, in her cold little cot. I remember just staring at her & thinking to myself that this couldn't be real. 

Her death still consumes me, she is missed so much. I have had 2 more miscarriages since losing her. One at 11 weeks & my most recent one in March 2017 at 12 weeks, another girl. Another sister for oldest daughter Scarlett, who is now 4. My miracle. As someone who has suffered a stillbirth & 3 miscarriages, I can say all pregnancy loss is traumatic & devastating. 

You lose a lifetime of dreams. Losing Lacey changed me as a mother & a person. I dream of her & think of what should have been. Each year on her birthday we release yellow balloons. I feel her presence everywhere. She is loved, she is missed & she is remembered.                                                                   

Mel

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

Mel Tauletta

Hi my name is Mel, mother to Scarlett, aged 4 , my miracle born at 33 weeks, Lacey, born sleeping at 30 weeks & 3 other angel babies lost through miscarriage at 12 weeks. I lost Lacey due to a placental abruption, other miscarriages are unexplained. It's been 3 years since I lost Lacey & I can only now speak about her without crying, although a piece of my heart will always remain with her. I will keep trying for my rainbow baby. I hope sharing my story will help others learn to speak about their children who didn't make it earth side. We are not alone.

WHY?? by Diann

When I was 19, I discovered I had a narrowed heart valve which would require surgery somewhere in the future.  I had our son 2 years later and had no problems at all throughout the pregnancy, but was advised not to have any more babies in case it put too much strain on my heart.  I had my mitral valve replaced in 2005, and now have to take warfarin daily for the rest of my life. My surgeon warned us of the dangers if I ever fell pregnant, so in 2006 my husband had a vasectomy. We were happy with the family  we had.

Very surprisingly, I found out in February 2009 that I was pregnant, however the following day, I was rushed into hospital with pancreatitis. During my 2 week stay in 

hospital, I miscarried (I was 9 weeks pregnant). We then discovered that my husband’s vasectomy had reversed! My raging hormones and subsequent long talks with my husband, led us to a meeting with my cardiologist to discuss having a baby. When we were given the green light, we started trying, and fell pregnant almost immediately in January 2010.  My warfarin was stopped, and I had to self-administer 2 x heparin injections a day. Unfortunately, communication between my GP and cardiologist had broken down, and at 7 weeks pregnant I was admitted to hospital with a blood clot in my mechanical heart valve, as my body was not absorbing the heparin being injected into my thigh. I was given 2 options - I could have a clot busting drug (which was not guaranteed to be successful) or I could have my valve replaced again. We opted for the latter, as if the first option failed, I would need surgery anyway which would be more dangerous after taking the drug.

My mother rushed the 30 miles to the hospital with our son, to see me before going to theatre. My surgeon advised it would be highly unlikely that our baby would survive as  my blood pressure would drop too low.

The surgery was a success, and 2 days later we got to see our miracle baby's heartbeat on the ultrasound screen. I was in hospital for 7 weeks, until I could go back on warfarin safely. Everything went well for the next 14 weeks, and we found out we were having a little girl.

When I was 28 weeks pregnant, I noticed I hadn't felt our little girl move very much. I went to my local maternity unit and heard her heart beating - such a relief! I had to go back later that day to have a trace done, then on the journey home I received a call to go through to the main maternity hospital as a precaution. When we got there we realised everything was not okay. The on-call obstetrician advised our little girl was in distress and had to be delivered ASAP. I was taken to theatre, not knowing the

 heartbreak awaiting me when I awoke....

What I was not aware of was that warfarin can cross the placenta. This had caused a bleed on our daughters brain.... nothing could be done to save her.  I was taken to see her for the very first time, in the neo-natal unit. The tiniest baby I've ever seen, so very perfect! We were taken to an office where we were asked to give permission to withdraw treatment.

We were taken to the private unit where we had our own family room. The hospital chaplain came to baptise Maia Jane, our very immediate family there to share this precious time. Maia never woke up in the 18 hours she was in this world. She passed away very gently in my arms.  I have never experienced pain like the pain I felt in those first few weeks, the feeling of helplessness, blame, anger, and the deepest sadness.

It's been just over 7 years since our angel died. We now have our rainbow Sophia who was born 9 days before Maia's first birthday. I had 2 x daily heparin injections, weekly blood tests and fortnightly heart scans throughout my entire pregnancy.

I felt that we had gone through so much to eventually have Maia, to lose her was the cruellest part of life ever! We always felt it was meant to be - fate!  But I cried to 

God, asking "WHY"!

I would like to spread the word to any woman on warfarin, warning of the dangers as my obstetrician merely said to me "there was always a chance this could happen"!!!  

                                                                                                           Diann

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

Diann

Hi, my name is Diann, and I live in Perth, Western Australia, but originally from Scotland.  I am a married mother of 2 children here on earth (age 20 and 6) and 2 in heaven (1 miscarriage and 1 neo-natal death).  Aside from my day-to-day work, I am a Parent Supporter with Sands on the 1300 line.  Sands were a huge support to me, and now I want to be there for others.  My hope is that by sharing my story, it will bring awareness, and save others from the same fate as our family

28 Years Today (30/8/2017) by Kathy

Kathy wished to share a poem that she wrote  after their son Anthony was still born many years ago. He was their first born.

28 years ago today

I was getting ready to say "gidday"

And welcome you to our family

Our first born child named Anthony

But your life was cut so short

And now I sit here deep in thought

What would you have grown up to be

A butcher a baker or joined the Army

But the answer I will never know

Because it was your time to go

The tears I cry for you today

Will never ever go away

From the time I rise to the time I sleep Your photo I will always keep Safe in a locket dad gave to me My darling son Anthony

 Kathryn©

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

Helpful tips for other single bereaved mothers by Emma

I wish someone had pulled me aside and told me to do what I need to do. Grieve in whatever way I need to. 

Regardless of what anyone tells you, this is your journey. 

Do what you need to do. Grieve in your own way, don’t ever let anyone judge you or tell you how to grieve. Don’t let anyone ever tell you to get over “it”. Because “it” has a name! In my case, Lynette Mary Rose.

Unfortunately there is no map of the correct way to grieve. My motto now is as long as it’s not hurting myself or others then go for it. Do what you need to do. The world will adjust.

Early on, I was so concerned with whether or not I was “doing it” right. I sought advice from those around me. I was on my own and I didn’t know what to do. Lynette’s father and I had split during the pregnancy.  When Lynette died, I had no one. I felt alone and isolated. My family were great. But I felt that they struggled in supporting me early on because they didn’t know how to help me. They just wanted to take away the pain. 

The hospital gave me a Sands brochure. I saw that there was a 24/7 number to call. But for weeks, I didn’t call. I didn’t want to bother anyone. I just wanted Lynette back. 

After Lynette’s funeral, I felt comfort in visiting her at the cemetery each day. The baby section is beautiful. The gardens are amazing. I felt the need to be with her and that was the only place that I felt close to her. Friends and family didn’t quite understand my need to go there so often. I got criticized and judged for going by close friends, to the point where on one of my bad days, I didn’t go. I was at home, a complete mess crying because I was scared of what people thought of me if I went to visit Lynette. But yet that urge to be close to her didn’t go away.

Those same friends were not with me when I needed them. Those same friends were only there at the beginning. They weren’t there checking up on me months after I lost Lynette. It was at that point, I decided to do what I needed to do for me. Not for anyone else but for me. It’s so easy for others on the outside who haven’t experienced losing a child to judge or comment. Believe me losing your child is COMPLETELY different to any other grief you will experience in your life. 

I have lost friends, I accept that and I am ok with that. Initially I was hurt and upset but I soon realised that the people that were coming into my life after I lost Lynette were far more important to hold onto and cherish than the ambivalent people in my life. Find people who are prepared to listen, care for you and support you. The ones that don’t care if you have told them the same story 1000 times. The ones that will see through your mask that you put on for the world. The ones who are there for you no matter what.

And most importantly, remember you are not alone! Sands is an amazing organisation who has provided me support when I really needed it. It wasn’t until I was about 9 weeks into my journey that I reached out and connected with Sands. I wish I did it earlier!

My story isn’t over. I have good days, bad days and really bad days. I still visit Lynette frequently, not very day but when I need to. The pain is still there. I don’t think it will ever go away. You just learn how to adjust to a new normal. I still have so much to learn but I know I am going to be ok because I have an army of women who have gone before me who are going ok and there’s some just starting their journey that need support. We are in this together. 

Emma

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

Emma Pritchard

My name is Emma. I live and work in regional Victoria as an Administrative Officer. I am a single bereaved Mother to Lynette Mary Rose. My daughter was stillborn on the 13th of May 2017.  I was 36 weeks pregnant and had gone in for a routine check up when I found out that I had lost Lynette. I think it is so important the work that Sands does and I wanted to share my story in the hope that it would help someone else on their journey. Most importantly help other women know that they are not alone. 

Father's Day 2017 by Ted

Today is Father’s day 2017 and it’s a difficult day to say the least. While many of my friends are enjoying being spoilt with gifts and meals my wife and I are making plans to avoid public places and to find a gap in the rain to visit our daughter at the cemetery.

This time last year was an exciting time for us. My wife was five months pregnant with Ella and we were eagerly anticipating her arrival in February 2017. I had received some text messages from friends and family wishing me a happy father’s day in advance and Suzi and I talked about how different our life will be this time next year. Little did we know that ‘different’ did not mean better.

A couple of days after the 34-week mark we went into the hospital because we hadn’t felt Ella move that evening before we went to sleep. Tragically we found out that she had passed away. In that instant our life was turned upside down and inside out and we had to make a decision as to when we wanted her to be delivered. We decided to deliver the next day and after being induced Suzi gave birth to our beautiful little girl two days later. When Ella was born we couldn’t believe how perfect she was. She had a perfectly formed face, hands and feet and we were instantly in love with her. We spent the next six hours holding, bathing, talking and connecting with her. We were both excited to meet and hang out with her. Having to say goodbye, however, was the most difficult thing you could ever imagine. After our return home we had to transition from buying prams and change tables to buying a headstone and casket.

To say that our lives are different would be an understatement. Prior to Ella’s death we could only see the good in the world, in people, in relationships and our future. Now this tragedy has tarnished that bright eyed and bushy tailed perception of the world. You see, we have always believed that good things happen to good people. The reality is, of course, terrible things can also happen to good people. Just because you pay your taxes on time, are polite to strangers and ingest positive physical and mental nutrition does not guarantee you the birth of a healthy living child. And even though life has dealt us a shitty hand we still appreciate and are thankful for Ella’s short life. In our minds Ella lived for 34 weeks inside Suzi and in our home before she passed away. We talk about her often and take some level of solace in the fact that we did get to hold and nurture her for a brief moment outside her cocoon. 

We celebrate and honour her 34-week life by keeping her memory alive with conversation, keepsakes and visits to her resting place. For us she was not a tragedy, a sad event or mistake. She was and is our first daughter.            

Ted

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Ted Argyle

Hello my name is Ted and I am a full time martial arts instructor. My wife, Suzi, and I lost our precious little girl, Ella Rose Argyle, on the 21^st January 2017. Before Ella passed away we did not consider the chance that we would lose our child. Our goal, in part, with these articles is to help others who have lost children to find some sanity in the fact that they are not alone. Our beautiful girl is our first child and lived for 34 weeks inside her mum’s cocoon before we held her in our arms.