Mummy stuff, Pregnancy

Bottom al fresco

There is something unmistakably humiliating about NHS nighties – even worse so when you find yourself alone at A&E, trying to tie up the strings across the back, only to discover that half of them are missing. In a desperate attempt to maintain a bit of dignity, you wrap the tent-sized gown around yourself and hop on the bed, as you have been told. The nurse comes and takes blood, leaves the cannula in (‘we might need that later’), puts a plastic band around your wrist with your name, hospital, number and date of birth and sticks some medical tape on your upper arm, on which she has written today’s date. Oh, and do you want painkillers against the cramps?

Slowly, the vibe of the distinctive scenery sinks in, and if you haven’t been a bit choked up already, this is the point where you shed a few tears, realising that none of this is a terribly good sign. You might start asking yourself if this was all your fault, if maybe you don’t deserve another baby, or if maybe you shouldn’t be so greedy but be thankful for the healthy and happy family you’ve already got.

You think about how many women you know had a miscarriage, and then you think about statistics and how the numbers don’t add up. Then you get a little angry that women are encouraged to keep quiet about pregnancy during the first 12 weeks, in case something happens. So what? What if something happens? Are you supposed to suffer in silence?

After a bit of questioning and an exam the doctor leaves and comes back after hours of waiting to tell you that your hormone levels are where they are supposed to be at this stage of pregnancy. The amount of blood you are losing is concerning, but not alarming. She can’t offer you a scan that night, but books you in first thing on Monday morning. She really tries her best to be reassuring and calming when she lists the possible reasons for all of this – an impending miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy. But not necessarily, she hastens to add, it could also be a common side effect of the egg implanting in the womb. Maybe all of this will miraculously stop, and you will be just fine.

You smile at her, knowing that implantation has happened weeks ago, and that the on-going pain really is rather odd. There is nothing more they or you can do for today, apart maybe from breaking the silence and hopefully helping to lift the stigma of shame and taboo from miscarriage.


  1. Margarita says

    Oh Deb, I wish I could be there for you. I’d fix you up some tea and cry with you, then we’d eat pain au chocolat while watchig ridiculous television. Some fresh air maybe. Hugs to you and your little angel. Hope the family is doing well in these hard times.

  2. Oh, poor you, my heart bleeds for you. Please keep strong and big hugs and kisses that all will work out well for the future. x

  3. Simone says

    Oh Deborah, I am so sorry……I’m thinking of you and sending lots of love xxxx

  4. Also I remember bleeding a lot at 6 weeks with Oliver and they detected heartbeat week later so long after implantation bleed. I don’t know your situation but hopefully things will work out x

  5. There don’t feel like any words that are enough but thinking of you and I’m so sorry xxx

  6. Hannah says

    Debie, das tut mir so leid.. In Gedanken nehm ich dich ganz fest in den Arm!
    Ich hoffe, bald mal wieder rüber kommen zu können, dann hol ich das auch in echt nach.

  7. Shelley says

    So sorry to read about this 🙁

    Look after yourself after this and give yourselves time to get over this….

  8. Oh darling, I am so so sorry. Nothing anybody can say will make this any better but just know that we are here to support you and send you virtual hugs whenever you feel you need one xxxxx

  9. Kelleyn says

    So, is it for sure that you had a miscarriage because I have to tell you that the cramping gets worse and worse with each pregnancy and can last for weeks. The uterus is like a rubber band and with each pregnacy it gets looser and therefore you have cramps that can bring you to tears. I had a miscarriage between my 2 nd and third child. It is frustrating and no matter how many people tell you how common this is it still hurts. I have 4 children now, so I wouldn’t let yourself to get too discouraged. You are the best and you deserve to be a mother to a s many children as your heart disires. Hugs from across t he atlantic.

  10. It’s awful. There’s nothing else to describe it. Hoping for the best and I admire you for having the courage to share this now. Big hugs x

  11. Oh no. Poor, poor you. I am so sorry. I bled from about week 16 of my last pregnancy and I’ll never forget sitting in the ER/A&E just waiting, and waiting, for the inevitable. But it didn’t come, thank god.
    Thinking of you. xx

  12. Oh Debs, I am so sorry to hear about this. Also, speaking as someone who has had 2 miscarriages in the last year I think it is very brave of you to write this post. Hugs to you, I hope you and your husband get all the support you need.

  13. Claire says

    I am so sorry that you are having to go through this physically and emotionally draining experience. I had a miscarriage myself this time last year – it is so tough. I hope that when they do your scan today that everything turns out to be fine. Wishing you well through this difficult time. x

  14. Christelle says

    Chère Deborah, je suis vraiment désolée et je sais à quel point ces moments peuvent être douloureux et difficiles. Je t´envoie tout plein de pensées positives et pense à toi très fort. Ich drücke Dir ganz fest… Christelle

  15. Oh I’m so sorry – having been through this recently I know how hard it is

    Take care of yourself, be gentle with yourself – am sending much love x

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