Miscarriage: the little white rose

I’m not sure if I will post this. It’s a little more personal than I normally get on my blog, which seems an odd thing to say given that all my crazy musings are otherwise here for all to see. I feel I want to say something though and so maybe you’ll see this and maybe you won’t. Either way, it’s out.

I should warn you that it contains graphic medical content.

Yesterday, I had a miscarriage. Today this process is ongoing; three days ago it all started; it may all be over tomorrow. Who knows. I’ve never done this before; I never want to do it again.

I was almost 8 weeks pregnant when I started to spot bleed on Tuesday. The early pregnancy assessment centre tried to reassure me over the phone and tell me it was probably just implantation bleeding. I had experienced this with my first pregnancy (now 19 month old child) and so tried to remain calm until my allotted appointment the following day.

Twenty four hours later we went up to the hospital and two kindly midwives gave me both an external and an internal ultrasound scan.

We were delighted to see our tiny “baby” on the screen and to be told it’s wee heart was beating away as it should be was a huge relief.

The measurements were tiny, measuring around six weeks they thought – had we got our dates wrong?

We didn’t think so.

Due to the date discrepancy, we were advised to come back for another early scan in two weeks time and our 12 week scan was hastily pushed waaay back from December into January.

“…but this can be all cancelled if necessary.”

Those final words. Did the midwife know?

Off home we trotted with reassurance on the original bleeding issue, a scan picture of a dot and a brand new red flag to wave constantly for two whole weeks.

Home we got. I just knew things weren’t right. Maternal instinct is an amazing, scary thing. My husband tried to reassure me but I knew he knew I knew. I continued to bleed. Heavier now, but in hindsight not too bad at that point.

Yesterday, I arrived home from work to find bright red blood all down my legs and large clots in my underwear. I was also experiencing strong contractions.

Textbook. There was no shadow of a doubt what was happening to us now. I was surprised how obvious the symptoms were for two months gestation.

I flushed it all away like a dead goldfish. There was nothing I could do. Nothing anyone could say. The early pregnancy assessment centre will see me in a week to check the matter has all “come away.” My file will then be closed. Scans cancelled. Plans shelved.

In hindsight, the pregnancy hadn’t felt real. A pleasant surprise, followed by eight happy symptomless weeks spent getting excited. Both of us are obviously gutted by this development, but in many ways perhaps it is nature’s way of telling us something wasn’t right and perhaps it was better not to limp along to a later stage of pregnancy, or worse. It still hurts though. Badly.

The little things like allowing ourselves to discuss names, imagine two wee ones aged four and two playing together.

We have become one of the 20% of all pregnancies that end in miscarriage before 12 weeks.

Now we’re back to square one. Today I feel empty, physically and metaphorically. But we’ll be fine. We are a strong and loved little unit of three.

I guess we’ll see what next week brings.

Googling (the worst thing to do I know), there seems to be some women in chat rooms saying that they had all my symptoms but it turned out ok.

So now I have a week to pray for a miracle like theirs.

I mustn’t get my hopes up.

I’m still bleeding.

They say every blog post should have a “so what” moment.

I’m so sorry to disappoint. This is just a story in time about my tiny white rose bud that never got the chance to flower.

I wrote this post in a state of raw grief on 27th November 2014. I wanted to publish it today in memory as 26th June 2015 was to be my due date. I’m pleased to say that we have good news on the horizon with another healthy pregnancy well underway and soon to enter its third trimester. I hope that in sharing my story, others going through the same will know that they are not alone.

Having not publicly disclosed my miscarriage, but wanting to express how I felt emotionally by Christmas time (post event), I also wrote this post in December: Calm down deer documenting my mental processing of stuff.

Rose Image copyright: http://www.writerscafe.org


36 thoughts on “Miscarriage: the little white rose”

  1. I can’t hit ‘Like’ for this heart-wrenchingly beautiful post but I can say I’ve been there and I’m so sorry for your loss.

    Congrats and best wishes on your upcoming new arrival.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for your words Barb. I wasn’t sure how I would feel today. Strange is the best way to describe it. Sad, yet reconciled. My writing of feelings at the time has definitely helped and my burgeoning, wriggling bump keeps my spirits bright x

      Liked by 1 person

  2. I’ve been there too; I lost my second child at 15 weeks. You never forget, and you never lose the love. Your little white rose will be with you all your life. And the only thought that ever helped me, later – if I hadn’t lost that baby, my second son wouldn’t have existed. Bittersweet.
    All the very best for the next few weeks, and keep us posted!

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Oh, Linda. So sad. I feel the same as you about being pregnant with #3, as he/she would very possibly not factor in our horizons were #2 here. I shall never forget but am blessed to have a super husband and beautiful daughter to stop me feeling too blue. I really didn’t know what to expect from today. I’m probably not great company as mainly sitting in quiet contemplation. Excited about what the future holds and am thankful to have lots to look forward to x


      1. And even if you’d had #2 and then decided to have a third, #3 would not be that particular little person wriggling inside you right now. It would be a different child. That’s what’s hardest – you can’t have them both. Hold onto the memories, and move forwards into the future. xx

        Liked by 2 people

    1. I hope so Maverick. That’s what tipped the balance in me deciding to share this post from my November drafts folder. I wasn’t sure that I would want to even read it again after 7 months. Hugs accepted & thanks for the good wishes x


  3. I chose to ‘like’ this post. Not because of what happened but because of the way you seem to have dealt with it. “…my tiny white rose bud that never got the chance to flower.” is a phrase I’ll remember for a good long while.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. This is an amazing post on so many levels! It’s a devastating read but at the end, there are bright news. You’re a very brave woman for sharing your painful experience, and I wish you all the best.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Mara. Such a difficult decision to share but the right one for me. Things are looking good on the horizon. I don’t know if you feel the same after your post on how you were feeling the other day (which was superb albeit another tough topic) but I feel that some weight has somehow been lifted from my shoulders x


      1. I’m very happy that things are looking good for you now (knock on wood) and I’m also very pleased that as for me, for you too blogging has a therapeutic effect. The support from the community is incredible. All the best to you and your family!

        Liked by 1 person

  5. I clicked “like” because I applaud you for writing about a subject that is still considered quite taboo. It’s a wretched experience to go through miscarriage and it’s lonely and empty and isolating enough without us perpetuating the notion that we shouldn’t talk about it.

    I’ve had early losses. I also had a miscarriage at 10 weeks that went messy and I had to have surgery. I have also been through a stillbirth. Obviously the loss of my fourth son was hugely traumatic and a very different experience to my earlier losses but each miscarriage was still devastating. It’s not just the loss of a baby. We can tell ourselves that there must have been something wrong with the baby and it’s nature’s way but there’s that loss of hope, that dull ache of emptiness inside, the pressing feeling of failure, the sheer desolation of it to contend with too.

    I was very lucky and was able to conceive and have a healthy child after each loss but that still doesn’t mean I ever forgot about the babies that never got to be and, in the case of my stillborn son, we talk about him as a family and mark his anniversary.

    So congratulations on your current pregnancy – and I hope it all goes smoothly – and well done for being brave enough to press publish.

    Liked by 2 people

    1. Thank you Laura. So sorry to hear of your losses. You describe the experience so well. In hindsight, it was the physical emptiness that hit me first. In a way, perhaps because I was in some sort of shock or denial, I was unnervingly chirpy initially at the hospital. I remember almost taking a step back from myself and thinking, why are you being like this? Then came the hope that it might be one of those freak bleeds that turned out to be nothing. Then came the weeks of feeling low, all the while bleeding & dark moods that came and went with the wind changing. And of course, as soon as I miscarried a stream of messages started coming in from friends announcing pregnancies, all of which are now newborns. I consciously tried (forced myself) to be happy for them, whilst concealing my own sadness, I resisted telling any of them what had happened for fear of making them feel guilty when they were around me. This worked out best for me, but everyone is different. The flip-side of course is that miscarriage is so common, it’s just so few talk about it. Probably for the reasons above, or (sadly) to avoid alerting employers etc of upcoming maternity requests or worse, feeling a failure in some way. In the last year, other friends/colleagues and acquaintances of mine have experienced miscarriage, ectopic loss, unsuccessful IVF & premature birth. Not everyone wants to talk about it, which is fine. But I find in having shared my experience with a handful of them at the time meant they felt they wanted to talk to me too. I should also mention my amazing husband, who was just as upset but had the double whammy of seeing me so upset too. He is/was amazing and together we pulled through. On a happier note, it’s our 7th wedding anniversary today and so we’re off for afternoon tea at a country house hotel ❤️

      Liked by 1 person

  6. June 21st would have been my son’s 19th birthday…stillborn at 22 weeks through the misfortune of some faulty antibodies on my part. I understand the pain…it is unlike any other and I do not think it matters if the loss happens at 3 weeks or 32…the loss of a child just isn’t supposed to happen. Your re-posting now resonated with me in a very personal way. When it first happened to me, I took no comfort in hearing of the loss of others…my pain was too fresh. But now, many years later, there is room in my heart for empathy and an understanding of the comfort derived through sharing of the experience. So thank you for sharing this very personal part of your life, especially now…the remembering part. Sometimes I feel like that’s the most personal bit…that we never forget and that we take time out especially to remember. That’s the bit no one ever talks about. Thanks for sharing that.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. I’m very sorry for your loss and hope for the best for you with this new opportunity.
    I had an early miscarriage when my son was 18 months old. I didn’t really feel sad about it. I found myself wondering what the child would have been if s/he had lived, but that was about all. I probably would have felt differently if I didn’t already have a child. Also, my marriage was falling apart. In retrospect, I think I was a bit relieved. I hope that doesn’t sound horrible.
    I really and truly wish the best for you. Your post made me cry, but I’m so glad you shared it. Your writing is very powerful.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much for reading my post and also for your kind comments. Although your experience is different to mine in thoughts and feelings, it is every bit as valid and so please don’t apologise! Thank you for sharing. I’m hoping that all the feedback on this will help others to know they’re not alone in whatever they’re feeling about their loss. Best wishes & have a great weekend!


  8. Thank you for sharing, I’m sorry you had to go through this.

    Even though they tell you it’s a pretty common occurrence, it doesn’t make thing easier. My wife and I have been there (well, it’s tougher on her, obviously). Before Nathan, we lost two pregnancies in a row. Now we have a happy and healthy 6-week-old dude.

    So happy to hear you have another baby coming up. Life has a way of balancing things out somehow. Best wishes for you and the family!


  9. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I think it’s amazing that you decided to share this. Congratulations on your pregnancy, I hope it goes well!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you. It was hard to know whether to break the taboo of silence or not. I’m glad I did, although Friday was probably more up and down than I had anticipated emotionally. I’m looking forward to what the coming months bring!

      Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Sarah, a tough time indeed – but good times are a coming very soon (if you can call sleepless nights that)…aww thanks, it was lovely to meet you earlier. A great experience at the comedy improv workshop! Think I’ll stick to my day job though!! X


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