“I lost a baby at the end of May. I was just a little over two months into the pregnancy. I wasn’t showing or anything. And I hadn’t announced the pregnancy yet. So I don’t think that the baby seemed real to anyone else. But it was real to me. Every time I passed a children’s store, I’d look in the window and smile. I began to look closely at all the different types of strollers people were pushing down the street. I bought a little monkey for the baby that I carried around with me. I started planning our life together. Then one day it felt like someone was stabbing me in the lower abs. I went to the doctor, and they told me that I’d had an ectopic pregnancy, and the baby was lost. I felt really alone afterward because most of my friends hadn’t even known the baby existed. They couldn’t understand how I felt. Part of it was my fault. I didn’t want to talk about it. Yet I still expected everyone to understand.”
Via Humans of New York (© Brandon Stanton, HONY). Click here for the full story and comments.
It’s all so true, the idea that you didn’t just lose a ball of cells – you lose all the hopes and dreams you had for your child. I wrote a while back how I had planned exactly the buggy (stroller) I was going to get. I did all these things. And hundreds and thousands of other women have too. The club that nobody wants to join. I scrolled through some of the comments and there are just so many of us.
There are also all the ones who now have children. (I guess this is meant to give hope, but tonight it just makes me feel sad.)
The ones who believe their babies are playing together with other dead babies in heaven. (I wish I had the comfort of religion but I don’t. My baby died… He’s not playing anywhere.)
The ones who spout platitudes. (Maybe I won’t have a baby “when the time is right”. Maybe I’ll never have one. Maybe there’s just something wrong with me that means I can never have one.)
And my sisters in loss and grief. I don’t know if it’s better to know there are so many of us, or worse. I used to feel completely alone in this before I started blogging, so it has helped me “meet” (and meet!) some really great people. But I don’t understand why when we’re in 2015 that they don’t have ways of preventing this happening to “1 in 4”.
(Again… My obsession with stats comes into play… I don’t think it’s 1 in 4 women but 1 in 4 pregnancies. Some women have more than their fair share of heartbreaking loss. Some never experience it. It seems unfair that anyone has to.)
And everything about this post rings true for me. It’s weird because I really didn’t want to talk about it, but then I felt angry and sad that people didn’t understand. I still don’t like talking about it but I’ve started to open up to one or two people now and again. It’s tough to put yourself out there. Lots of people have, in the comments… Have shared their stories to show that this lady is not alone.
We are not alone. Sometimes it feels like that in this world full of mothers and pregnant women, but there’s a whole sisterhood of loss.
One of the comments had this picture in and I just about kept it together.