Diary of My Miscarriage

*Trigger warning for baby loss and very graphic description of miscarriage. Baby loss affects at least 1 in 4 of pregnancies, that’s an incredible amount of people affected by the heart break. End the stigma and break the taboo of baby loss. Keep talking*

Sunday 28th January 2018

Today I am 11 weeks and 1 day pregnant. I’ve been having some light bleeding over the weekend, nothing heavy but I’m still a little worried. It started as pinkish discharge, and progressed to streaks of fresh red blood. The on call midwife has booked me in for a scan at the Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit for tomorrow morning. The sympathy in her voice makes me feel like this is a really bad sign.

Monday 29th January 2018


This morning I woke up as normal and got Dilan ready for forest school. I tried to smile and chat with the school mums as I dropped him off, but it was difficult because my mind was elsewhere. I was trying to remain positive but still prepare myself for the worst. The bleeding still wasn’t awful and I thought that the scan would put my mind at ease.

10:50 was my appointment time. Once I arrived I spoke to the nurse who took a brief history and dipped my urine to check for infection. I suspected, from my vague research on google, that I may have an infection like a UTI which had irritated my cervix. I had gone with a full bladder as they ask you to for your dating scan, but I was told it would be an internal scan and I’d need an empty bladder instead.

I was called into the scanning room and confirmed my history and my dates. I was 100% sure of my dates because of using the Fertility Awareness Method to conceive. I was told they would try an external scan but they might not be able to see much. I agreed for a medical student to be present.

I laid on the bed, cold gel on my stomach, waiting to be told everything was fine. Waiting to sigh with relief, to be assured that our little baby was okay. The sonographer looked at the screen for a long time, and printed a few photos. I started to panic.

“There is a pregnancy there” she said slowly, “it’s in the right place and I can see the sac, but the baby is very small and I can’t see much, so I do need to do an internal scan.” I nodded, and my eyes started to sting. I stared at the ceiling for what was probably only minutes, but felt like an hour. Please, please tell me that everything is okay. Tears started running down my face. The medical student passed me a tissue.

I can’t really remember what she said next, but I started to cry a lot more than I ever expected to. She spoke in a soft gentle voice, and told me that she was so sorry. There was no detectable heart beat. Despite my pregnancy dating 11 weeks the baby looked to only be 5 or 6, meaning he or she had stopped developing several weeks ago. They told me to take my time getting dressed and then we could discuss the next steps.

I cleaned the gel with a wipe and put my trousers back on, desperately trying to hold it together. I opened the curtain and sat myself back down at her desk. She told me gently that it was very unlikely that the pregnancy was viable. That this happens sometimes, and there was nothing they or I could’ve done. It’s “mother nature’s way of saying that something wasn’t right”. I nodded through my tears, unable to make eye contact with anyone. Clinging desperately to the tissue I was given. Because it was the first scan I’ve had for this pregnancy, protocol is for them to check again in one week just in case my dates are completely wrong and it was just a very early pregnancy. She told me that this was very unlikely, and I knew myself there was absolutely no way.

She warned me that I may begin to pass tissue and clots, and that one clot may look particularly fleshy. She said that the baby was only a few centimetres long, and wouldn’t resemble a baby at this stage. She said I didn’t need to look if I didn’t want to. Every time I think about those sentences I cry.

I left the waiting room with an appointment for a week’s time and an information sheet about “uncertain viability”, and tried my best to control my emotions as I made what felt like a very, very long journey back to my car. I watched people walk passed me, clutching their yellow maternity notes and lovely baby bumps. Once safely inside I screamed into my scarf, crying and shouting. How could this happen, and why. I felt overwhelmed with so many different emotions, and the worst bit was I still had to tell Adam, and all our family and friends.

He answered the phone in a really happy voice and I tried really hard to sound as normal as possible. I asked him if he was alone and he must’ve known straight away. I don’t remember what either of us said but I forced out some words before bursting into tears. His voice broke as soon as I gave him the news. It was awful. I called my sister next, and she calmed me down with comforting words. I phoned my dad after and the pain in his voice set me off again.

It took me hours to leave that hospital car park. Hours to regain control of my own emotions. I went to Asda to get maternity pads and chocolate, in some kind of attempt to prepare myself for what’s to come.

After I picked Dilan up from school I explained that I had some bad news, but truthfully I had no idea how I was going to explain this all to him. How do you explain miscarriage to a four year old? I told him that the baby in my womb was poorly and wasn’t growing the way it should, so there wasn’t going to be a baby for a little while.

Adam came over this evening and we all sat in the dark and watched a film. I don’t think either of us knew what to say to the other.

I spoke to some women who have been through this tonight, and a few of them kindly described their own experiences. Describing it like ‘mini labour’, recommending Tena lady pants and large pads, but some ladies weren’t actually able to get off the toilet because the bleeding was just that bad. I really have no idea what to expect.

Tuesday 30th January

My first thought this morning was “you’re having a miscarriage”. I think my brain was mentally preparing me for the pain of forgetting, then having to realise all over again that our summer baby dreams were over.

My period type pains were worse today, especially in my lower back, and I spent all evening wondering if this was it. I felt full, definitely not hungry, so I was confused when Adam said that I hadn’t eaten all day. I still felt foggy and unable to concentrate.

I spent today making extra batches of dinner. Freezing a shepherds pie and a vegetable chilli. This is the kind of thing you do at the end of your pregnancy, batch cook to make it easier when the baby is here and your hands will be full. Instead I’m batch cooking in preparation of a miscarriage, in case I’m not up to making dinner for Dil once the bleeding starts, and my hands will remain empty.

I’ve done some googling today, trying to make sense of all the different terms. Have I had a miscarriage, or am I having one now? Is it a missed or silent miscarriage, or is it something else? It doesn’t feel very silent. It feels very loud, taking up every single one of my thoughts.

Wednesday 31st January

I’m fine today. I’m fine and that’s the most frustrating thing. I don’t want to be fine. I don’t want to be stuck waiting for something awful to begin. I want to accept what has happened and move on from it, but how can I when I’m just waiting for it to start. Waiting for the worst bit. Waiting for this pregnancy to really end, for it to leave my body, to start healing and recovering from the most awful experience in my life. I want to try to keep my mind busy, stop thinking about it completely, but how can I when every time I go to the toilet I’m scared of what I’ll see below.

Adam has gone back to work, and I’m terrified of facing something awful on my own with Dil. I have no idea how bad it could be, how long it will take to happen, and how long it will last once it does. Dil is going a little crazy stuck inside but I’m scared to leave the house, in case it all happens really quickly and I’m not able to get us home in time. Fear of the unknown is the worst and with no idea of what to expect, I’m struggling to know how to handle the next few days. Tommy’s information on expectant management has been helpful, and says the bleeding could last for over 3 weeks.

We’ve been baking today, Valentine’s Day biscuits for a blog post I had planned. I feel so strangely normal helping Dil to cut out the heart shapes, it’s comforting and it’s also a little surreal. I would like to put my head under the duvet and stay there for a few days, but as a mother that isn’t something I have the chance to do. That’s probably a good thing.

We announced the news on my blog tonight, which felt really terrifying. I actually feel quite embarrassed to be sharing this news only a week after sharing our pregnancy announcement, and it really hurts to admit the pregnancy was actually over so long ago and I didn’t even know. I’m totally overwhelmed by the love and support we’ve received though, and so saddened to learn that so many other people have experienced this too.

I’ve had so many direct messages from people sharing their experiences, and it’s so helpful to hear how it happened for someone else. I’ve heard horror stories but I’ve also heard slightly more positive ones, where everything passed quickly and was relatively pain free. Fear of the unknown is hard to handle. I wish someone could just tell me when it will be.

So many people could relate to the awful feeling of waiting for it to really happen, and that comforted me somewhat. I’m truly not alone, plenty of people have been in our shoes – some recently and some a long time ago, and they’ve all survived it.

I started crying before bedtime tonight, while I was tidying up Dil’s toys. He asked me if I’ll be sad forever and I said that I hoped not. He gave me a hug and then finished tidying up for me, leaving me a little lost for words. As we climbed into bed he asked me if I was still sad about the baby. I said that I think I might be for a little while but that it’s okay to feel sad. He looked up at me and said “well, I’m sad because you’re sad, but it’s good because we’ve got each other and we are safe.” It felt like some kind of parenting miracle, a much needed reminder that I must be getting something right.

Thursday 1st February

I feel fine again this morning, losing hope that my body will do this on its own. Apparently only 50% do. We ventured to soft play this afternoon and I could feel that the bleeding was getting worse. I went to the toilet, and as I stood up I saw drops of blood dripping down the toilet bowl, dark red against the bright white porcelain. Suddenly I was really overwhelmed by the thought of this miscarriage, at the thought of my blood and our baby falling out of me and dripping away. It’s just so unfair.

My GP called me earlier, asking me to go have my antenatal bloods redone. I had to tell them there was no need.

Friday 2nd February

Forest School day. Dreading the school run. Dreading bumping into friendly mums who ask me how my week has been. Dreading well meaning people asking how my pregnancy is going, when my next scan is. How do you explain it to people who are basically strangers? How do you answer “how are you?” when you’re suffering as much as this?

Usually while Dil is at school I sit in Costa and get some work done, but I can’t face being anywhere but at home right now. Luckily his dad agreed to pick him up. I cried four times on the drive back.

My house is a mess, the washing up has overflowed from the sink and is now covering the counter. I don’t even care.

Saturday 3rd February

Saturday morning, about 10am. Adam is downstairs making pancakes, I can hear cartoons in the living room. We had a nice night together and have been giggling all morning. My oxytocin is probably the highest it’s been lately, and I wonder if that’s what triggered what’s next. The period pain type feeling I have is intensifying, I can feel the blood coming out in drips. I sit on the toilet and something falls out. Just plops into the water. I’m not really sure what I was thinking but I scooped it up with some toilet roll. It’s like jelly, a perfectly smooth blob of jelly. Opaque.

After that I feel much calmer, the bleeding seems to have stopped again. I naively believe that’s the worst of it and I try to stand up. Mistake. Blood drips out faster this time, drips onto the floor and onto my jeans. I sit down again.


I’ve been sitting here for nearly an hour now, listening as I hear the blood drip into the toilet. Occasionally I feel little gushes, not sure if it’s blood or fluid coming out, along with smaller clots or lumps.

I can hear Adam washing up downstairs, the radio is on and James Morrison is playing. Dil comes in to the bathroom and tells me he’s done a poo. I wipe his bum from the toilet, inwardly thinking how this sums up motherhood life. He sees some blood on the floor and asks what it is. I don’t know what to say.

Things take a bit of a turn for the worse at about midday, and I wonder if I should call the EPAU. I still haven’t been able to get off the toilet. I call Adam for help as larger clots start to come. I keep flushing the toilet but it keeps filling back up with blood. I feel sick, light headed. Every time I stand up I have to quickly sit back down. Eventually all I can do is lay on the floor, while Adam tries to wipe up the blood coming out of me. I feel a lot of panic at this point, and I’m so sad that he has to see me this way. No one should ever have to see their loved one like this, as the hopes and dreams that we both wished for spilled out between my legs.

I call the hospital and they tell me to go to A&E if I’m having to change my pad every 15 minutes. I can’t even get off the toilet for long enough to put a pad on. By this time there’s a lot of blood on the floor, on the toilet seat, all down my legs and on my jeans. We start getting ready to travel to hospital and I put on a thick maternity pad. Within a few minutes blood is dripping out of the other side. I’m feeling very sick and faint now. Dilan comes up to check on me but I can’t let him in the bathroom, there’s just so much blood.

My dad comes to watch Dilan while his dad closes his cafe early to come pick him up. I give him a big cuddle and say goodbye, explaining that I’m not feeling too well and I need to go get checked out by a doctor. We head to A&E at about 1pm, pads stacked in my knickers, a towel under my bum. Dil shouts “love you, miss you” out of the door as we leave and my eyes start to sting. The bleeding seems to stop while I’m sat in the car, and I calm down a little.

As soon as we arrive I stand up to walk in, and immediately grab Adam’s arm as I gasp. A rush of blood and more clots again, straight into my underwear and soaking through my double pads. As we queue to sign in I hang on to Adam tightly, desperately trying to stay standing up. Once we’re done I head to the toilet to clean up, and end up laying on the floor in the bathroom. The waiting room is packed and I can’t get up. There’s blood all over my leggings and down my legs again. It’s made it’s way all the way into my socks. A kind nurse brings me some hospital pyjamas, larger pads and a wheelchair and tells us to come through when we are ready. I bin my blood soaked leggings. Then for the first time in my life I pass out as I stand up to get in to the chair, only coming round as I hear Adam shouting out of the door for help.

They take me straight to triage and I can feel myself going in and out of consciousness. All I can do is beg for somewhere to lay down. They take my blood pressure 4 times because no one believes the result – 58/28, and we go straight into resus. Once I’m laying down I start to feel a lot better, and explain the history to numerous health care professionals. Everyone keeps telling me I’m 12 weeks pregnant but I insist they are wrong. “I’m not!” I shout, “but I should be”. I should be and I’ve been robbed of that and now this experience is getting even worse. They put in a cannula and get me on IV fluids. They are talking about haemoglobin and blood transfusion. I keep bleeding through pads and blankets quicker than they can change them. The nurses are busy around me, saying “oh, bless her” over and over again.

Eventually we are moved up to the gynae ward, which is obviously right next to the midwifery department. I see signs for the delivery suite as I’m rolled passed. We are taken into a private room which I’m grateful for. My blood pressure improves slightly, and they are happy with my haemoglobin so no blood transfusion yet. I ask to go to the toilet. I make it the few steps to the toilet, sit down and then start to cry. I feel sick, weak, light headed. I need to get back into bed. Two nurses help me, holding my fluid bag, but I feel myself blacking out.

I wake up to an oxygen mask on my face, surrounded by people while I’m laying on the floor. An anaesthetist is there and I mumble something about my allergy to general anaesthetic. They get me back into bed and the consultant explains that they may have to take me to theatre to remove the tissue from my womb. I don’t want that. I’m frustrated. My body has failed me enough, and now this. I keep bleeding heavily and losing clots every time I move.

Eventually they decide to examine my cervix, and confirm that I’m fully dilated which I already knew. They remove some tissue from the neck of my womb and hope that doing that will allow it to close. It’s done with a speculum like in a smear test, and it’s quite uncomfortable but not unbearable. They use a large light to see inside. They suspect an infection and start me on antibiotics via the IV.

Around midnight I ask to use the toilet, and they bring me another bed pan because I’m still not allowed to stand up. I feel what I think is a huge clot come out while I go. They take it away to be checked and the nurse tells me that it was actually the placenta, and that should mean that the bleeding will subside.

Sunday 4th February

I got a surprising amount of sleep last night, and they let Adam stay too which was lovely. I don’t want to be alone. The nurse came to check on my bleeding a few times and it has slowed down a lot which is great news. The consultant comes in and explains that they need to be sure the miscarriage is complete and there’s no tissue left in my womb, so I need to come in for my already scheduled scan tomorrow. They want to check my blood again and keep an eye on my blood pressure, and seem hopeful that I can leave later today; probably with more antibiotics and iron tablets. I’m desperate to get home to my little boy, but I still don’t feel 100% and I’d hate to pass out again with Dil around. His dad agrees to have him again tonight and take him in to forest school tomorrow. I’m so grateful to all the amazing support I’ve had, so many offers of help by so many kind people. I feel really overwhelmed.

We’re discharged around 3pm and the walk back from the ward to the car feels like miles. I still feel very weak and exhausted. Once home I move slowly, and have a long soak in a warm bath. Adam has to leave to get to a job in Brighton, and as soon as he leaves I worry if I should really be left alone.

Monday 5th February

I can’t believe that it’s only been a week since this nightmare really began, the last 7 days really have been the longest of my life.

I return to the EPAU this morning for an internal scan of my uterus. As I’m called in by the nurse I feel mildly annoyed that hospital departments don’t seem to be able to communicate with each other, and I find myself explaining the ordeal of the weekend all over again because she has no clue. The nurse is kind though, and says she’s been there too. We talk about discussing it with Dilan, and when it’s safe to try again. Not sure how I feel about that phrase just yet, not sure I’m brave enough to “try again”.

As I’m taken into my scan I feel okay. The bleeding has slowed so I’m pretty sure there won’t be any further complications. The scan confirms that the tissue has passed, and the lining of my womb is thin. It’s explained that the bleeding can take another 3 weeks to stop, but it should be like a normal period or slightly heavier.

Before I go they ask if I have any questions, and I quietly ask if I can have the photo from my first scan. They put it inside a little card for me, with a cut out butterfly on the front. I know you can’t see much in the picture, but I wonder if I’d regret not having a copy if I didn’t ask for one.

The rest of the day is fairly normal, although as I walk around the city I become increasingly aware that I might be doing too much. I still feel light headed and a little weak at times. I take myself for a nice lunch, enjoy a slow afternoon of some gentle self care before the school run.

I make sure I arrive at school a little early, still keen to avoid that awkward conversation with the other lovely school mums. Dil’s key worker meets me at the gate with kind eyes and asks me how I am. “I’m okay,” I answer, but I know that no one believes that.

I give Dil a huge hug when we get back to the car, and he asks me how I am. “Happy now” I say. “Because I’m here?” I nod.

Tuesday 6th February

I have no plans to leave the house today, and instead need to catch up on some work. Being self employed has a lot of benefits, but a downside is having no one to pick up the slack when you need a day off. We get some work done for a new collaboration in the morning and then do some painting in the afternoon before settling down to watch a movie together. I think on some level Dil understands that I’m not ready to leave the house too much.

The bleeding seems heavier again today, maybe because I pushed myself too far yesterday. I feel a now familiar little gush as some blood and a small clot come out. I go to the toilet and notice a drop of blood dripping its way down my thigh, and I don’t even know what I feel anymore.

Later on Dil asks if there’s still a baby in my womb, and I pull him close and tell him no. It’s such a hard concept for him to understand, and it’s breaking my heart trying to explain it. He asks where the baby has gone, and I say that it came out while I was in hospital. I tell him again how the baby was poorly and not growing, so it was very very small. He seems satisfied with my answers but I wonder when he’ll bring it up again.

Tomorrow we are due to sign the papers for our new house, but I’m struggling with my thoughts and feelings tonight. I feel so confused about how I’m supposed to handle the last week, I feel guilt for being excited about what we have coming up. Nothing is the way it was supposed to be, and coming to terms with that is really hard.

Wednesday 7th February

After posting a new blog post last night about breaking the ’12 Week Rule’ I woke up to so many comforting messages and comments. Im learning from others that it’s okay to feel conflicted and confused, at this stage I’d say that any kind of feeling is probably quite normal.

I feel much more positive today, but as we looked around the new house and measured up a few things felt like a punch to the gut. That’s where the co sleeper would’ve gone. I should be finding somewhere to store the new baby’s clothes. Here’s a perfect space for the pram…. Often there’s just a millisecond where I’ve forgotten the tragedy, and I forget we won’t be bringing a baby back to this house just yet. We chose this house for our growing family, and now it feels like a piece of that is missing.

Physically I am feeling better, although still light headed especially when I first stand up. Dil desperately wanted me to spin around in circles with him earlier, but I just can’t do it without feeling like I may pass out.

The bleeding has significantly reduced though, and I’m actually wondering if I’m come to the end of that part of the experience. Since the bleeding became lighter I’ve been using some reusable sanitary products that were really really kindly gifted to me by a few shops. Much nicer than disposables which I haven’t used in a very long time (I usually use a moon cup), and eco friendly too.

Thursday 8th February

The bleeding and my wild erratic emotions have a lot in common. Each time I feel like one is done, it returns with a vengeance. I thought the bleeding had stopped until I felt a familiar wet feeling earlier today and discovered blood all over my knickers. I thought my emotions were levelling out until I found myself crying outside the bathroom door. Quite often when I go to the toilet I have what feel like flashbacks, and I’m straight back to last weekend, laying on the bathroom floor with blood trickling out of me, crying for help. I’m so grateful that we are moving house.

The up and down feeling is really constant. For a lot of today I’ve felt okay. Happy really. Excited for the future, making plans. I actually cleaned the kitchen for the first time in nearly two weeks, that felt like progress. I started thinking about Valentine’s Day, about a date night, about how we could start getting back to “us” and nurturing our relationship a little bit. Then like a freight train it hit me, intense guilt for these happy thoughts. How could I possibly feel happiness, when the remnants of my pregnancy are still dripping down my legs.

Guilt is a common theme at the moment. I feel a lot of guilt for a lot of things. For not being able to play with quite as much enthusiasm as I normally would. For not being any where near as patient as I usually try so hard to be. For the first time possibly ever I’ve been a shouty and demanding mum, using phrases and threats I never thought I’d hear myself say. We had bagels and a banana for dinner, I feel like such a shit mum.

I also feel guilty for going on and on about my loss, when so many women have suffered much worse than me. Incredible women are reaching out to me with their stories and I feel like my early loss is nothing in comparison to theirs.

A few people have sent me quotes that brought them comfort and one that stands out to me is “She wasn’t just expecting a baby, she was expecting the rest of their lives”. That is the awful truth of baby loss. When a loved one dies you can look back on the happy memories you had, but when an already much loved baby doesn’t make it into this world, you’re robbed of every happy memory there ever could’ve been.

Friday 9th February

Starting to feel more like myself again now, starting to feel a little brighter and just more normal. Somethings are still hard to deal with. There’s some new baby clothes that I’ve yet to hide away. My timeline feels flooded with baby announcements and pregnant women which does sometimes feel like a little poke to the heart. But now that I know so many of these incredible mothers have faced loss too, it is also a great reminder to always have hope.

My thoughts have turned to the future a little, especially as we prepare to move house in two weeks. Some things still really scare me. Sex after miscarriage is something not often talked about, and it brings up a whole load of extra emotions for me right now. Hopefully, just like everything else, that just needs a little time. Lots of people have talked about us ‘trying again’ and truthfully I’m not sure that I’m really ready for that. Not ready for the stress of it, the disappointment if it’s not our month, the pain of another period if it’s still not meant to be. I’m already aware that a period when you’re trying to conceive is just an ugly reminder of your empty womb. But I can’t even allow myself at the moment to imagine being pregnant again right now, I don’t know how I would cope with the fear. Maybe it’s selfish, but I’m terrified of facing this all over again, something tells me that if it happened for a second time it would hurt twice as much. I don’t know if that’s something I’m ready to face.

Saturday 10th February

It’s been a daddy weekend for Dil so I’ve had a lot of time to myself and I basically chose to do nothing which I think is a great thing. Not many of us have the luxury to ‘do nothing’ often but it’s such a great way to feel a little recharged. I’ve had more time to think, more time to just be.

It occurred to me this weekend that I’ve actually never faced loss before. I’ve never felt the grief of really losing a friend or loved one. I grew up without grandparents, no relatives have every passed away and the only friends I’ve really lost are those that I’m just out of touch with. So these feelings are so new to me, and until you’ve felt them I guess you have no idea what kind of pain it will be. How the grief will take hold of you, what will help you cope the best. How you’ll survive the heartbreak and devastation that follows. Before experiencing it I guess you have no idea even if you will survive, but here I am today.

The bleeding seems to have stopped now, so that’s a week after the haemorrhage. I think the anaemia must be better as I’m not feeling as weak or light headed. I’m trying to make an effort to eat better, because I think for about four days this week I forgot to eat anything except a few bags of mini eggs.

Sunday 11th February

The bleeding is back. Every time I think it’s over it starts again.

I’ve been thinking about ‘trying again’ all weekend. Actually I think a small part of me has been thinking about trying again since the day they couldn’t find the heart beat. I can’t shake my desperation. Every single morning I wake up and have to remind myself that I’m no longer pregnant, and every single morning that just chips away a bit at my heart. I love being pregnant, I love the empowering feeling of knowing your body is creating life. I feel really conflicted after what has happened, I have lost a lot of faith I had in my own body, and a big part of me wants to restore that faith. I don’t want to be scared into not trying again, and I don’t want to go another day of knowing that there’s no baby growing inside of me. I want to feel the excitement again, even if it will be a little terrifying, and I want to go back to dreaming of new hopes and dreams. I want to go back to our countdown of being a family of four.

I read a study which showed that if you get pregnant within 6 months of a miscarriage you have a better chance of a successful pregnancy. I also know that most couples only have a 20% chance of getting pregnant each month. What if we got lucky last time, what if it takes us much longer to conceive on this go. How many miserable days of reminding myself there’s no baby am I going to have to face. How many unwanted periods will I have to go through before we see those pink lines. Why would we put off trying, why would we make the process longer through choice of our own?

Adam and I had our first argument tonight. I think it’s bound to happen in situations like this; situations where emotions are running high and we aren’t communicating as well as we should. We’ve both been through so much and really had very little time to deal with any of it. He seems so cold about the whole thing, it’s so simple and matter of fact. I wish that he could express his emotions, I wish I knew what he actually felt. I wish I knew it wasn’t just me waking up broken hearted every morning, that he feels this sadness and this intense longing too.

He told me that “some chill would go a long way to making this happen naturally, rather than pressure for now now now”. I told him to go fuck himself. I don’t think I have any chill left.

Monday 12th February

Today should been our dating scan. I would’ve been 13 weeks and 2 days pregnant. Instead there is no scan because there is no baby, and the whole pregnancy feels like a very distant dream, fading from everyone’s memories quicker every day.

Adam and I made up, obviously. It’s very difficult to be mindful of someone else’s feelings when you’re still unsure how to navigate your own. I have spent the last week feeling like a failure, because my body wasn’t successful in the one thing it was specially designed for. It turns out that Adam has felt the same, going round in circles with thoughts about how this was his fault. I think having had one previous successful pregnancy makes the situation more difficult, but of course we know that having one healthy baby doesn’t make us any less likely to suffer a loss.

Saturday 18th February

Three weeks since this all began. I feel better most of the time now. The bad days are further apart than they were, but they still come. I wrote a post today about my miscarriage – three weeks on but it feels too fresh to post. Instead I published a letter I wrote for Dilan the day I found out I was expecting, which truly feels like a million years ago. I have so many mixed feelings about the emotions I had, a lot of guilt about some of the things I felt. Clusterfuck isn’t a word I’d thought I’d ever write on my own blog but that’s exactly what it is.




I have kept this diary since the beginning of this heart breaking story, and I feel ready to move on a little and end it here. I hope that it brings someone comfort in a dark time. I hope that it means someone else feels less alone with all of these thoughts and feelings. I hope that it hopes someone else talk about miscarriage and baby loss in the way that I have because having this outlet has helped immensely. I will continue this conversation wherever possible, I will keep talking, and I will do my best to break the stigma of miscarriage. 

You can read more of my posts about miscarriage and baby loss here.


  1. 24th April 2018 / 11:06 am

    Thank you for posting this, I know it can’t have been easy. I’m so very sorry for your loss.

  2. 13th August 2018 / 2:48 pm

    You’re very brave for posting this. I haven’t been through this ordeal myself (and I know this was written a few months ago now) but I feel as though I was able to hold your hand through it. Wishing you all the best xxx

  3. Liz B
    16th August 2018 / 11:49 am

    I just read this with tears in my eyes. I’ve had 8 miscarriages, some similar to yours, some much later and some “missed” so I didn’t even know I had been pregnant until I was rushed into hospital for surgery. The saddest thing is that in my life I’ve sort of normalised them. Babies come, babies go. Sometimes I bleed for weeks, other times I don’t. Normalised but never spoken about, especially when you already have a child or children. We did 5 years of IVF and as a process I actually think that’s easier to talk about than “normal” miscarriage, which is so wrong really. Thank you for this post and please, don’t stop believing that you’ll be ok. Life won’t be the same again but that doesn’t mean the future doesn’t hold wonderful things for you and Adam xxx

  4. Going Through It Too
    10th January 2019 / 3:49 pm

    Thank you. I needed this today.

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