My Miscarriage Story

Hi everyone!

Hope that you all are doing fantastic,

I know I didn’t post last week but with the holy month of Ramadan coming to an end, I really just wanted to enjoy that time with my family and celebrate the time with them.

On that note, I was thinking for quite a bit on whether I should post this or not, but since I am now more accepting of the situation and want to truly just honour what has happened, I wanted to put them down in words.

In November last year, I was feeling a bit foolish, it was almost holiday time and I was feeling festive, a friend had asked me to buy her a pregnancy test as she was really panicking that her period was late, mine was late by about 2 weeks, so I decided to buy one for me as well. I wasn’t too freaked out as I knew I couldn’t be pregnant….but life is funny that way, and that’s when those two solid lines popped up and I was like oh snap!

Cupcake had just turned a year old and we had just gotten this parenting thing down to a tee, so even though it was shocking, it was also quite exciting for us. As you all remember, my pregnancy with Cupcake was quite easy going, so my assumption was that things would be the same this time around. Superman’s dad was home for his birthday and we threw him a curve ball by adding an extra picture in his family photo frame with the caption, “Grand kid Number 4! Coming July 2016”.

Everyone was all around happy, hugs were shared and I was about 6 weeks pregnant at the time, I distinctly remember somebody telling me that day that I was wrong to share the news as it was bad luck, in my heart I hoped that weren’t true.

Fast forward to Friday, 18th December 2015, that night I was in excruciating pain, I just assumed that it was the scar from my cesarean that was paining. The following morning Cupcake had swimming lessons and I didn’t even have the strength to walk, let alone swim with him, so Superman swam with him. By that evening the pain had subsided and we were all getting ready for bed. As I went to the bathroom I noticed that I was bleeding.

I screamed for Superman and we rushed to the Emergency unit at the hospital. As I held Cupcake in the car I cried, I was praying that my baby was okay and that these things happened. The nurse who took my information was quite caring and gave me an orange status, this meant that I was a very serious case that needed to be seen to unless someone with a red status were to come in, I was 12 weeks pregnant.

The wait felt like forever, the nursing staff were cold and left me in a little cubicle, naked, bar a thin dressing gown, in the cold, with Superman and Cupcake waiting in the front room. I spent every moment waiting in prayer, asking that my baby be okay, that I get given some sign that things were okay, then the doctor walked in and said words that will ring in my head always, “I hear that you in your first trimester, that you bleeding and are experiencing a miscarriage, shame”.

SHAME? Shame? Here I am sitting with no idea what is happening to me, nurses just waltzing in and out of my cubicle checking my blood pressure and taking my temperature, not uttering a word to me and he has the audacity to casually mention that I am miscarrying and saying shame *scoffs* the anger,confusion and hurt that built up at that moment I cannot explain.

He called Superman in, did an ultrasound and said that he couldn’t confirm if I had had a miscarriage and that I was to come in that Sunday morning but he thought it was a miscarriage, when he left I completely fell apart in Superman’s arms. When we got home I put Cupcake to sleep, laid with him in my arms a little longer and phoned my mom, I couldn’t even get the words out before I broke down in tears. In my mind, my baby was gone, but in my heart, that glimmer of hope that the doctor could be wrong was something that I still held onto.

My mom was able to offer me such amazing support over the phone, that when I phoned my stepmom, I was calm enough to talk and accept her love and advice. My siblings all texted me their support, and as much as I accepted it, I didn’t know how to feel.

The Sunday morning we spent waiting for almost 6 hours in the emergency ward, only to go through the same process and was asked to come in the Monday. My emotions were so numb, I just went through the process idly. That Monday morning I went to the hospital alone expecting a long wait, I went to a referred gynae who was told to expect me and she very rudely told me, “I’m sorry but I can’t help you, you need to go to your own gynae, if he can’t help you and I have time then maybe….maybe I can help”.

At this point I felt shunted around and lost, this was new to me and I had not a clue what to do, I just had a letter from the emergency and that was it. Luckily my gynae was situated in the same hospital, so I went straight to his reception, turns out that was his last day before he went away for the holidays so he was double booked, I pleaded my case and explained how I was sent from pillar to post, this was 11am, the receptionist advised that he would only be in at 2pm, I phoned Superman and told him to take care of Cupcake as I would be sitting there and I would ensure that my gynae saw me as I had nowhere else to go.

For 3 hours I sat, not going to use the bathroom, not eating, just praying, but since it was the third day, I was slowly starting to accept that my baby was gone. When my gynae walked in, the waiting room was packed to capacity with ladies who had appointments but my gynae wanted to see me first. He did an internal check and then saw that my baby had died at 9 weeks already; considering how harshly I had been dealt with, the soft manner that he spoke to me in was so reassuring. He calmly told me that it wasn’t my fault, that baby wasn’t strong enough to carry through the pregnancy and that I would need to go into surgery for a Dilation & Evacuation (D & E or otherwise known as a womb scrape to clean my womb out).

From that moment things went so fast, he had me booked for surgery that afternoon at 4pm, his receptionist held my hand and told me that things were going to be okay, now bear in mind that I was solo at the hospital, I phoned Superman and he arranged for his dad to drop him off with Cupcake.

My mom on the other hand, I’m pretty sure shes got superpowers, because the moment I phoned her to tell her that I was going in for surgery and that I was alone at the hospital (she was at work at the time) it was as if though I just put the phone down and looked up and she was there in front of me.

Once my paperwork was sorted, I was booked into a ward, seen to by a nurse who was more concerned with her weave, then wheeled into theater with an amazing anesthetist who really put me at ease and poof, I was out, my mommy holding my hand and stroking my hair all the way. I felt like I slept forever (it was 30min), but the emptiness I felt when I woke up, made me realize that she was truly gone. In my heart I am dead certain that I was carrying a little girl, it was Monday, 21 December 2015.

They gave us the fetus to bury and it was quite sobering, I think the reality of it all really hit Superman at that moment when we buried her because he wasn’t able to physically comprehend what I was going through.

The days that followed were some of the hardest, from family who wanted me to explain over and over again what had happened, to other family members asking me what I did wrong, did I sweep my house out? Was I hanging laundry? Was it Cupcake? It is the breastfeeding? The list went on forever, as did the guilt.

I spent many a time just praying, asking for closure, speaking to Superman, fearing that I would forget, when the 21st day of the month comes around I always feel a sense of sadness, others tell me that I should grow up and just move on, but they would never understand, to them I just lost a pregnancy, to me , I lost a baby.

I will never know what her face would look like, or what her fave colour would be, would she look like me or her dad? Would she be as stubborn as Cupcake? The endless mystery of who she would have turned out to be will always be a part of me.

However, in Islam, I take peace knowing that children who are lost by miscarriage or who are still born, they are carried by Allah (God) into a garden to play in happiness and peace forever, until the day that they are able to be reunited with their parents again. That knowing that she will always be happy, that she will never know sadness is what gives me peace to carry on.

I also feel that what has happened has made me realize that the small things don’t matter, they are irrelevant. So what if I choose to breastfeed or formula feed, so what if I choose natural birth or cesarean, the fact that my child is happy and healthy is all that truly matters. So love your kids as much as you want, hug them a little tighter, hold onto them a little longer, because time goes by so quickly and the fact that we still have them in our lives is definitely blessing enough.

Today would have been my lil princess’s due date, though I am yet to meet her, I will carry her in my heart forever.

Apologies for the long post, hoping that it helps others in similar situations, be strong,

Always with Love and Peace,



4 Comments Add yours

  1. catjuggles says:

    I am so sorry for your huge loss.

    1. DragonMommy says:

      Thank you 🙂

  2. Jonelle says:

    A beautiful and tragic tale. I love this “I also feel that what has happened has made me realize that the small things don’t matter, they are irrelevant. So what if I choose to breastfeed or formula feed, so what if I choose natural birth or cesarean, the fact that my child is happy and healthy is all that truly matters.”


    1. DragonMommy says:

      Thank you so much, I think sometimes these things happen to make you appreciate the simple things in life again.

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