'About 10% to 20% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage — but there’s a good chance this number is even higher when you take into account the people like me.'
Something’s wrong.
Limping to the bathroom, the agony in my lower abdomen felt different from the usual dull ache of my period. Sitting down on the toilet, a congealed dark stringy mess oozed out of me. I would later learn to assign words like “tissue,” “blood clots” and “gestational sac” to the mess that was leaving my body.
I was hooked up to an IV when I arrived and given morphine followed by paracetamol to help with the pain I was experiencing. After a cold and exhausting 13-hour wait in a hospital corridor with no sleep, I finally saw a doctor at 11 a.m. the next day. My boyfriend had had to leave to go to work, so I was alone when the female gynecologist ushered me, exhausted and disorientated from the morphine and other drugs, into a private room.
As I began to open up to friends and colleagues, I soon learned that everyone had an opinion on how I should be feeling. But I also quickly learned that I didn’t necessarily feel the way they wanted me to. In fact, I didn’t feel anything at the time.prepared for in my post-miscarriage journey was guilt. I blamed myself for the miscarriage. For not being able to carry what could have been my child to birth.
— but there’s a good chance this number is even higher when you take into account the people like me, who don’t know they’re pregnant.