Miscarriage occurs in 1 in 5* pregnancies and yet is still such an unspoken experience. In this heartfelt and raw blog, Natalie shares her experience of miscarriage and the shocking and unempathetic treatment she was given by A&E staff. This blog shares her personal journey through the heart-wrenching loss of her baby, detailing the physical pain, the emotional toll, and the deep sense of isolation that can come with such a traumatic experience. It’s a story of grief, of finding the courage to speak about loss, and ultimately, the hope that comes from knowing you’re not alone.
It is a word that cannot be understood without experiencing its cruelty.
Whilst I had heard the term miscarriage, I never really understood the true significance of the devastating physical and emotional pain it has on an individual. Now having gone through my experience, I understand why people do not talk about it. It is painful. It is lonely. It is frightening to navigate. It is a word that cannot be understood without experiencing its cruelty.
On Saturday 29th April 2023, not long after our dating scan, I was awoken in the early hours by what I can only describe as waves of pain that intensified minute by minute. As the pain increased, blood followed. Not truly understanding what was happening, I called 111. They advised me to visit A&E due to a potential miscarriage.
I stood, but could not move. I knew my baby was being held from the ground by my clothes.
Upon arrival, I was directed to remain in the waiting area. As time passed, my condition significantly deteriorated and I was in a tremendous amount of pain and very distressed. I was also heavily bleeding which was obvious and becoming uncomfortable to all those around. I wailed in pain, pleading for help, as I felt like I needed to push. My partner visited the front desk 3 times to discuss possible pain relief and after 70minutes I miscarried which coincided with my name being called by triage. Shock hit me like a wave. Though it was chaotic around me, I heard nothing. I stood, but could not move. I knew my baby was being held from the ground by my clothes.
A nurse asked me to sit down, but knowing something large and warm was in my underwear, I trembled I couldn’t. The nurse then walked me through A&E to the nearest toilet. Whilst being in the toilet, I held the sac with the fetus inside, in its complete entirety, not knowing what to do. I looked outside for the nurse but she had gone. I waited, holding the warm sac in my hands, knowing I had lost our baby. When the nurse turned up, I asked her what to do and she came back with a container.
I then returned to triage, still soaked in blood. I waited for a consultant who examined me with my partner’s phone torch as she didn’t have the appropriate equipment. She was short and abrupt and told me my cervix was still closed and hopefully the baby would be ok, despite already passing the full sac. After I explained I had passed the sac in its entirety, she said ‘no baby, you will need to do a pregnancy test in three weeks and if it’s positive ring this number’ and she handed me the early pregnancy unit contact details and left. Soon after, a nurse asked to take my bloods. These were done and I was moved to a small area. My phone rang around 20 minutes later – my partner answered and it was the gynaecologist saying my bloods were fine and we could go home. As I was walking out, I saw the nurse who I had handed over the sac/foetus to. I asked her what we should do with the foetus. She said we could send it for testing but … and then she shrugged her shoulders. I never saw our baby after that. To this day, I regret not walking out with our baby. That haunts me.
The EPU were extremely empathetic and could see how affected I was by this traumatic experience.
Days later, I was still experiencing pain, so I rang the early pregnancy unit for advice. They examined me, and told me the placenta had not been passed and spoke through my options. Having shown the nurse a photograph of the sac/baby, the nurse explained that I had a labour like experience as my cervix would have had to dilate for my body to have passed the sac in its entirety, which is why I was in a huge amount of pain. The EPU were extremely empathetic and could see how affected I was by this traumatic experience.
I wouldn’t wish for anyone else to experience what I experienced. It has taken time for me to be able to talk about this, and I believe that whilst we never completely get over our grief, brighter days come when we can talk about our experiences together. We should never feel alone.
Written by Natalie Ellis
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