PJ’s Story
* Trigger Warning- Pregnancy Loss*
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Untold; was lovingly weaved into fruition after I experienced my first pregnancy loss in 2020. Since then, within one year I went on to experience four pregnancy losses in total. Each carrying their own individual story, grief and loss. Initially I kept my loss under wraps, telling co-workers I had been “sick” when in fact I lost a baby, experienced multiple procedures; which in the end resulted in the loss of a tube due to an ectopic pregnancy. After my second pregnancy loss, a miscarriage, I felt an urge to share. I no longer wanted to write it off as sickness. The reality was I was grieving. I found profound healing in sharing my story, in raising awareness (through Sands Australia), by breaking what I experienced is a stigma around pregnancy loss.
For me as a woman who has experienced pregnancy loss it is the most intimate death of one which literally passes through you. The grief and loss is palpable, and at times, you can feel very isolated in your experience. This is how I felt until I started to share my story publicly. It was then when friends and strangers came to me and shared their stories. I felt heard and understood, yet these conversations were private, one on one.
The trauma I experienced during this time was debilitating. Whilst grieving the loss of my babies I also experienced negligence within the health system, layered with covid restrictions on top. Due to covid my partner at the time, Ben, was only allowed to drop me at the Emergency Department but I was not allowed a support person for any of my admissions. Once I was triaged and on ward, I was then allowed one visitor every 24 hours for an hour. This hour was monitored, to the point we were "told off" for holding hands as it was strictly prohibited with restrictions. I told the nurse we had just lost our baby and we were seeking comfort from one and other, she stated this didn't matter. In our hours of need no physical comfort was authorised. This the continued disconnect was off the back of initially being given methotrexate in order to save my fallopian tube (sadly it didn't), which meant I was not allowed to touch or kiss anyone, and every toilet trip included wearing a pair of gloves for a period of 1 week.
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During our second pregnancy loss I was told there was no heartbeat alone whilst Ben waited in the waiting room outside. I was then given permission to tell Ben, but not in private. I had to walk into a communal waiting room in tears, where in front of strangers I had to tell him we had lost our second baby. Two minutes later we were then allowed back in the scanning room where staff had now, all too late, changed their minds in regard to covid restrictions. Ben was shortly sent home as I was admitted to have the baby removed.
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Our third pregnancy also sadly ended in a miscarriage. Alone on ward once more I was advised initially that it likely wasn't a miscarriage and to stay overnight for monitoring. Wanting Ben to rest as much as he could I encouraged him to go home and turn his phone off, with the plan to speak to him in the morning. Just past midnight, whilst sharing a room with a distressed suicidal woman, I was told we had lost our third baby. They told me I could only go home if someone picked me up from the hospital. With Ben tucked in bed at home and his phone off, I had to call my mum and firstly tell her I had been pregnant, then secondly that I had lost the baby. Mum met me out the front of the hospital, it was pouring rain. She stood there hugging me as I cried. Cried as I was lost and didn't know what to do in that moment. Mum dropped me home, I went into our bedroom and stood by the bed crying, what a way for Ben to be woken. I shared the news.
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By this stage, a third pregnancy loss in a year, I had no leave. To heal I had to use annual leave. This made me so frustrated, as it wasn't a holiday, it wasn't a break.
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Our fourth pregnancy loss was also due to a miscarriage. I was informed by the treating doctor on shift that I "might not even be pregnant". To not believe a woman when they state they were pregnant and believe they are losing their child is appalling. I told the doctor I could show them my pregnancy test as it happened to be in my bag, he then stated, "it's OK I believe you", yet seconds before it didn't feel that way.
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Cue a perpetual healing journey which for a period of time coincided with 4 rounds of IVF.
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Motherhood for me means I have empty arms with a heart full of spirit. Not only the spirit of self but that too of my spirit babies. Babies that had a heartbeat in unison with mine until they had to leave. By taking a deep dive into self and feeling my emotions and experience to completion, I now embrace myself each day for who I am without the need to control a desired outcome. I have found peace in the knowing in this lifetime Motherhood will not be a physical experience (apart from my furry children!) but a spiritual one instead.
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I found transformational healing came when I went to a women’s circle and I was heard, fully, for the first time. With no suggestion, no toxic positivity. Simply heard by women. This circled fuelled a desire to hold space for other women to experience the same healing I felt in this moment. Supported by women with shared experience. Allowing the revolution of sharing our babies' stories, our stories therefore normalising the conversation, removing stigma for women to come.
