An article by Kate Evans from a London Online Newspaper
The doctor’s silence tells me everything I need to know. Eventually, he clears his throat, and says in a voice deliberately gentled, “I’m very sorry”. And so am I. There on the screen before us, I can make out the form of a tiny curled foetus and, where a few weeks earlier, its heart was thumping with life, it now lies still in the cavernous vacancy of my womb. This is no longer a baby. It is a miscarriage.
It surprises me how surprised I am. This is the sixth baby we will have lost; you would think that I would be used to it by now. But maybe it’s not surprising that I had to believe in this baby, as though by investing in it some hope, and some love, I could will it into being.
They have run all the tests. Like the majority of women with recurrent miscarriage, they have found nothing wrong with me. They don’t know why this is happening. Read more…