Tea, cake and stiff upper lips

Can I just start by saying that I wasn’t intending to write a blog entry for Baby Loss Awareness week but my friend Jemma came round for her favourite meal (breakfast for tea – always a winner) and asked me if I was going to acknowledge it. Of course I intended to acknowledge Baby Loss Awareness week. I’m planning on lighting a candle at 7pm on 15^th October like I do each year. 

But I hadn’t planned on sitting down and writing about my experiences of miscarriage.

In the last few years, I’ve shied away from putting pen to paper (or finger to keyboard) when it comes to talking about my own experiences. I was very vocal at first and this helped enormously. It felt easier to explain my absence from work, my lack of commitment to plans, my silence on social media by saying “have you read my latest blog entry?” and directing people to that than saying the words that brought a lump to my throat and a wobble to my lip.

For those of you who don’t know, Baby Loss Awareness week is every 9^th – 15^th October where we remember all the babies lost during pregnancy and birth.

When Jemma asked if I planned to blog about Baby Loss Awareness week, I immediately dismissed the idea. My blog doesn’t really focus on me so much these days. When I can drag my lazy arse to the computer to start writing, I tend to write about anything other than me. TV shows, plays, musicals, actors… anything. But nothing personal anymore. However, now I’m in the multiple miscarriage camp, I feel it’s more appropriate than ever to break this rule.

Don’t worry. It’s not going to be an emotional read. Well, it probably will be, because the chances are if you’re reading this, you’re either in a similar camp as me or you know someone who is. It’s a crap camp. Quite a lonely place. One miscarriage makes you doubtful and frightened and broken. More than one and you start to question everything you thought was a given.

What if you can never carry a baby to term? Is it something wrong with me? Do people stop understanding as much when it’s the fourth, the fifth, the sixth loss? Do the flowers stop arriving? Does the sympathy dry up? And what on earth do you answer when someone asks “Do you have children?” Well, actually, Barbara, I should have a whole herd of children running around like the Von Trapp family by now.

Thankfully, as always, I had so many lovely people around me who have been terrific. (Who says the word terrific anymore? I’m aware I sound like an Enid Blyton character.) But I know that not everyone has that support.

So, my intention for this blog is to give advice, guidance, support, instructions – whatever you want to call it – for people who don’t know what to say or do when someone they love suffers a miscarriage.

First of all – and this is probably the most important one – talk to them about it. Yes, I know it might be difficult to strike up a conversation with someone who is physically and emotionally hurting. But you know what’s worse than striking up that initial conversation? Not saying anything at all.

I’d recommend steering clear of calling but why not drop them a text message to let them know you’re thinking of them? You don’t have to say much. Just the thought of you making the effort to speak is more than enough. I remember two very memorable texts from two totally different people when I’d miscarried. One was like War and Peace: reams and reams of chatter about how cruel the world was and how one day it would be my time. The other simply said: “I don’t really know what to say but I’m thinking of you”. Both were fine. Both meant a lot.

Try to avoid any of the really cliché phrases. People mean well but it isn’t always the nicest thing to hear. I remember a kind nurse patting me on the shoulder and saying “never mind, love. You can always try again”. This is in the same band as: “But it wasn’t really a baby yet, was it?” “Were you actually trying for a baby?” and “It just wasn’t your time”.

Check out this video from the Miscarriage Association, where it points out what not to say. It’s only about a minute long but it’s brilliant. Click here to see it. 

If you’re stuck for words, just say: “Look mate, I’ve heard what’s happened. It’s so shit. If you fancy a cup of tea (or a glass of wine), you know where I am”. Or, when the dust has settled, offer to bring round cake. Everyone likes cake.

What you mustn’t do is ignore the miscarriage altogether. There’s a common misconception with us Brits that anything slightly emotive requires a stiff upper lip. Balls to this. If your friend is hurting and you don’t offer to talk about it with them, you’re letting them down. The truth is, she might not want to talk about it but the fact that you offered is what counts.

On a similar note, act how you normally would do around your friend. Especially after a bit of time has passed and she's just getting herself back into a routine again. If this is the mate you're normally crying laughing with over Gemma Collins memes, tag her in one. If she's the one you'd tell about your romantic mishap, text her. Just because she's had a miscarriage doesn't mean she isn't the person she was before. Yes, things have changed, but I remember feeling so relieved when I'd get a text from someone that made me laugh - or even better, if they came round to see me and had me laughing. Don't be shy around her. She's had a shit enough time as it is without worrying that you're too frightened to be yourself around her anymore. 

Don’t trivialise what’s happened. I remember someone saying “God, I was only off work for a week with one of mine” as I handed in my sick note for my fourth consecutive week off work. People cope in different ways. Some people find it easier to get straight back into work and throw themselves into the norm as a distraction. Other people need weeks of lounging around in their pyjamas watching TV and eating multipacks of crisps. And some people can be in and out of hospital for weeks at a time.

Don’t be fooled into thinking that a miscarriage is “like a heavy period”. Each miscarriage is totally different. I lost a baby at thirteen weeks and had to have surgery to finalise the miscarriage. I lost a baby at eight weeks and was hospitalised because I was having contractions. Even the most straightforward miscarriages (and by that, I mean the ones where no medical intervention is required) are painful, horrible, frightening and seemingly never-ending.

A woman going through a miscarriage doesn’t need to be told that it isn’t a big deal. It is a big deal. It’s astronomical. She was carrying a baby and now she isn’t. Her entire future has changed. She planned things for that baby. She’s been excited about something lovely happening to her and now it’s been taken away from her in the most abrupt and intrusive way. That’s massive. Acknowledge that it’s massive. She’s a bloody warrior.

It isn’t a competition. Over the last three years, I’ve realised that a huge amount of women have had miscarriages. Some people tend to compare their loss to yours: “I was a lot further along than you were, so it was worse for me”. That type of thing. Each loss is life altering. While it’s great to talk about your own experience so your friend doesn’t feel as isolated, hearing about your loss might be a bit too much for her. Try to bear that in mind when offering support.

Remember her loss. It might be a month, six months, a year or a decade down the line, but she will remember the day she lost her baby. Please make a mental note to check she’s okay on any trigger days. By this, I mean – “would be” due dates, anniversaries of the loss, Christmas, “would be” first birthdays etc. If she’s doing well, that’s great. Wonderful, in fact. If she’s not, bring out the cake.

Please don’t forget that men hurt too. If your mate’s partner has just lost a baby, that means that he’s lost a baby too. He’s probably being a pillar of strength for his Mrs, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t do with a friend. Drop him a text. Check how he’s doing. Take him out for a pint. No stiff upper lips needed in this camp.

Don’t live close to your friend? Send flowers.

Don’t want to disturb your friend? Send a text to her partner/her mum/her sister.

Don’t want to pry? Don’t. You don’t need to know the specifics, but let your friend know that you’re thinking of her.

Want to do something amazing this Baby Loss Awareness week? Light a candle at 7pm on Sunday 15^th October 2017 to remember all the babies gone too soon. If you want to, take a picture of the candle and upload it on social media with the hashtag #waveoflight to show your support.

If you're wanting to help a friend, a relative, a colleague or a partner through a miscarriage, then you're a very decent person and you deserve the best in all you do. It may be difficult at times, but supporting someone through the loneliest time in their life is one of the very kindest things a person can do. 

Finally, if you’re reading this and you’ve suffered a miscarriage, you’re an absolute warrior. I know first-hand how much you’re hurting. I’m sorry this has happened to you. Some days, it will seem impossible to pick yourself up and carry on. But you’ll get there, I promise.