After Another Miscarriage
Searching for meaning and dealing with grief.
“Why so sad?”
I lift my eyes from the bubbling lino on the waiting room floor, focusing on the smiling woman who is speaking to me as she walks by. She is a nurse, clipboard in her hand, her face full of warmth, but she is not stopping for an answer; her question is her encouragement. I return a small smile. I see she is pleased, then she is gone. The blare of morning television fills the room from a small set on the wall. I look around at the others sat here: couples of a similar age to me; a younger woman with someone much older, perhaps her mother; a few people alone. How many of them are sad?
My wife is with a consultant in a nearby room, almost certainly confirming that our second pregnancy is ending (again) in miscarriage. I sit out here, feeling the numbness begin to wash over me as I cling to a hope that it won’t be so. I think about the nurse’s words. I don’t resent them. There is no obvious reason that I look so down. There is no sign on the wall above me. Around me, the others, here for their own scans, await their good news; they are expectant of it.
Of course, there will be bad news here too. Statistically, it must often be so. According to pregnancy charity Tommy’s, 1 in 4 women will have a miscarriage in the first 3 months in the UK…
