I miscarried on Mother’s day – one woman’s question devastated me

‘So, when is your baby due?’.

It was a perfectly innocent question, from a smiling pregnant woman, as we sat in the waiting room of a private ultrasound clinic in London. 

She looked radiant, gently stroking her perfectly round bump, clearly excited to catch a glimpse of her baby on Mother’s Day, of all days.

But I wasn’t there to celebrate a pregnancy. I was there to confirm a miscarriage.

Fortunately, my husband was with me squeezing my hand. All I could reply was that I wasn’t sure, pretending I had to attend to something urgent on my phone. 

A week earlier I’d had my first ultrasound. While there was a heartbeat, the obstetrician looked concerned about the small size of the gestational sac and advised us to contact her clinic if I experienced any bleeding.

When bleeding and cramping sadly began, the only place that could see us was the last place on earth I wanted to be.

Sitting in that waiting room surrounded by glowing expectant mothers, staring at framed baby scan photos on the wall, while sharp cramps twisted through my stomach, I already knew what was happening. 

One statistic kept circling in my mind. One in four pregnancies end in loss. There were four of us in that waiting room. 

I was that one.

I had always imagined becoming a mother. I have two much younger brothers, so caring for babies never scared me.

When my husband and I started trying for a baby, I assumed it would happen quickly. We talked about baby names and pictured what life might look like with a little one.

But month after month, the tests were negative. Slowly, excitement turned into worry.

So, when I finally held a positive test after almost a year, I felt overwhelming relief. I will forever cherish the moment my husband and I found out and existed in that pure bubble of bliss together. 

But that joy shattered on Mother’s Day in that waiting room, when I was about eight weeks along.

When the ultrasound technician scanned me, she quickly confirmed what I already suspected. 

There was no heartbeat. I remember her awkwardly explaining the situation, clearly unsure how to handle it.

I was asked to move into another room until I could stop crying so ‘I would not upset’ the pregnant women still waiting outside. 

No-one offered guidance about what would happen next, how long the bleeding might last, or where I could find support. I was simply told to contact my GP and take paracetamol for the pain. 

My husband was in autopilot mode, paying for the scan at reception and trying to get us out of there as quickly as possible.

Looking back, and after connecting with many other women who sadly experienced similar situations, and endured unprofessional treatment like I did. 

We are faced with devastating news in busy maternity wards, with little to no guidance, and in my case, made to feel like an inconvenience.

I walked out feeling shattered, but also angry. The bluntness hurt almost as much as the loss itself.

That moment became a turning point for me.

Six months later, after IVF, I became pregnant with our rainbow baby. But pregnancy after loss was nothing like the glowing image from magazines or most pregnancy apps. 

I didn’t care if my baby was the size of a banana – all I could think about was whether I would see blood each time I went to the bathroom. 

Instead of carefree excitement about our upcoming arrival, all I felt was fear.

My husband also did not show the same carefree excitement we experienced the first time. He was happy of course, but also much more cautious. 

Going through this experience opened my eyes to how little support exists for women navigating miscarriage and pregnancy after loss. 

So, in the middle of IVF, I left my stable job in finance to start a platform designed to support women through fertility, pregnancy and postpartum without triggers or unrealistic expectations.

This Mother’s Day I am the mum of a beautiful 22-month-old boy, and I am currently 16 weeks pregnant again. I feel incredibly grateful. But this date will always carry complicated emotions.

Our angel baby feels very present in our lives. I wear a bracelet with what would have been the baby’s birthstone, and my son’s room is full of rainbows. Last Mother’s Day we even saw a huge rainbow while out on a walk.

Today should be a space where every journey is acknowledged, including the women longing to become mothers, the women raising children and the women grieving the babies they lost. 

Pregnancy loss is not the opposite of pregnancy. In many ways, it is simply a heartbreaking form of postpartum.

Instead of giving presents today, I think we should encourage women to share their stories, whether they had a happy ending or not. 

Rather than coldly being told to ‘not upset’ other pregnant women or sent off with minimal support, we need information about what is happening in our bodies and the choices we may face. 

Someone willing to hold space for the full weight of our emotions, whether that’s through professional counselling or support groups, can make a world of difference.

As I look forward to our second baby, due this August, I hope that the world my children grow up in, becomes more understanding of motherhood and gives them the help I never got. 

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jessica.aureli@metro.co.uk. 

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