Miscarriage Poem | “I am only a thin photograph of me as a mother”

I never thought I would have a baby. In my twenties I was married to a man with CFS or ME who felt too exhausted to rear a child so we never tried.

In my 30’s I left him and a year later met the most amazing man who I am still so in love with. He already had a small son from a previous marriage and after a while decided he did not want any more children. This made things very difficult for me as I love him so much but also would love to try and be a mum.

In November a miracle happened and he changed his mind! He was then 39 and me 34 – so we stopped using contraception and a month later in Hanuary I found out I was pregnant! I was so happy!! everything seemed totally fine and I was due to see the midwife and have my first check up and scan at 11 weeks –

BUT at 10.5 weeks I started to bleed – a long story followed but the hospital where we live in France refused to believe I was having a miscarriage and I had to go back twice to ER before they would admit me to the Gyne ward for a scan which showed that I was indeed right and having a miscarriage  – but the baby had stopped growing at 6 weeks and had not miscarried until the 10th week ( a missed-miscarriage) so I had a natural miscarriage at home and 10 days later a scan showed it was all gone.

I have felt so sad and numb ever since and for two months still felt pregnant with raging hormones and terrible PMT/ weight gain and grief. I have now had 3 periods since the loss and we have been trying when my partner is here (he works away so it is very hard to try) and I know it is still only recent but I think about the little baby that never grew every single day. I really hope we can try again and make a happy healthy baby sometime soon.

To help me grieve I wrote this poem and thought I would share it with others.

I am only a thin photograph of me as a mother

The screen showed – numb
An utterly empty slightly pulsing image
Of a grey womb

Blood took a long time to come
All I could do was lace up my walking boots
And every afternoon tread the slow green lane

Under the willow’s whispering branches
Across the wooden tracks slippery with February
I took the same path again and again and tracked your loss
Red as you left me in the spring frost

You who I had imagined flame haired
Named after a fiery spark
I whispered to you as you drained away
As if you slipped back into the marsh

A red light covered the fields each day
And nothing else seemed to move
Only the intense cramps reminding me
Of all those imagined times together

I am only a thin photograph of me as a mother
But the picture is so small the doctor will not show
It to me and so you are stapled
To a brown card and I am told to go home
Rest and only if I haemorrhage return

How can I tell?

I walk in nature instead
Pick up the cold feel of winter sticks
And last year’s oak leaves
Wet and dead

The medical leaflet, which is all I have got, I read
Clinically it turns my vision of you into a large bright clot
Yet when you leave I grieve

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