I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. My first miscarriage, and everything that happened. So if this is a trigger subject, please move on.

See, I miscarried fairly early on, but enough to be in a lot of pain. I was in agony, in fact, the worst pain I’d ever felt there – and must have only been about nine weeks along. I was no longer in pain when it left me. When I’d ‘given birth’ so to speak, if it’s possible to do that at nine weeks when you’re having contractions and you’re in constant pain, taking nothing more than paracetamol (fat lot of good that does you).

It passed. It then came out of me the following morning. We kept it. In a little tub. I asked the hospital what I should do with it – did they do anything with it? Or is that it? I couldn’t look at it, I was too busy being in shock, shaking in a way I never had when I was cold.

The nurseĀ said “oh, just flush it down the toilet” so I did.

And immediately regretted doing so. But it’s too late. But what could I do? Bury it? While that has a more significant meaning we don’t live in the same place any more. It’s not like I could keep it and take it with me from house to house. It’s not like it could be buried in the family home, a plant placed to remember it.

It was flushed. Gone.

Silly, silly, stupid me. Why did I listen to them? I know I’ll never see it again, and I don’t yearn for it, it’s more the thought that we did what we did, and how undignified is that for the thing?


I’m not beating myself up about it. I’m not kicking myself. I’m just wondering why I listened. It doesn’t change a thing that happened. If I were five years younger I’d say “know this for next time” – as these days there isn’t anotherĀ ‘next time’.

I don’t want to light a candle to remember it. I just want to know that what I did was something I wish I hadn’t done, but I had no alternative. There was nothing else. The confusion and tiredness, the upset and sadness stopped all rational thoughts. But like I say, I’m not beating myself up about it. Life goes on. H was born.

So maybe by writing about it, it will go away. That often happens. Once it’s written it’s gone. Maybe this is my goodbye. Sorry thing. I didn’t think. I wasn’t in a fit state of mind to think straight, I just assumed everyone knew what to do. The system failed me, and I failed you. Sorry.