A word from Paul….

A word from Paul

Mig persuaded me to speak about my experience of what happened. I didn’t want to at first. It feels like I am winging in comparisons to Mig’s distress and pain, but she made me realise that although my experience was less painful, it was still there.

I was working on Tuesday afternoon. My mind completely engaged on a task. I knew Mig had popped in to the local hospital where we were because she was a little concerned about some blood and as we were 80 miles away from home the hospital was the only place she could think of to go. She told me to stay and finish my work. A little later she called to tell me that they hadn’t shown much of an interest, blood is a common occurrence. In a truly male fashion, I took this as fact and thought nothing of it. Mig was on her way back so I carried on working.

The next thing I knew Mig was calling me from the disabled toilet in the building I was in. She was crying and told me there was blood, a lot of blood. I excused myself and ran to her.  As she stated it was like a scene from a film, I will never forget that image; my beautiful wife in tears and blood everywhere. Like her I felt utterly helpless! I didn’t know what to do, we hadn’t been told about this eventuality. So I called 111. They took details and I stayed calm. I tried to keep Mig calm as best I could while answering questions. Soon the paramedics arrived. While we had been waiting I had been fielding questions from staff and passers-by: “Can I help?”, No. “Can you explain to me what’s happening… its for my accident report?”, er… I think it’s a miscarriage… now please leave us alone! “Do you need anything?”, Professionals! People who know what they are doing, reassurances, answers, a fucking hug! Ultimately the paramedics took control, I tried to stay out of the way, while giving Mig reassuring smiles or squeezes of the hand all the while getting more and more afraid. Afraid of the reality that was dawning on me as the blood kept coming. A reality that Mig and the paramedics had already guessed at. The worst had happened. I continued to help as best I could,; I found some sanitary towles in the car as the paramedics didn’t carry them, fielded more questions from the staff and general public, smiled at people as if they need reassuring!

Finally they put Mig in the ambulance. I didn’t want to get in the way so I went and got in the car and waited for them to leave. I cried like a baby; snot, tears, whimpering, the lot. Then I took a few deep breathes told myself to man up and followed the ambulance.

I cried because I had lost something. It had always been intangible up until this point. Something not quite real until the first scan could prove it to me, but the reality of the situation made it very tangible indeed. I realised at that point that I had been excited. I had been looking forward to it. And now it was gone.

Following that ambulance was stressful. I was still crying on and off, shouting at the world at points or staring without looking. All of this made following the ambulance difficult. It was a busy afternoon, I didn’t know where it was heading and due to traffic lights, pedestrians and my lapses in concentration it was getting further away. I kept imagining rounding a corner and finding it gone. Then I could see myself dashing between hospitals in search of my wife only to be told that no one had seen her! (I suffer from anxiety and the situation had set it off.) Fortunately I found them, I took another deep breath and headed in.

From then on I was in control as best I could be. I was the man looking after his wife. I fought for her to get things she needed, made sure she was comfortable. I didn’t cry or get upset, I told her it would all be fine and that although we both agreed she had lost the pregnancy, we would get through this. And we did. It still hurts, but we are through it.

I would like to finish by saying that through all of this, like Mig, I felt alone. It’s a solitary experience. Even though I was beside my wife from start to finish we were both alone. No one can explain anything to you properly for fear of litigation, no one just gives you a straight answer. I know that this must be so, but it makes it very hard to stay in control. I do not want to make comparisons to my wife’s pain, only to say that it hurt like hell and I hope we never have to go through it again.


One comment

  1. Marissa Johnston · June 24, 2016

    Reading this has made me cry so much. Your wife’s experience and how she felt, is exactly how I felt, it was like I was reading my own life. I had a miscarriage at 10 weeks at Xmas and another at 7 weeks, last month. Very few people knew I was pregnant, still many don’t know of the miscarriages.
    Even now, 4 weeks after the second miscarriage, when I have a drink of wine, it makes me feel so sad and it reminds me what we have lost. I too, couldn’t have got through the experience without my amazing partner, but it’s an experience that I wish we hadn’t had to go through together. Why couldn’t we have had the ‘happy ending’?, Why us?
    I smile at work, chat, even laugh, but as soon as I’m home, I’m broken, I still can’t sleep well and the ache in my heart, of what we’ve lost never leaves me. I keep thinking, we can try again, but I’m 42 ……time is not on my side.
    Thank you for sharing your experiences, I know my partner would have felt as you did.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s