It was the summer of 2014 when I unknowingly fell pregnant. It was the year of my 19th birthday and I was as happy as ever.
My boyfriend and I had been together for around 3-4 months and things were going strong. He had his own business and I was working in my dream job. Nothing could rain on my parade.
But in early January of 2015, my world changed forever. I was admitted to hospital for a possible ectopic pregnancy as I had severe abdominal pain.
After two days in hospital, everything was said to be okay. I had a normal little human being growing inside me that was exactly four weeks and six days baking.
What do you say to someone who’s lost a baby?
My partner was at the time very supportive (and still is today) even though he has absolutely no idea how to comfort me even on my darkest nights.
Our relationship was so young and we were so young. I had to fight every slithering instinct as a maternal woman and give up my child I hadn’t planned or met. My heart was torn.
In the weeks leading up to my own personal doomsday, I noticed bulging pregnant bellies everywhere I looked. I noticed mothers with new born babies and mothers with children, laughing and loving the life they were granted. My heart ached everywhere I looked.
I would never meet my unborn child nor would I know what it would feel like to hold him or her in my arms. My partner was not ready to be a parent and I suppose neither was I. I never wanted to admit that I couldn’t be a mother; I could never bring myself to saying those words. I had no support group around me, I wasn’t able to confide in any friends or family about what I was going through. I was all alone.
I felt I only had one option and that was to drive the three and a half hours to my nearest city to undergo the horrendous procedure that would leave my womb empty and my heart broken. I cried the whole way over and the whole way back. Not to mention the days and nights for up to two years of feeling alone.
When I arrived at the clinic, there were religious protesters grabbing my arm, telling me that my unborn child had a right to live. And I agreed with them.
After filling out the paperwork and paying triple digits to take my child’s life away, I sat in the waiting room next to a girl that would have been about fourteen. She was all alone and made a comment about being here ‘again’. I knew at that moment that I should not be sitting in that waiting room and before I had the chance to get up screaming and run out that front door, my name was called.
The ultrasound confirmed that I was exactly 8 weeks and 6 days pregnant. I had four beautifully painful weeks with the life I created and now taken away. I will forever treasure those four short weeks. I was sat up on the operating table with my dignity mellowed out by the blue slip gown I was dressed in and my legs held up on the props on either side of the bed. A mask was put over my face and a voice told me to count to ten, I don’t even think I made it to six. I was then woken up and told to stand up. My partner was waiting for me in the recovery room and that's when my life was changed. It was all over.
To this day, 769 days later, my heart is still broken and will stay broken until I take my last breath on this earth. I do believe a little of that void in my heart will be filled with I eventually plan to have children in the future. But until then, I soldier on every day with my head held high, hoping that I'm one day closer to being a mum. That day is just not today.
Mamamia Out Loud discuss how to answer that dreaded question.
I hope to inspire any woman that is going through or will go through the same situation as me, to listen to your heart. If you feel you can do it - do it.
And take it from me, it’s incredibly lonely trying to fight a battle against a broken heart and no child.
If you haven’t got the courage to stand tall by yourself, reach out to someone who will stand with you. I will stand with you.