Waiting For The Pills To Work

Memories of my child that was never born.

I remember when they told me you were gone. I was hoping with every fibre of my soul that they weren’t going to tell me that news—that the bleeding was something else, but deep down, I knew. I knew that we wouldn’t be parents again and that our son wouldn’t have a sibling. 

I was sent home to wait for the pills to work. I threw my dress in the bin. It was jinxed. So many bad things had happened in that dress.

I remember feeling like I’d swallowed a rock so heavy I might never stand up again. I just wasn’t strong enough. I’d had time to prepare for my father's death a year ago, but now, I had a whole life to mourn. What could have been and what never was. This just felt so much worse.

I had to hide my sadness from my happy little toddler. The shower became my place to mourn again like it had when my father died. I had five minutes to myself; it was a good place to get it all out. Tears were washed away down the plughole—no need for tissues.

Listen to my piece about the grief of pregnancy loss on Paulette Edwards’ show on BBC Radio Sheffield. Thankfully, they got someone to voice it (she did a great job) because I think I would have made a mess of it through the tears!