Rainbow baby
A woman story on the true pain of miscarriage
I was curled up in the bath, head on my knees, a knot in my stomach, nausea, a loss of strength in all parts of my body. I was not in physical pain but I was deeply wounded. I told my partner Luke: “I don’t think I can take more than this, this is too painful.”
I was 13 weeks pregnant, just came out of my last check. The doctor told us “This is not good, the heart is not beating anymore.” It felt like it was my heart that stopped at that moment. I squeezed Luke’s hand, as if it would wake me up from a bad dream. Numbness followed by unstoppable tears.
At the 12 week mark, I celebrated, I was pregnant. I hadn't necessarily accepted that fact yet before that date. But at the 12 week appointment, I had the all clear and I gave myself permission to accept, announce the whole world, my work, family, friends. We were pregnant. A surprise pregnancy. A surprise baby. A life growing inside of me.
What did I do wrong? Was that stress at work, the travelling, the worrying? Was I moving too much? Not enough? Was it that drink a few weeks ago before I knew? Was I ever going to be able to have a child? Was I less of a woman because of this? Incapable of carrying life?
Now I was carrying a dead baby, inside. For some reason he was still hanging on to me, to my uterus. No sign of him coming out. It was Friday and the “curettage” was scheduled for Monday.
I had a week-end to live, with a life-less baby I loved, inside of me.
Did I have to now tell the news to everyone? I called my sister: “He’s gone, he’s dead, it’s over.” I cried. She cried. I felt her love.
I let everyone else spread the news. I took a few days off, a week? I can’t recall.
Luke and I had a week-end planned to visit London. We went. Was it better to stay in our apartment worring and waiting for Monday to come? We arrived at the hotel. Luke was trying his best to cheer me up. He put on the shower cap, the bath robe, and the sleepers with the intention to go downstairs and ask for a massage. I cried laughing. I laughed. I laughed. We had cried together so much.
It is always striking that during human experience of pain, laughter can still co-exist with pain. A need for the body to release.
Monday arrived. I can’t remember much. Apart from the tears. The relief to release this life-less baby out of my body. The emptiness that followed.
My family came to spend the following week end together. I was raw. No make up. No mask. No need to be someone else. No space, no strength for entertainment, or making everyone else happy.
I felt loved. I felt supported. It meant a lot to me that my family came. We hadn’t necessarily been close physically and emotionally, but now we were. All here. Supporting each other. Supporting me.
In the months that followed I went through the stages of grief. I wanted to remember that little life inside of me that transformed back into star dust so quickly. Luke and I went to a tattoo artist and a beautiful little turquoise star was engraved on my right foot. This was my ceremony. My good bye. My way of acknowledging the presence of this life, as short as it might have been.
I remember you. You were here. A 13 week baby. Part of me. I love you. You taught me such an important lesson in the little time you were here: I am a mother, I am going to cherish every moment with my babies when they come. You taught me compassion for all those that involuntary are not mothers yet, you taught me how to acknowledge and feel those emotions even those which feel so overwhelming to feel. You reminded me I was strong. I could handle this.
A few months later, we were pregnant again. Another surprise baby. People call a baby born after a miscarriage, stillborn, or neonatal death a rainbow baby. It is a beautiful word. I don’t think the new baby can replace in any way the lost one. I did not have a baby to replace the little star. It just happened. And it was beautiful. I was ready right away. I was happy. Of course, I had some worries, and the littlest signs brought some unnecessary anxiety. But I learned to manage and let go.
We had a healthy pregnancy, a beautiful delivery into this world, a gorgeous baby…
This rainbow baby is turning 10 years old this month. Just like his little brother born a few years after him, he is my love. My joy. My inspiration to be the best version of myself.
Why am I sharing this? Because we need to be able to share those stories of miscarriage, of loss, of love, of grief… it can seem that the pain I experienced is not proportional to the little time the baby was alive. But it was real and it is real for many other women.
To all women that have lived through miscarriages, that have challenges getting pregnant, that have lost a child as young as this life could be, I am here with you. I get you. There is no shame, it does not diminish you as a woman, it happens to so many of us, so let’s come together and share. Because sharing heals, because sharing helps others.
With infinite love and gratitude.
Dorothee is a transformational coach, creator of Fearlessly Yourself and Dottyoga. She uses Neuro-Linguistic Programming, Yoga, mindfulness, somatic and self-care approaches to bring sustainable and deep transformation to women around the world.
