It is with kind permission that I’m able to recreate the following:
“Back in 1983, I found myself in an office toilet cubicle miscarrying a 14 week old foetus. I had no idea I was pregnant because I was using birth control. I had visited the doctor four times in the preceding two months, and each examination and consultation had resulted in a prescription for increasingly powerful pain killers. I was given no ‘diagnosis’ or ‘treatment’ for whatever was ailing me. Just a piece of paper for pills and sent away to just ‘get on with it’. Despite the painkillers, towards the end, the pain was unbearable and the blood was uncontainable.
I walked to my workplace from the bus stop with blood running down my legs, thankfully it was winter, so I was wearing a long, heavy, dark coloured skirt. I went straight to the ladies’ room. The fact that I was in work, doubled over in pain, in shock, and possibly denial, meant that I just flushed my baby away and went to my desk to work. This was pre-internet, so I returned to the doctor’s surgery several days later, was examined, and it was confirmed that I’d had a miscarriage. I was sent on my way with a different prescription for contraceptive pills.
I was dazed and confused and wasn’t sure what to think or feel; it was an unplanned and unkown pregnancy. When I finally confided in a friend a few months later, I was told it was a “blessing in disguise” because I didn’t have to choose between “ruining my life by having a baby at 18″ or having an abortion. At that time, within my cultural environment, this was the narrative. I was also told it was just a bunch of cells.”
I’m observing bereaved narratives on the internet over thirty years later as a PhD researcher, and whilst there are similar stories to the above that can be found, there has been a noticeable change. Advances in technology have contributed to changing the landscape; home pregnancy tests allow women to find out they are pregnant almost immediately after an absent period. With ultrasound scans available to prospective mothers as early as 6 weeks’ gestation, it is now common to see the growing foetus in utero. These tangible factors allow prospective parents to see their baby; to formulate future dreams of what they will look like, what they will be like and what their lives may encompass, from a very early gestational age. These medical advances, along with the internet (particularly social media), has changed the narrative in Western cultures almost entirely.
From an occurrence that was historically perceived to be the loss of a ‘bunch of cells’ and the common platitude of “you can always try again”, it is now common to post ultrasound scans on social media pages with the ensuing proclamations and public announcements of parenthood. Following a miscarriage, some of these women are now posting photos of their miscarried foetus’ as evidence of their loss, and as such, there is a growing movement to allow miscarriages to be registered as a birth. The internet has opened up a dialogue where these women can claim their identities as bereaved mothers. Within their bodies and their imaginations, these children were real, they existed, and their death is impactful. Social media has enabled them to form support groups online, particularly within Facebook, and there is impactful peer support on Twitter such as #BabyLossHour.
Clearly not all women are online, not all women grieve a miscarriage, not all women welcome the news of an unplanned pregnancy. But there is something empowering about claiming your own narrative and having peer support available, whatever that narrative may be.
As always, this content is copyrighted and cannot be reproduced without my permission.