It may sound like the biggest contradiction, but for me, it truly as a miracle… so let me start right at the beginning, so you understand where I’m coming from…
TRIGGER WARNING - This post includes graphic details of my miscarriage and 2 pictures of the birth sac which may not be comfortable for some people.
When I was a child, I loved babies. People would give them to me and they’d fall asleep, everyone said what a wonderful mother I’d be. I thought so too, but somehow couldn’t see a life where I’d get married or have children.
It’s not that I didn’t want to. I deeply wanted to unplug from our modern world and live in the countryside, get married and have children and be a mum, living the good life, growing vegetables and the like.
But I just couldn’t see it.
Firstly, I thought I was too ugly (cue self image of tomboy with 80s hair and clothes, being way taller than average, and just not the normal beautiful wife material - in my eyes).
Secondly, I’d had a vision that felt like a vision that my life was to be one of service. It felt like though I adored babies, my life would be different. I didn’t know why. And I certainly had no idea what that meant, but it just felt like having children wasn’t going to be my thing.
On the other hand, I remember telling a friend in sixth form during a deep and meaningful about life, “If I ever get pregnant, I’ll never terminate it, no matter what the circumstances”. Famous last words, right?
Cut to 30 years later and falling pregnant and I’m seeing my life flash past me and along with it, all the moments of contemplation and heart ache around not having children at the age of 42.
Finding out I was pregnant
When I saw the 2 lines on the test meaning I was pregnant, my first feeling was utter joy. Absolute heart opening joy.
It didn’t last long, and my heart plummeted. I’d not long gotten with Rob, my beloved, my soul mate, and my next door neighbour. We had a deep connection almost immediately yet somehow I guessed he’d be mortified and not ready for a life of parenthood after just 3 months of dating, albeit rather intense dating!
I sat with it for a while then decided to tell him. Honesty is best, right?
I go back to my bedroom where he’s snoozing, and the lump in my heart was growing, yet, without much warning, I nudged him awake and blurted it out (which I’m realising is a habit with things I find hard, and isn't always helpful!).
“I’m pregnant. We’re pregnant!”
I can’t look him in the eye, I don’t want to know his answer or feelings. I’m guessing he won't want it, and that’s his final answer.
I start blathering that I’ll get the pills, we can sort this out, it’ll be ok.
Yet deep down, I’m sad. I knew I wanted to be with Rob before we’d got together. Something in me told me he was a sensitive guy, and I was drawn to him, and a psychic friend had confirmed he was indeed one of my soul mates. I’d moved into my flat, and just a month later he’d moved in next door: cosmic ordering at its best. Neither of us use dating apps, and it felt like the universe had been kind enough to help us bump into each other.
And now we were pregnant.
What do we do?
My feeling had always been that any incoming soul has to agree to come. This was no accident. I’d had a lot of sex in my youth, and how I’d not got pregnant was a miracle, yet I always felt it wasn’t my path.
And now I was being faced with this enormous gift. Challenge. Miracle. Pain. Conflict.
We lie in silence for a while. I look at him.
I know what he's going to say.
“I don’t think I’m ready to be a father yet.”
I was expecting it, and it mirrored my own feelings, yet I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
Gutted.
We lie some more.
Wow.
Some while later I get up and think, I have to tell my mum. But I can’t make the call just yet.
My heart’s racing as I think about other people in my life, and imagined what they’d think.
I shut down those thought.
Shit. What the f&%?
I can’t remember the rest of the day, but I do remember Rob coming to me a few days later having found an organisation to get miscarriage pills. (I can’t bring myself to say abortion pills even now).
We make the call, and he lies with me in bed as I speak to the woman so we can get the pills sent to us.
Yes, I’m sure I want to do this.
No, I’m not being pressured.
Yes, it was consensual sex (and I shuffle a chuckle when I think of the 5 nights of love making leading to us getting pregnant).
My heart glows as I feel the truth of my love for Rob and our connection, and how right it would be that I’d get pregnant with him out of all of my partners.
Yet here we are squashing the beautiful life opening up before us before we’ve even started.
We finish the call, and the pills arrive a few days later.
Miscarriage pills
I read everything about them online and see the picture of where to put the pills inside one’s Foo-fii.
It makes me sick.
My heart is sad that we live in a world where so many women must go through this. How messed up are we as a race that even 2 loving people are too scared to be parents, and so many more have had the chance to be parents and for whatever reason they have, don’t go through with it.
Wow.
It sinks in quite how much I’ve judged people for this in the past. My righteous idea of keeping a baby no matter what was being shoved right in my face now. Once again I see a karmic return happening in front of my eyes:
Judge not for you shall so be judged.
I’ve seen myself having to face so many other things that in my youth I’d judged. And it felt like this was the biggest to date.
A life changing moment.
Paths of fate colliding.
Fuck!
To take them, or not?
We look at the pills, and read the pamphlet: the latest time you can take the pills are 9 - 10 weeks.
We’re at 5 weeks or so. About. So my app and my calculations say.
So, I have four or five weeks to do this.
I ask Rob if he minds leaning in to this.
I know enough about our soul’s journey that nothing happens by chance. A soul had come to us to make a foetus, and we’re being given an opportunity. I wasn’t sure what the outcome was, but I didn’t want to flush it down the toilet right now. I wasn’t ready.
I didn’t like medical intervention at the best of times, and I was going to at least claim the right to take time and feel into everything arising around being pregnant.
After a few days, I’ve decided I need to tell me mum. For some reason, I suppose like a lot of people, I can never hold much back from her. She senses things anyway, and, like with Rob, I blurt it out to her. I cringe and wait for her to tell me off, my inner child kicking in.
And yet, I can hear the joy and other emotions in her voice.
“That’s wonderful, do you know what you’re going to do?”
Ever the pragmatist, she’s thinking how awkward it’ll be living in a flat, (I’m on the third floor). She asks if we’re thinking of keeping it, will we move?
I’m stunned. And gutted. I can’t believe I still have such a hang up about my mum. Was I really expecting her to tell me off like I’m 13? And when I was 13, I did take a pregnancy test thinking I’d had sex until years later I figured out it was impossible and I didn’t tell her at the time as I was petrified of her reaction.
I come away from our conversation shocked. I guess maybe I wanted her to tell me off so I would feel ok getting a miscarriage.
Wow. Just wow. How many emotions? How much conflict? This was such a head fuck yet for so many people it was the happiest time of their life. What the hell was wrong with me, and my life?
I come back to my senses, and try to find some high ground.
What was happening here?
Both Rob and I had never truly contemplated children having had quite solitary existences at times.
We hadn’t discussed it together yet, (though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit here that of course I’d felt that glowing broody feeling when I was feeling my love for him, I just hadn’t told him that).
I also didn’t allow myself to think like that about our relationship: I had things I wanted to do, and I hadn’t done them yet. I didn’t want to be one of those busy mothers that can’t commit enough time to her children because her career takes her away from them.
It wasn’t like I was successful in my career so far, I was just committed to my soul’s path, and I didn’t think it was my path to have children.
Let me say here, I’ve contemplated children and life paths a LOT. I know we’re all unique, we all come to learn, to grow, to add to the human journey in our unique way. And part of my path, so i’m led to believe is to clear my karma from my other lives. It meant a lot of time alone, a lot of contemplation, a lot of meditation and being of service, and not giving in to my own personal whims of desire.
I’d also had a soul reading from an incredible psychic who’d shared with me my pre-life choices: no partner, and no children. I was committed to fulfilling my soul’s life of service and facing the karma of my past lives of parenthood was too much for this life. Apparently.
I realise it sounds harsh, or cruel, or something like a punishment, but I don’t see it like that. It’s like we have a curriculum of life, and we have to choose, like we choose our GCSEs or A levels. We have to specialise, or it’s just too much.
And I chose not to do the marriage and kids thing.
I kind of knew that as a kid, and when I heard Ben (Zachary Shure and I highly recommend him), share this about my pre-life choices it was like a weight lifting off my shoulder. I wasn’t failing at life, I was simply leading the life (more or less) I was here to live.
I just wanted to make sure I did all the things I’d planned, and not get side tracked.
And here I was pregnant.
My feeling was, I was ready to face some of the karma, some of the feelings and conflicts around this subject.
Hmmm. I still wasn’t ready to take the pills, and I still was scared shitless about the prospect of being a mother.
I listened to the counsel of my psychic mentor, Angela and she channeled a message for me. The message intimated the soul wasn’t staying, more, it was a visit and I’d be chosen to host.
Ok. That felt right. That made sense. A gift for us all. Rob and I got to face our parenting fears, and the soul got a little time on Earth. Ok.
I confirmed to Rob, I wanted to give the growing foetus as long as possible. I’d wait until the last moment and if need be take the pills.
I still can’t decide
It still didn’t sit ok. It made sense from this higher perspective, and I’d always felt the soul’s would all know what was best, it was just our human self that wouldn’t accept the circumstance.
Yet I still didn’t know what the right choice was here - perhaps it was no choice?
Some friends had suggested I could keep the baby even if Rob didn’t want it. That didn’t sit right with me, to force someone into parenthood when they weren’t ready. He’d resent me forever, right?
Yet on the other hand, of course, they had a point. Take responsibility if you’re going to have sex. We all know nature’s consequence! And maybe I’d resent him if I didn’t choose myself.
But I didn’t want to push Rob away. And I didn’t feel strong enough.
I wanted to know more, and did a journey to meet the soul for a message.
I started going up into the higher realms, and into the future.
I asked for insights as I journeyed.
The scene I saw was horrifying.
I was in ICU and bleeding out. Rob was nowhere to be seen, and my parents were both there with worried looks on their faces.
I came out of that doorway having seen enough and moved along the corridor into another door. This one had blackness immediately as I stepped inside. Dense blackness.
I came out of that one and ask my guides for understanding.
This is how you see the future. I gulped feeling the truth of that. There’s so much fear!
My system was riddled with fear. It wasn’t just loosing Rob. There were so many other fears.
In my 20s I’d been sectioned. This left me with a fear hangover. I feared if I had kids and parented as I wish (homeschool, no vaccination, free spirits), they’d take them away deeming me mad. I feared my Dad and his partner might disagree with my parenting and take them away. I feared getting sectioned again if I birthed in the way I’d want (at home, with drumming, in nature etc).
So. Much. Fear.
Wow. That wasn’t even taking into account the time I felt I’d want to dedicate and how I’d financially cope if Rob wasn’t around.
No wonder I wasn’t as excited as I could be. I hadn’t wanted to admit how many fears I had. And that didn’t even start on my beliefs on my capacity as a parent. What if I hurt the child? What if I hurt it and something bad happened?
I breathed out and asked to meet the baby soul.
I looked down the corridor and saw a cocky and handsome young man beckon me towards him.
He showed me joy and freedom. I didn’t know how specifically, but his face said it all.
“Don’t worry momma, just let it go,” it felt like.
My sense was, I really could let everything unfold. There was no need to stress or plan ahead. Just allow things to unfold as they were.
A decision
I was enjoying being pregnant. It was a miracle and I loved how in love with Rob I felt holding this little bean as I’d started to call it.
I came back from the journey feeling relief. The pregnancy wasn’t likely to go to term.
I just didn’t know what that looked like.
I didn’t want to take the pills.
I just didn’t want to be the murdered of our baby bean.
Yet I could see now how so many women though the ages must have felt as I do.
I can’t do this now.
I can’t afford this.
I can’t do this.
Wow. What an experience. Life you just keep giving don’t you?
I ask Rob for his support to keep leaning in. We go on walks on the weekend. And I look at him, teasing him. He could be walking with a baby pack on right now.
I know he’s warming to it. But he's not convinced and he's not changed his mind. My heart is in my mouth as I know the 9-week limit is coming up.
Our prayer for the highest good
One evening we’re sat together and I’m still wondering what we have to do. I ask Rob, shall we pray? It’s not really his bag, despite his spiritual beliefs. But he doesn’t stop me. I realise we’ve been wondering what we’re feeling and trying to face it as best we can, but we’ve not thoroughly let the soul of our baby bean show us what he’d like, not since the journey.
I pray for the highest outcome for the three of us. I’ve had my journey, I’ve had my message, but my human is still unsure. And don’t we love a clear answer?
Our ego’s just don’t like uncertainty.
I pray for the highest good. An outcome that is best for us all.
It feels like all I can do, and I breathe a sigh of relief. We could do this. If it’s the highest good. The pills won’t work if that’s the case anyway. Miracles happen all the time.
And our miracle happened the next week.
The beginning of the end
I started spotting on the Wednesday and had a sinking feeling despite the many posts online about bleeding being normal in the first trimester.
I’m clinging on to the pregnancy, hoping something will change. Hoping we’ll both feel ready.
But I’m spotting, and I feel sad a sinking feeling in my heart.
The spotting stays the same, and on the Friday evening we go watch the sunset on our favourite hill. Just after sundown, I’m experiencing strong cramping.
Shit.
“Can we go home love?”, I ask Rob. He drives us home, and we miss the aurora borealis we found out was happening that night.
I don’t care as the pain is building and cramping coming and going.
That night we get intimate and spend time together hoping the relaxation will help reduce the craping, and it does for a while.
I wake up with some more cramping, but it’s not so bad that I can’t move.
A grand adventure
“Let's go out!” I exclaim as Rob wakes up in his usual sleepy way. “Let’s go to the beach. Let’s go to the Spiritual church in Aberaeron!”
We both love nature, and most weekends we leave our flats, high above the noisy street of our little town, and find some silence, and this weekend is no difference. We’ll go to the spiritual church and then go to the beach.
I drive all the way to Aberaeron and find a parking space, one right by the church and we rush into the building just before they start their service. Happy we made it, I listen intently and hope for a message, if not for me, then for Rob or of course our bean.
As usual, with every message I hear, I receive some wisdom. The love is palpable and despite my cramping it’s so comforting to held in the peaceful energies. That said I’m starting to wish I could lie down and wriggle around as I like to do if I’m cramping before my moon cycle.
I’m restless and as the service comes to a close, I’m relieved and rush to the tiny bathroom at the back of the service room.
I sit on the toilet and feel the strangest sensation. Like passing a poop but from my foo-fee.
Oh.
Oh, no!
I look down to the bowl and instinctively fish the clump out of blood our of the bowl. I put it in the sink, tears rolling down my face. I clean up a little bit and quietly beckon Rob to come in to the bathroom. I point, and cry and bend over with a cramp again.
“Get the tub, can you? The tub from the car. I want to keep it.”
Little did I know this wasn’t the last material would emerge, it was just the beginning.
He comes back and helps me clean the blood from the sink and the toilet. I’m crying and trying to come back from the shock that’s kicking in, but I stand up, so we can leave. I dont want to stay in this tiny room any longer.
I wanted a tea, but couldn’t face talking to the people from the church. We decide to go to a local beach. Somewhere to process this. To be near the sea.
I realise we’re going to need to get some super thick pads and en-route stop at a busy garage.
“Can you get some pads for me? I can’t go in right now baby,” I look at Rob praying he’s ok with that.
“Course, no problem,” he replies in his matter of fact way and off he goes. He comes back with a bumper pad pack and some chocolate. That’s my baby, he knows me well.
Heading to the beach
We set off to Cei Bach beach, Rob at the wheel. I’m flinching every time we go over a bump, or turn a corner - I want to get there, but I want him to go slowly! Bless him. I try not to say anything as we turn into the carpark amongst the beautiful oak trees.
Feeling the urge to release again, I let Rob know and scramble into the undergrowth behind the huge trees. I love to be in nature, and it feels natural to squat down to release as the next surge comes.
I can feel the same release happening. More blood. More clumps. I’m crying and hoping Rob has followed me. I can see him and motion him to come over as I release more.
Through my tears I’m trying to help him help me. I want to catch more of it, but it’s gone into the dense undergrowth. I’m praying and putting leaves over the blood sensing it’s subsided for the moment.
We look at each other, kind of in shock. Yet I’m so glad we’re here. I’m so glad I listened to my yearning to come to the sea.
This would have been hideous in my tiny bathroom. No window, no nature. This is my bathroom.
We smile meekly and go to the car.
I’m bleeding profusely, but I’ve got my pad, it’s ok. We take a breath and take stock. What do to?
I’m not really wanting to move and I’m hungry. The shock’s passing: I’m miscarrying and it's my answered prayer for a solution for us all.
We eat the rest of our picnic from last night that feels like an age ago now. I was still hoping it was just a passing thing. Secretly hoping we’d keep the baby somehow.
We’re eating in silence, and it’s weird. I can’t imagine any other thing happening, yet it feels strange, like being in a dream, like in a car crash when time slows down.
I’m feeling the urge for more releasing and urge Rob to hurry. I want to go back to nature but somewhere more secluded. We pack a bag and head into the woods behind the car this time, and follow our hunches into the trees.
We find a spot by a tiny stream in dappled sunlight and know this is it. Here we can rest a while longer.
I’m squatting down and rocking, singing in light language and praying to honour the soul that’s leaving us. I hope we’ve honoured it, despite our many fears arising throughout the journey.
Rob’s burning palo santo and sitting with me and bless him, he looks as shocked as me, yet holding space with me and I’m so incredibly grateful for our connection right now.
The urges come again and more placenta passes out while I sing and rock. I’m panicking and looking for the actual bean, but can’t find it, and my heart breaks. I’m sad, and hope we caught it in the first release.
Time passes and it feels like slow motion, and eventually it feels like we’re done. I need to walk and move so we bury all that’s released again, and place leaves over it. I’m praying it’s ok, and say sorry we’re leaving it there.
We walk back to the car, and I’m in a daze. Grateful, sad, and fearful I’m leaving parts of the bean behind, yet I know it’s soul is eternal. I know that. But it hurts so bad. So, so bad.
We’re on the road north, homewards bound, and I’m wondering how this ends. What do we do? Do we need to go to the doctors? To the hospital?
Medical attention: my worse night mare and yet I feel the call
I ring the Midwife I’d spoken to in the week. I’m cursing myself as I detest the medicalisation of everything in the modern, with no intuition included in proceedings. Yet somehow I feel like I have to call her and she suggests visiting A&E.
Hmm. As I’m speaking to her I feel more releasing coming and more than my bumper pad can handle. I grab another pot to catch it. Never more unseemly in my life, wedging a plastic take away pot under my foo-fee whilst on the phone in a lay-by. Nice one Caroline.
Rob’s looking on, his eyes questioning what we’re going to do as he listens to my responses.
Despite my anti-medical way of living, it feels like going to A&E in the nearest town makes sense. Somehow it feels like part of the healing for everyone involved. I trust the baby bean soul is guiding us too, and we head north again, new pad applied, and more placenta collected.
Still going in and out shock, I try to be rational. We could be ages in the A&E, so I’m thinking ahead and suggest we get some food. Despite my usual vegetarian diet, I wolf down a piece of fish beside my usual chips and we watch the sunset over the sea enjoying the beauty of nature looking after us in this epic day.
Like a dream, we’re in this, but we’re not steering this. Something way bigger is moving through us, and I feel only gratitude for our day so far. The nature, the trees, the ease, Robs company and kindness. We smile and realise it’s time. We can’t put off A&E if we’re going to do it.
I stop him moving while I make prayer. I can see how much anger I’m still holding against medical people from my early years of being sectioned and forced to take pills against my will. I’m breathing thorough in awe at how this day is bringing so much healing in so many ways.
So many layers moving through, so much healing, so much support in the perfect way, and then we’re off. A short drive and we’re at the A&E.
A&E
I’m feeling like I’m tripping, as the last time I was in A&E was during filming as an extra on Casualty. This is a real hospital, with real people, real blood still releasing from me. Real people in real pain. I’m really here living. In life. Part of life. Present in my own life.
We settle in, expecting a long wait, yet before we know it, I’m being called up. I guess the fact I’m bleeding right now has something to do with it.
We’re ushered into the ward, and onto a bed in the corridor. Blimey, I’m thinking, are they really that short of beds?!
Before I can think, I’m having a device shoved in my arm so they can take blood. I’m speaking light language and breathing deeply so I don't totally freak out, flash backs moving through me of Shelton hospital and I remember to curb my usual oversharing. Keep breathing and let them do what they need to do. Trust the process
The nurse eyes me suspiciously and I try to keep calm as I tell her I’m preparing for the needle and I don't really like them, whilst really I can’t believe how dis-compassionate she’s being with someone obviously struggling with the situation. No wonder I’ve stayed clear of the medical industry for so long. They just don’t get trauma or the need for self-regulation that’s personal to us.
Like we’re fucking robots.
I keep calm as they send Rob away, and remember that he’s coming back, and I’ll be leaving later on. They take me to a side ward whilst they wait for my blood results and asking if I’m ok, and has the bleeding stopped and I realise it has, and so have the cramps.
They settle me into the room, and tell me a specialist will come soon, and soon I’m feeling like I’m tripping as flashbacks move through me again: scenes from the past merging with the present, and I remember this is all part of the healing my baby bean is bringing me. This is ok, and it’s all ok.
The specialist comes in, and I remember tensing up, and I think she sensed it. She asked me brief questions and reassures me it sounds like the miscarriage is complete. Weirdly she holds my hand, and looks at me intensely. Like she knew I needed something different from the usual checks. She tells me it’s ok, and I’ve done nothing wrong, miscarriages happen, it’s part of life.
I’m smile weakly knowing it’s all ok, yet still needing to keep breath through the mix of emotions passing through me in every moment. She leaves me to it, and reassures me I’ll be going soon if the blood tests are ok. I know it to be true yet the flashbacks are still kicking in and I have to keep remembering this is not 15 years ago. This is now. This is fine. This is me healing, and the baby bean knew to urge me to come here, even though I didn’t really need anything from the doctors or nurses.
An orderly with a sense of humour and a surname Bliss, comes in and checks on me. I’m laughing at the how you just can’t make this up. His name doesn’t lie: he’s really sweet and checks I’m ok. By now it’s 2 in the morning and I’m a bit bleary eyed, but I keep remembering this is all part of the healing, and Rob’s finally let in to stay with my while we wait.
My heart swells with love for him as he holds my hand, switching in my mind’s eye between a young teenager, shocked by whats happening, a rabbit in head lights, and a handsome wise man who’s sat by me, and I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have found him. He holds my hands and strokes them, whilst wriggling around on the plasticy hospital chair trying to get comfy.
Bless him. He had no idea how this day would turn out, and neither did I!
We’re nearly sleeping after turning off the light and wondering if we’ll get told off by the nurse, and before we know it, a nurse comes in to tell us we can go home. The bloods are fine, she says, and I can go home with nothing to worry about, unless the bleeding starts again. I chuckle, thinking all the spinach I ate over this period paid off, and we gather our things and head home through the quiet roads of Mid Wales in the dark of the night.
A good-bye ceremony
After our messy day at the beach, with blood flowing forth, I wanted to create a ceremony to say goodbye and thank you for our journey with the baby bean. Though we were both exhausted in so many ways, I was desperate to go through with it the next day, and we just about make it to a local garden centre to find the acer I’d felt moved to get for our memorial tree.
I had a few pots of the placental matter, and we decided to add it to the compost as we planted the tree, laying rose petals as we layer the matter and compost. We say prayers and thanks and I call in the energy of the baby bean, knowing of course it’s a soul who could be our elder, for all we know, rather than a baby, with no self awareness.
Can you see the energy aura above the tree?
I’m feeling so many tingles as I write this as I could feel the supportive energy all around us, and I was guided to invite both Rob and I to offer anything we needed healing for over to the Soul. I felt so loved, and it all felt so right. So many healings had happened in the few weeks we’d journeyed together and I was so grateful for the experience of being pregnant, even if it never happened again.
Thinking that was end of it, I allowed a few rest days before I started my new job and went ahead with planning for the next Wellbeing Fair I was running, yet fate had another twist for us!
A few days later
Despite feeling our baby bean had passed and I was definitely not pregnant any more, we decided to follow the theme of letting this journey unfold as it will, and receiving all the healing it was bringing, so decided to go ahead and attend the scan that had been booked in for me at a hospital an hour away. I sensed energies moving in me as I face my fears and anger towards modern medicine institutions in the few days leading up to the scan and hoped I was doing the right thing.
I’ve planned the route, the parking, what we might do afterwards and I’ve postponed the job I was meant to start that afternoon so we could take our time coming home. Sending Rob away felt so weird but we knew we both needed to get some sleep, and I start my evening routine. Just one more day and it would all be over, and though I understood this was the perfect unfolding, I was still so sad. I knew I was afraid to be a mother, I knew it wasn’t in my soul’s life choices for this lifetime, and yet it still felt like a hole in my heart as the bean had left us.
I sit on the toilet for my last release of the day and as I relaxed my pelvis, with a huge shock I sensed another purge happening! It was the strangest sensation of something leaving my womb space and moving through my foofoo yet it had happen again!
I didn’t want to look, yet was desperate to see, and I fished out the clump that had passed out of me.
Gulp.
It was not just placental matter. This was the birth sac.
Gulp.
The tiny birth sac I didn't want to say goodbye to.
In shock and sadness I went next door for Rob, as I didn’t want to be alone with this final releasing: the final moment.
It was truly over, and yet I was glad to find this sac, as I’d been scared we’d left “him” in the woods, and despite that being natural, it wasn’t near home, and it felt sad to have lost him somewhere in that day. And here was an answered prayer, the tiny birth sac that had been with me all those weeks.
We did manage to sleep after the initial shock had worn off, and woke up ready for the final phase of our journey: the scan.
Waiting in the hospital was strange. I realised I’d never really expected to be here, least not in this position and I could feel my contempt of the modern ways rising up. Breathing through I kept trying to remember this is the best people can do right now, this is where the west is at, and it’s not their fault they’re stuck in a strange system that feels cold-hearted to me. I remember everyone here is working to help others, even if I didn’t agree with all the procedures and red tape.
Our nurse is so friendly and she handles the takeaway box with our baby bean with so much kindness. She offers us a goodbye box and assures us it’ll be ready when we’ve had the scan so we can take the baby bean home and bury it as we’d decided on the way home.
In a side room, I get ready for a scan and the man who’s running it seems to be detached a cold as he reels off instructions to get myself ready. Why the F*** do people do jobs they seem to hate, or at least can’t be friendly as they’re doing it? I claim back my own feelings and decide to ignore him. He intimates there’s no likelihood of being pregnant still and I nod, saying I know that, thanks.
He seems to be wondering why I’m there and I remember I don’t have a to explain my journey to anyone, another gift from this experience. He asks if I’d like to do an internal scan just to make sure nothing was amiss, and I nod in agreement. I’m really not looking forwards to having a metallic object inside me but figure, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Thinking back, I wish I’d not done that. I knew it was all gone as the bleeding had stopped, despite the bean coming out last night. I felt well, if exhausted in myself, and yet, it was an experience to surrender to this system and trust the outcome and the healing of my attitudes along the way.
He confirmed there was nothing left and the miscarriage had emptied all but a few ml of the placenta. Nothing to worry about and we can go home.
I sigh a relief to get out of the small dark room with the cold man operating the machinery and think to myself, this is exactly why I hate this system - people treating you with little dignity in a time when you’re the most vulnerable.
Luckily we saw the nurse once more to check out and she made up completely for the man’s poor attitude. She handed over the box and I clung to it like it was a baby in my arms. Floods of tears move through me as Rob drive us out of the hospital car park. We consider stopping in this city we rarely visit but I urge him to get out. Neither of us like urban sprawl at the best of times so we decide to head to the mountains we so love, and choose to visit Hay Bluff.
The goodbye box for parents from the hospital
As we arrive at Hay Bluff I barely want to leave the car but know I need to get some air after the claustrophobic scanning room, and we enjoy gently walking around the paths of the moors and watching the local wild ponies chewing the grass as they barely move, tails swishing once in a while.
Urgh.
Urgh, urgh, urgh.
I felt a bit chewed up after the internal scan, but know I’ve gained some strength by facing my disgust and fear of hospitals. It wasn’t so bad overall and the little box has so many lovely touches. I’m sure those parents who were trying for their baby and lost it would have felt so much comfort, and yet we were in a strange limbo, relieved in so many ways, yet I was so sad and heartbroken in many other ways.
Heading home I’m empty and it’s like I don’t want it to be over. I don't want to go back to work, I don’t want to move on. I want to stay with the bean and speak to him, and be pregnant again. Yet I know I was terrified and not feeling like I’m in the place I want to be to bring up a child.
Urgh.
Emptiness and futility. Confusion. Tears. Sadness. Relief.
So many feelings and I tried to make space for them all, yet I had some thing to get on with and for the next few weeks had to push on to honour the wellbeing fair that was coming up quicker than I’d like to admit.
A last farewell
We decided to bury our baby bean on our favourite hill near our homes, and walked the long path together. It felt strange to do this again and partly I was relieved and partly I didn't want it to all be over. Yet it was, and we carried the tiny box with the seeds that were in the box, and found a place under a hawthorn tree away from the main track.
The tiny "coffin" and flowers of celebration
We said a few words and returned home in silence. Peaceful silence.
Moving on
After weeks of commitments we finally go away for a week and it feels like I can relax. I can soften and stop the relentless flow of jobs that happen when you’re building a business.
Yet thinking back, I think I was still in some kind of daze, not quite integrating it all. It all seemed so surreal. So many layers of healing and different perspectives, and not to mention falling out with an old friend as we co-triggered about the idea of my taking abortion pills.
Urgh.
What a few months, what a lot of healing. What a lot of feeling.
And yet, here I am, writing and sharing this journey, and as always hoping someone can benefit from my perspective. It’s a way for me to process, to say goodbye again, to see the journey again and enjoy the memory of being pregnant for a few short weeks.
In the end, our baby bean was only ever coming for a visit: he benefited to gain experience of being in the Earthly realms for a while, and we benefited in facing our man fears and feelings of unworthiness and uncertainty around being parents.
Thank you little one, wise one, beautiful one, for joining us. I wish you well on your way.
Thank you everyone who was involved, and all the people who offered their opinion, their solace, their challenging words, their deep shares.
Thank you Rob for being there and still being here, and trusting the process as best you could. I love you, and I’m so glad to have found you. I’m so glad it was you I got to share that with.
If you’d like to share your experiences, I’d love to hear from you. Perhaps you’d like to talk about them face to face, and if so we can jump on a call.
If something here has triggered you, then I invite you to delve deep, get some support if you need it, and trust that healing is moving through you and bringing up anything that is right to heal for you.
I have no fixed advice for people in my situation, other than trust your own journey and your own decisions, for no-one knows what your path involves but you, and there’s no judgment from those on the other side.
Update
During the summer, I had a psychic reading, and the lady shared how she could see the soul with us, and he was sharing what is path was. He was an angel who’d help souls who’d also been miscarried to cross over back to the light. His experience with me would have helped him understand what parents and baby-souls go through on that journey. I have shivers now as I write and I have no doubt I can call to him if need be to share his love and wisdom with me. She continued to share he had no judgment and was totally fine, and that I knew his name (I’d received the name Tom in the journey).
Hearing this onwards journey was so peaceful and lovely to hear. It all made sense and I was glad to be of service to him.
You can contact Elaine, the medium I went to here.
Thanks for reading, and do please reach out if this has touched you, and share your journey if you feel called.
I'm sending so much love to all the grieving parents and families out in the world.
I pray you find solace of the eternal life and know that your beloveds are with you whether they're in their body or not.
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