Remembering Someone Who Never Was

October 15th every year is, apparently, Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day across the world. I didn't know that until I googled the matter. I anticipated that there would be some sort of date to mark this phenomenon as it's an extremely common but very traumatic event in the lives of millions of people - especially women - all over the planet.

Miscarriage is defined as "the spontaneous loss of a pregnancy before 24 weeks" (a standard pregnancy lasting 40 weeks), and current statistics reveal that almost 1 in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage. That's quite a high proportion isn't it? Even though it is relatively common, it's actually rare for anyone to know precisely why it happens. Medical bods have suggested the reasons could be genetic, or hormonal, as a result of an infection, or because of immunological failings. But when a woman (and/or her partner) asks 'why?' usually no-one can give them a definitive answer.

Recently HWNLR said something to No.1 about me and the past which led her to come and question me about it. In explaining the background to the issue concerned, I felt it was necessary to tell her (and No.2 as well, since he was earwigging the whole thing) about the sibling she (or they) might have had, but doesn't (or don't).

I am someone who has always had very regular cycles, so when one went AWOL back in 1992 I was puzzled. I felt very tired - I thought maybe I had a virus; but it wasn't a virus - it was a baby. It wasn't a planned pregnancy, though within days of finding out, I discovered a previously unrecognised (and therefore surprising) desire to be a mother. I had a chat with my then-GP about my anxieties that I wouldn't be a very good mother because of the illness I had then (and have (less severely) even now). I still miss that doctor - she died, only middle-aged, from cancer. She was everything a doctor should be, and I have plenty for which to thank her regarding the 20+ years during which we had regular consultations. She told me that the very fact that I'd thought about and expressed a worry about my qualities as a mother, already made me a better mother than thousands of other women, who gave it no thought whatsoever. Over the years, I have often thought about that conversation.

I didn't tell anyone other than my parents and a friend about the pregnancy (HWNLR knew, obviously). In hindsight, that wasn't a good move, but we live and learn. I would advise anyone who finds themselves pregnant to tell any of their friends and family whose support they would like or need, should anything go wrong. Because I'd kept quiet about it, I felt I couldn't ask anyone for support after the event. Anyway, to cut a long story short, that pregnancy did not proceed successfully. At 10 weeks, I began to bleed, and I instinctively knew that this was the end of my baby. My doctor sent me to hospital for a scan. To the Maternity Hospital, where I sat amongst pregnant women of all sizes to await scanning. A 'normal' scan over my abdomen, and an internal scan (which is not a terribly pleasant experience). There was, of course, no heartbeat.

I wonder if you think me odd for asking the hospital for a picture of the scan to keep? I have that picture tucked away in a very safe place - I can't tell you how precious it is to me. I guess it's the only thing I have outside my head to confirm he was once there?

I was advised I should have a D&C (a dilation and curettage) to 'evacuate' my uterus. Apparently, an embryo which has 'died' can take up to 10 weeks (or more) to be 'lost' naturally and is therefore a risk of infection. I was sent to another hospital for the D&C, and eventually went home just before midnight.

End of pregnancy. End of baby. End of dreaming about being a mother in a few months' time.

Hormones all over the place. Mind and emotions similarly chaotic.

It affected me more severely than I could ever have anticipated. I saw pregnant women and babies everywhere. Every time I switched on the tv, there seemed to be something relating to pregnancy or babies. Ditto the radio. Magazines were full of it. Of course, that content had almost certainly always been there, but it hadn't meant so much to me before. I was very, very miserable. I desperately wanted another pregnancy - another attempt at becoming a mother, but that pregnancy had been unplanned and HWNLR didn't, at that time, want to be a father.

It took me a long time to come to terms with the experience, much longer than I had anticipated. I have a friend whose son is 2 weeks younger than my baby would have been should he have survived. But I didn't tell the friend at the time, and I still haven't. How does one say 'by the way ...'? Every time I see her son, I think of the one I didn't have.

I saw them both last week. Her son is fabulous ... tall and skinny, charming and self-conscious, funny and chatty. He's in the middle of taking his GCSEs, and was telling me about what he hopes to do with his life.

This week, had he (my 'lost' child) been here, he'd have been celebrating his 16th birthday. I wonder how he'd have looked? How would his voice sound? What would he have liked? What would he have disliked? If the statistics are correct, for every 3 children in the world, one didn't make it, which means there must be so many others like me, wondering about the children they didn't have.

Talking to the kids about it was actually OK. I didn't cry (not until later, when I was on my own, anyway). They asked lots of relevant questions, but the final word was left to No.2. Realising how old his sibling would have been, he announced "If he was alive, he'd be old enough to be on the X Factor!"

Naturally, we'd have voted for him ... lots and lots and lots.

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