Author: Adele Hattingh
Numb. In an instant, a lucid world felt like I was underwater. As if cotton balls had been stuffed in my ears. My gut wrenching agony was audible in my car as a primal, animalist cry broke from my lips and hung in the air only contained by my car’s four doors. The promise of a life-long friend for our daughter lay shattered. The beginning of new life, instantly ended with the words “it’s not your fault” as our gynae shared the last image we would ever see of our baby.
Miscarriage. Everything was fine and then it wasn’t. This is supposed to happen to other women, not to me. This isn’t the kind of thing that had ever crossed my mind. The double lines on the test kit confirmed it. The nausea confirmed it. The first scan confirmed it. Guaranteed it.
I started making plans for the new nursery. Baby names crossed my mind and the idea of having one of those silly gender reveal parties you often see Americans splash on social media. I was worried I would show “too early” and what colleagues might say or that I was gaining weight at a much quicker rate than I had wanted. It now seemed so trivial. I felt so ashamed. This incredible blessing was now gone.
Grief is a strange beast. It comes and goes like waves – moments of feeling fairly equipped to deal with what life throws you. And then incredibly painful moments when you hear a baby cry, see new baby grows in the shop or pregnant friends share a “bump update”. You share in their joy and you can completely relate to their excitement but then you remember the emptiness. And then the anger arrived. Well-meaning friends tried to share their sympathy, tried to make it better and make the awkwardness go away.
I quickly learnt that no one talks about miscarriage, even though one in four women make up the statistic. It’s an incredibly lonely pain.
But perhaps my story might help someone feel less alone.
Covid-19 was another country’s problem and the last thing on my mind as I battled through physical and emotional recovery. Seven weeks after our loss, the first Covid-19 case was confirmed in South Africa. My apathetic attitude that this virus was just a slightly stronger case of the flu, quickly changed after I realised how big this problem was getting.
As social distancing and crowd control became part of our new way of life, friends’ baby showers were cancelled one after the other, my daughter’s friends’ birthday parties became a big no-no and girlfriends’ anxiety levels shot through the roof as they imagined being alone in the labour ward.
The thought of possibly rebuilding our lives with another baby was stopped in its tracks. Big question marks about life-or-death situations, risks for our family and the possible chaos that was waiting for our hospitals, started filling our conversations. The journey leading up to our second pregnancy had already been fraught with what I thought were nonsensical delays. Now we were delayed for another reason. We had to wait. Again. I was fully aware that time wasn’t on my side... And just like that, angst started to take control.
A typical A-type personality like mine, means I try to fix all the leaking dams in my life, all at once. It was as if the incredible trauma of my miscarriage had only briefly opened my eyes that life and death was beyond my control. Just like that, I as back at control stations. The desire for a baby became so all-consuming that I became blind to the fact that I was now able to truly make up for all the lost time with my daughter. An impossible thought and deep yearning for me, as a full-time working mom.
I realised, not over night, but months and months later that this insatiable need to plan and steer my life was making me sick.
I was tired of trying to bend my life into submission. The bad sleep, tearful mornings and painful tummy aches had to end. I had to surrender. I was fully aware of what I needed to do and tried to convince myself that I was actually succeeding. In the back of my mind I knew I was lying to myself.
Forced into Lockdown, I was now forced to face myself and deal with this pause in my life. I started writing down what I was feeling, what I wanted to feel, describing the tension in my jaw and shoulders and how I wanted to offload this weight. I needed to release this responsibility of trying to manage my own life, to God. As a child you’re taught that you’re uniquely made and special – it never crossed my mind that my life’s journey could also be unique. It didn’t need to fit the mould.
I succumbed to an overwhelming peace knowing that there is a plan for my life, one that had already been written long before I was born and a sad realisation that I had to learn it the hard way. It’s still a struggle to let go some days, I’m not perfect– but it’s not such an intense grip anymore. I’ve learnt gratitude and a renewed appreciation for this slightly bruised but beautiful life that I call mine.
Adele is a full-time working mom in the finance industry. Her and her husband are based in Jhb and are blessed with a beautiful and very busy 3 year old.
You can connect with Adele on Instagram @adelehattingh.
Photo Credit: Vanessa Henning from @vanessahenningphotography
We are so grateful to Adele for sharing her story with us.
Let us know in the comments if her story connects with you - we are here for community and no one needs to go through anything alone,
MOMSPO xoxo
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