Who knew two blue lines could fill a heart with so much love, hope, excitement and dreams for a life yet to come? Who knew the depth of this love?
I certainly didn’t – until a few short weeks into my first pregnancy, when I lost my baby.
I miscarried.
I was heartbroken and devastated beyond words. I was in shock and confused about what had happened and why. I experienced a grief that I never imagined possible for a life that was yet to be.
As I started the journey to repair my broken heart, the lost dreams, the life that never was, little did I know the battering my heart still had to endure.
Another miscarriage.
And another.
And another.
And another.
And another.
Six times pregnant.
Six miscarriages. Six times my heart was ripped apart.
But somehow I kept going. Picking myself back up. Patching up my broken heart. Knowing, believing, hoping that one day I would be a mum to a living baby.
Then came my seventh pregnancy.
Surely I’d endured enough grief and this pregnancy would be different? Surely?
Thankfully, it was!
I made it to the 3 month mark – a milestone I only dreamt of in my previous pregnancies. Low and behold my pregnancy was progressing.
But then, completely out of the blue, my dad died. I was utterly devastated and completely broken. My rock and strength, gone without any warning. Every part of my being wanted to break with pain and the deepest grief I’d ever known. But I had to keep it together for my little baby growing away inside me.
Somehow my pregnancy continued. We made it to 4 months. Then 5 months. All looking good. But I could never have written what happened next…
Out of the blue, contractions started. After two days in on-off labour, I finally gave birth to my sleeping baby Jiya, born at almost 22 weeks.
With nothing else to keep fighting for, I allowed myself to break, to fall to the floor and to succumb to the weight of years of recurring grief.
And as I did so, I felt the release.
I could no longer maintain my silence about my miscarriages. If I did, how would I honour and remember my baby Jiya? I wasn’t prepared to keep her existence a secret. She graced the world and I was going to celebrate her.
So in giving birth to my angel Jiya, I also gave birth to my voice. I started a blog – A Drug Named Hope @adrugnamedhope.
I decided to break all the unwritten rules in our community. To speak up. To share my story. To challenge the voices around us and bring about change so we can support those going through the pain and utter heartbreak of miscarriage and baby loss.
Breaking my own silence did something to me. It freed me. I released the weight I’d been carrying.
And what happened next?
I was pregnant for the 8th time.
And this pregnancy went the distance and I finally gave birth to my first living baby, Simran.
And though my situation has changed, my mission remains the same. To show others that they are not alone. To make it ok to speak about miscarriage. To end the silence. To remove the shame, the guilt and the feelings of failure. And to change how we, the Asian community, see and treat those who have experienced the agony of a miscarriage.
I believe that change starts here. With us. We are the generation that has the power to bring about change, to support one another and to end the outdated beliefs that have kept our parents and grandparents silent about so many things.
So this week during Baby Loss Awareness Week (9th to 15th October), please join in the conversation or simply observe it. And perhaps reach out to someone who you think might be suffering in silence, place your hand on their shoulders and lend them your ears.
See them.
Hear them.
Acknowledge their pain.
Show them that they are not alone.
On behalf of everyone who’s experienced the heartache of miscarriage and baby loss, I thank you for being the change.
Gurinder x