TL;DR this is an uncomprehensive guide to miscarriage told from my personal perspective. I hope you read it, just so you know what others have been through, but never need to refer to it.
Today was the official due date of our second pregnancy.
Unfortunately, we lost him or her one day into our second trimester, the period where doctors unofficially tell you that you’re in a “safety zone – and what would have been considered an abortion if we were living in many US states.
Of course, your child is not 100% safe until they’re out of your womb and in your arms.
Regardless, losing a child is not an easy thing to deal with, no matter how early on in the pregnancy someone’s in.
For some, it’s NBD, “Oh, it was only 6 weeks, it passed when I went to the washroom and I didn’t feel a thing.”
Some of us cry for weeks on end. Perhaps our only solace was to seek out counselling. And it doesn’t help that partners tend to experience the loss to a lesser degree than the ones physically carrying the child. They say they don’t need counselling (although the really do, and should).
The days after we lost our second child, I could only muster enough energy to mindlessly fill in tiny shapes in my adult colouring book. Tissue after tissue, song after song on repeat, section after section of alternating colours… that was the only way I knew how to spend my days, without further overwhelming myself with the painful realization.
I wish I could tell you that I was strong and just saw the positives. Trust me, I tried. When my husband and I joined a pregnancy loss grief counselling group and heard firsthand how difficult some people had it – like losing stillborn twins, choosing to carry to term even though the fetus stopped growing, suffering multiple (4, 5 or more) miscarriages in a row – losing one child didn’t seem so bad, relatively speaking.
But grief doesn’t work that way. I can’t compare my loss to yours, or to the next person’s. The only thing in common is that it is painful, and we need to fully acknowledge and honour it with the proper time, space, care.
What to Expect After a Miscarriage
This might sound strange, or make me sound like a selfish human being, but what I most strongly felt after I had time to process it a little was this: Betrayal.
I felt betrayed by the health care system, because there was little to no publicly funded support programs even though doctors gave us increasingly higher odds of miscarriage. First it was 1 in 5 (20%), then 1 in 4 (25%) the last ER doctor we saw, by her own estimates, she guessed 1 in 3 (33%). How could something so common that has been happening to women since the dawn of time have basically no support? Drug addicts get safe injection sites in the DTES. Women? Nada.
I felt betrayed by family members, who only after me bawling my guts out, would tell me that it happened to so-and-so in the family. And they told me to stop crying. What else do you expect someone who just lost a child to do, rejoice?
I felt betrayed by friends. Similarly, all the stories came pouring out after the fact. “Oh, I know a lot of friends who had miscarriages.” Where were these stories hiding? I only knew one friend who suffered a miscarriage, and after talking to her at length, I didn’t know who else to go to. Only friends of friends had them, and it’s not like there was an open invitation to offer support.
It was very lonely days, compounded by the fact that it’s “supposed to be normal,” made me feel even worse. Normal doesn’t make it okay.
If miscarriages are truly a normal course of pregnancy (and life) then we should be better equipped to know what to expect from the health care system, and where to go for support. This is why I’m taking the time to compile this uncomprehensive guide to miscarriage. Your experience (hopefully you’ll never have to go through this) may be completely different from mine. You might be like, “NBD, moving on!” But if you’re like any of the people I met through the pregnancy loss support group, a starting point of a guide like this would have been incredibly helpful.
I hope you never have to use this. Please also note, this is not a medical guide.
Note: There are plenty of medically sound articles online (feel free to go down that rabbit hole!), and I’m here to offer this guide based on what I’ve experienced and what I’ve heard from others on a first or second-basis. Now if you should so be inclined to keep reading…
Here’s what to (somewhat) expect when you miscarry:
1/ Signs You Might Miscarry
When I called the Nurses Hotline, I got transferred to a doctor and he said that here are the telltale signs of a miscarriage:
- you start losing pregnancy symptoms (ie. no more breast tenderness)
- you start spotting (not always the case it ends in miscarriage)
- you get a huge cramp (ones that make you keel over).
On the other hand, if you have what’s called a “missed miscarriage” you might not feel different at all. Yeah, it’s all very confusing.
When it happened to me, I also heard a *pop!* under there. After all those Hollywood movies, I expected my water to break when I’m about to give birth, not when I was about to give birth and death to a child simultaneously.
2/ What to Do After You Have a Miscarriage
The first thing you’ll do is wait for the blood to let out. You might be bleeding for so long your bum might get sore from squatting on the toilet. If you’re lucky enough to be at home, get yourself to the bath tub. But I found that the lack of path for gravity to do its job didn’t help. When I stood up that’s when more came out.
The most important thing is to go see your OB, and if they don’t make it mandatory, request an ultrasound. It’s important that nothing remains in your system, otherwise you might get an infection.
If you don’t have a spontaneous miscarriage, what happens instead is that your fetus no longer has a heartbeat, then you’ll have to seek medical attention right away. I believe the next things to decide are whether to have a medical abortion via pills or a physical one via a dilation & curettage (aka D&C) surgery to remove tissue from your uterus.
Beyond this, there’s nothing more medically they can do for you. You’ll need to rest, regroup, reflect, numb out for a while to process all that just happened. Then reach out and start telling your story.
3/ Bleeding… for Days
I was in my mid-twenties when I first heard about a first-hand experience of a miscarriage. I didn’t know what to visualize, so I asked how it happened. They said it was small, so they flushed it down the toilet. They were very early in their pregnancy, so not a lot of bodily changes had occurred: no 3” fetus, no growing placenta.
Depending how far along you are in your pregnancy, you might bleed for days, or weeks.
Since I was already into my second trimester, and all the baby’s systems were already developed, there was a lot of blood clots to be cleared. It lasted about two weeks. The first of which I needed to wear pads daily. It was like a more rageful period. I had never seen my pad get fully soaked before, within hours.
4/ You Might Blame Yourself
When you lose other loved ones to death, it’s not in your control (even if you might think you could have done xyz to change things).
Losing a child feels like you should have control over whether or not they survive. After all, they’re growing in your body under your care. So if anything happened to them, the natural response is that it’s your fault, right? Your body couldn’t handle it. You shouldn’t have eaten ____. You shouldn’t have gone on a bike ride.
A lot of the time, it’s because there’s something wrong between the matching of you and your partner’s chromosomes.
5/ You Might Feel There’s No One to Turn to
The absolute worst part of this whole experience was experiencing the stigma of it all, and feeling the vast inequality between men and women.
The day after it happened, I didn’t know who to turn to. I couldn’t think of a single person who had experienced a miscarriage – and was devasted about it. Thankfully, I randomly texted a friend and remembered that she did tell me she went through a miscarriage a couple of years ago. She talked me through it at the most intense period of the loss, and I’m forever grateful.
However, after that I wasn’t so lucky. I told some friends and this was the response I got: “It’s so common, I’ve heard a lot of friends go through it.” I thought to myself, “WTF. Why are all these stories hidden behind closed doors and private chats?”
Yes, I understood it as a personal thing, and not everyone’s going to want to talk about it. There’s definitely a stigma attached to women losing children when the only time you only hear about these stories is after you’ve been through it yourself. It felt demoralizing knowing that so many people had experienced a miscarriage, yet I couldn’t reach them.
But you know, I think if you reached out and asked anyone to talk, they would. It’s worth a shot.
6/ You Might Not Believe It Happened
A miscarriage can be long and painful if it didn’t happen spontaneously. Or it can happen in a few hours. The next day what do you do – go back to business as usual?
My husband says he remembers the bloody footsteps going up the stairs and all these signs of the miscarriage (mainly bloody ones). But after cleaning it up, it’s like it never happened, save for a semi-bloated looking stomach.
The next day, you might be wondering, “Um, what do I do today? Did it really happen? I feel so not pregnant that I don’t believe I was for the last __ weeks.”
The only visual representation that serves as a reminder is the discoloured grout on a bathroom floor.
7/ You’ll Discover an Utter Lack of Government ResourceS
After about a month, I finally got the energy to look for professional services. I was truly surprised when I found next to nothing. At the doctor’s office, the OBGYN on duty that day (not my usual one) didn’t have a handy list to provide me. She just started Googling, which I then told her that’s something I’m capable of doing myself.
I did some online research and saw that Women’s Hospital had a support group. When I called, I was told that it was temporarily on hold because one of the two social workers who work there had recently left. No one could take over the program. And that was about as much free government counselling there was in Vancouver.
The social worker I spoke with did provide me with a list of local resources to check out. There were only two support groups run by individuals that were free. Two groups for all the 20% of women who experience miscarriages.
One of them, Empty Cradle, has open calls every other week. Because it’s not a private group with a specific beginning and end date, I’m told most of the calls are introductions of people telling their stories. I never joined this one because we were lucky enough to get into a private group.
Anya Mostrenko of Heritage Family Health, based in Mission, is where my husband and I joined the bi-monthly online support group for 6 weeks. Anya is a certified counsellor who runs this group out of her own time, and topics she covers includes: how to respond to what people say, how to memorialize your angel, further resources, and more.
Being in a group setting was just so therapeutic for us. And I’m glad we got to do it together.
8/ People Will Share Their Stories, If You Share First
We have a couple friend who had their first child around the same time we did. They came to visit not too long after we miscarried and we told them what we’d been through. They said they were sorry to hear and they had some news for us too. I braced myself for the worst—that they were pregnant again. As things turned out, they had also miscarried a few months before us too.
We found that this wasn’t the type of thing people willingly opened up about, even if some are really good friends. They had told even fewer friends than we had, not knowing how to bring it up in conversation. This is especially the case if the couple hasn’t passed the first trimester mark yet (that society tells you to wait until). So if you never told anyone you were pregnant, you might feel, why would they care if I told them I no longer have a child? They didn’t know about them in the first place. That’s how we kind of felt too.
It’s this stigma we still all feel about miscarriages, whether blame ourselves for making it happen, feel like our bodies failed us, or that we’re somehow not good enough to bring the baby to term that keeps us in a lonely place, ruminating. If you’re not comfortable telling friends and family who didn’t know you were pregnant, there are counsellors who specialize in pregnancy loss (see next point).
9/ Counselling Might (Really) Help
I did a one-on-one call with a counsellor, but didn’t find it helped as much as I hoped it would. Whereas in group counselling, I felt comforted by our shared loss. I empathized with the range of emotions we went through, and the things we did to memorialize our little angels.
On the other hand, my friend felt like group counselling was the last thing she wanted to do. She couldn’t bear to listen to more traumatic stories. Fair enough.
At the end of the day, talking and listening is therapeutic. Here’s a scientific reason I learned from that one-on-one call that proved super helpful: She told me that memories move from short-term (easy recall) to long-term once we release them through storytelling. When they stay in the short-term, it’s like they’re primed to be triggered. That’s why talking about is so, so important.
Below are some resources (free + paid) you can seek out.
10/ Friends & Family will Say Sh*tty Things—In Person
When you lose a child, it’s not just the child you lose. It’s the loss of all your hopes, dreams, expectations you had for your growing family.
For us, we had decided that we weren’t going to try for another child if, say, in 6 months we couldn’t get pregnant. That was our timeline, and known only to us. So when people get all awkward around you or laugh it off with, “you can try again,” it’s honestly the last thing you’ll want to hear.
But you really should expect it. What I learned from the support group is that when you post something online, people have time to digest it and don’t feel like they immediately need to respond to you, or try to alleviate your pain. In person, however, is a completely different story. It’s like you can imagine people’s internal world, a tiny version of them scrambling to pull all sorts of levers to get their nervous system to calm down.
Here are some things I personally heard or vicariously through the group:
- “You can try again” – that might not have been in your plans. Even if you do try again, it’s not the same baby. Nothing will replace the one you lost. Your potential future child is not meant to be a replacement
- “Don’t cry.” – you feel, why is it wrong to cry?
- “You’re so strong/brave/resilient.” – you don’t want to be brave, you just want it to be okay to cry
- “You’ve had miscarriages so you can keep having SEX!” – an old lady at clinic said this to the counsellor I spoke with…
- “It wasn’t meant to be” – according to who?
- “It’s very common” – as if something that’s normal makes it okay. Before there were laws to ban plastic bags, taking extra bags was common, but not okay for the environment.
11/ Loved ones Might Not Follow Up
Telling your friends once is one thing. You get to release your emotions, cry endlessly in their arms. But after that first experience, you might find that people have a hard time bringing up your loss. When I brought up the three-month anniversary of losing our child, it would barely be acknowledged and conversation quickly moved onto something else.
Just know that many people haven’t been through this type of loss themselves and they might feel deeply uncomfortable talking about it. They might think it’ll bring up sad memories. But if you make it clear that it helps when you remember your child when talk about him or her, they might open up too.
12/ No Cultural Rituals to Memorialize Your Child
Miscarriages, divorces, being ghosted on Tinder, infertility, a grandparent gets Alzheimer, friends losing touch, estrangement etc. all have one thing in common: you lose someone physically or psychologically and there’s no real form of closure. This is what therapist Pauline Boss coined as ambiguous loss 40 years ago.
When you think of death, you know very well the ceremonies associated with it: funeral, wear black, send surviving family members a card, etc.
So what makes a miscarriage doubly difficult to find closure for is that 80% of them occur during the first 13 weeks. Because it’s kind of a socially expected thing for couples not to announce their pregnancies until after the 13th week, it’s like telling people there’s nothing there when they expected nothing in the first place. If you’re losing a loved one to memory loss, people at least knew that family member existed. Child loss? “Oh well, try again,” is a common response.
Anyway, so what we have to start doing is creating rituals of our own. For the one month anniversary of our child’s passing, we did something we never do: go hiking – eep! It was actually very calming forest bathing in Lynn Canyon. It’s something we plan to do annually.
Here are some (not exhaustive, but ones I’ve heard people do) other ways to remember your child:
- Plant a Tree: One or two people in our group planted a tree in their yard, which is a beautiful way to commemorate the child and simultaneously watch the tree grow. The only thing is that if you have more than one miscarriage you might not have enough yard space.
- Send a Hope Box: This is more or other families experiencing loss. Some companies curate these caring boxes filled with things like poems, stuffed animals, bracelets, etc. with hopeful messages on them. Note: Hope Boxes seems to be more of a religious thing.
- Create a Memory Box: Grab any cardboard box and put all the baby things in them, for example: ultrasounds, birth announcement cards, test results, anything you’ve bought for the child.
- Get a Molly Bear: Molly Bears are stuffed animals that weigh the same weight your kid did when they passed. It’s a nice way to serve as a visual reminder, especially for kids. I’ve heard some people take family photos with them.
- Get an Imaginative Graphic of Child Illustrated: This artist took on a commission from someone in our support group to articulate what her daughter might have looked like.
- Wear Special Jewelry: You can get bereavement jewelry to keep close to your heart. There are ones you can engrave dates, ones you can put trace amount of ashes in, or even ones that you can have ashes turned into a necklace via resin. For me, when we went out the next day, I instinctively gravitated toward a tree of life necklace, and I didn’t even know bereavement jewelry was a thing.
- Set Up an Altar: I hadn’t planned on doing this, but my husband insisted we put up one of the two remaining IKEA shelves I had bought on Facebook Marketplace eons ago. When he turned it into a little altar space for our unborn bean, I wanted to cry. He also placed his Snoopy daily rotating calendar up there that still hadn’t been touched since the day of our baby’s passing. “I don’t think I’ll ever change the date,” he said.
- Bury or Cremate Your Child: I’ve read that some funeral homes offer free cremation services or coffin boxes for kids under a certain age. It might seem weird to bury your little fetus in your backyard, but I don’t see it as too different as someone requesting their ashes to be spread in the sea.
13/ You Will Feel Triggered Seeing Newborns or Pregnant People
I really didn’t want to go through this phase. But that’s just what it is, a phase. A few times I happened to come across Instagram birth announcements, but not by anyone, they were people who had their first child around the same time we did.
All I could think was, “That could have been us. That should have been. Why us? WHY THE F*CK US??” Not my best moments. My meagre feelings of joy for them was overcast by my jealousy.
But here’s what I’ve been told: Jealousy is a road sign of what’s important to you. Maybe we wanted a second child more than we wanted to keep our timeline.
14/ You Will Feel Guilty Getting Your Time + Body Back
You might start eating raw sashimi, oysters, charcuterie, drinking wine, no longer feel nausea, get back to regular levels of energy, can wear regular clothes again, work out at previous levels of intensity… all to be overshadowed by immense guilt. You’ll feel more like yourself again, but should you feel good about it? Shouldn’t you still feel sad? The transition period could be tough because of these gray areas. Just trust that your emotions will settle.
You might even feel guilty for seeing the silver linings of the miscarriage. For example, you might rediscover something you used to love doing, you might be open to new experiences, or use this experience as a way to connect with others going through the pain.
When I was on the group call one time, I felt like I was seeing the positives while the others were still in pain. Yup, felt guilty, like I shouldn’t have moved forward as quickly as the others.
15/ Your First Period Might Be Emotional
I got my first period after the miscarriage for two days already, but it wasn’t until this third that I saw a big gush of red paint swirl around the toilet bowl. My immediate visceral reaction was expected – the mind went straight to the experience of sitting on the toilet the day of loss.
My period is no longer a monthly annoyance of cramps and cravings. I finally saw it as life-giving fluid, and the lack of being pregnant. The monthly period signaled yet another potential child unrealized.
16/ You Might Never Be the Same Person Again
I’m not, and can never be, the same person after this loss.
I remember the day after the miscarriage, we were sitting in a public space filled with kids. All I could think about was, “How many unborn children had to be miscarried before these kids made it earth-bound?”
If your child passed around a holiday, you might always associate that holiday with loss. You might be more cautious with your next pregnancy, or all that you do.
That’s how trauma works, it stays in your body. There’s literally a place for them in your heart (or at least certain cells).
17/ If You Miscarry at a Hospital, there will be *some* Empathy
I learned that some hospitals (Womens, I think?) put a picture on your door if you deliver a stillborn.
18/ Otherwise, You’ll Get Outraged at the Cracks in Healthcare
Through the pregnancy loss group, I heard so many stories about healthcare systems not aligning or healthcare professionals not showing empathy.
Someone got a call from a clinic asking whether they should cancel their appointment… but the person was clearly on record for no longer being pregnant.
Some doctor’s forms don’t consider the state of having recently had a miscarriage: What do you choose when it comes to the “Are you pregnant” box? This is especially the case if you’re technically still carrying a fetus but you need a D&C procedure to remove them. It’s hard to feel seen in these situations.
For me, it was the ultrasound tech who couldn’t figure out that I had a miscarriage when I went in for a dating ultrasound (the first ultrasound that determines your expected due date) for my third pregnancy… even though it would have clearly shown a dating ultrasound 4 months prior.
19/ You’ll Feel Strange/Scared If You Get Pregnant Again
You might be scared sh*tless for this baby’s safety and harbour anxious feelings until baby is born and physically in your arms. That’s what a friend said to me, at least. And that’s normal.
A miscarriage is a traumatic event. Find all the support you need if you happen to get pregnant again.
20/ Friends Might Tiptoe about Their Pregnancy
Even if you share the same experience of miscarrying a child, not everyone is open to sharing their news if they get pregnant again. They might still fear for their child, or don’t want to talk about it. Know that everyone has their own timeline for such things, and it doesn’t mean you’re any less of a friend.
21/ You’ll Count Anniversaries of What Could Have Been
The day your baby would have been 2 years old, the 5th anniversary you miscarried, back-to-school means your child would have been in first grade… and the like. It’s okay to remember.
Moving Forward
Something very nuanced we talked about in the support group was the difference between moving on VS moving forward. We agreed that moving on kind of feels like you are done with something, like when you’re moving on to the next job you no longer entertain tasks at your old workplace.
Moving forward represents a more humanized take on things. You’re no longer stuck in the past, but you don’t forget what happened. Grief resurfaces and you learn to handle it skillfully. You’re allowed to bring part of it with you on your journey.
A couple of months after it happened, I listened to Susan Cain’s latest book, Bittersweet. The whole time I couldn’t help but think about my little lost baby. Here are two quotes that I took to heart:
Cain says, “Whatever pain you can’t get rid of, make it your creative offering.” This article (among others and more to come) are my offering. As much as I want to be successful in other areas of life, I feel like writing comes so naturally to me that’s it’s the only thing I can offer. The first grief post on this blog was actually spurred by my miscarriage.
The other is a quote from author Renee Denfeld, “The best way to help ourselves, help others.” Like how so many troubled folks go into psychology, right?
My take from this is that even though on a day-to-day basis, I feel that I’ve moved forward… the truth is when I first put hand to keyboard on this post, all the emotions surfaced and I cried at the café. It’s not a pretty sight to relive traumatic experiences. What I’m getting to is that, even though I’m not the world’s best listener and empathizer (great sales pitch, Miranda) I’m offering my ear and shoulder to anyone who’s going through a miscarriage and doesn’t know who to turn to. It’ll help me as much as it’ll help you. Email me.
Lastly, when you move forward, don’t hold back celebrations. The same way we ask others, “Wouldn’t your ____ want you to be happy?”
Here are a few things to know or consider when you’re ready to move forward:
1/ Tell Your Story
Like the Renee Denfeld quote, you can help yourself by helping others. When you tell your story, others will feel less alone. Even people who haven’t gone through this experience will have someone to reach out to. Why be selfish and keep your story to yourself?
(I’m actually planning to write another post on my miscarriage story. It’s not going to be pretty. You are now warned.)
2/ Go for a Fertility Consultation
If you’re suffering from infertility, know that MSP covers fertility consultations, even though the treatments aren’t covered. A few people from my group went to Olive Fertility Clinic and highly recommend it.
3/ Request Extra Ultrasounds + Tests
I thought this was very interesting, so DYK that you can ask for regular HCG testing if you’re concerned you have a high-risk pregnancy? Ask for a standing order, which allows you to go to a clinic 2-3 times a week (says my notes, but I wonder whether it should have read every 2-3 weeks). You can also request extra ultrasounds, dopplers, and if that’s not enough for peace of mind, you can buy a fetal heart monitor.
4/ Read Books on Loss
Aside from clinical books about grief, bereavement, and loss that kind of all go over the 5 stages of grief in their own way, myself and an English professor in the group (aka huge readers) found it extremely difficult to find this experience written in beautiful, lyrical literature.
I’m sure there are more titles out there (please leave a comment if you know any!), but here’s a list of books I’ve read over the years on loss:
- Where Reasons End, by YiYun Li: Two months after our miscarriage it was Asian Heritage Month and on the library’s feature display the calming geometric lines of this book immediately attracted me to it. Little did I know it was exactly what I was looking for: A book about losing a (non-adult) child, written in a very unique format (the author talks to her dead kid in the present), the language is beautiful (you’ll love the mother-son banter), and it’s from an Asian perspective.
- The Heart Does Break: Canadian Writers on Grief and Mourning, Jean Baird: I also came across this book serendipitously. Not too long after losing my godmother, like a zombie I walked into a bookstore just to feel like I was doing something. I walked into the back of this used book store in Mount Pleasant and right at my eye level was this book. I love that it’s a bunch of very different short stories written by Canadian writers, one author talked about tasting his dad’s ashes. Yup, you need to read this.
- Bittersweet, by Susan Cain: Susan Cain is a modern TED Talk legend. I thought she wouldn’t be able to top her best-selling Quiet, but she does. There’s only dark with light, and there’s only sweet with bitterness. I absolutely loved this one, because everything about pregnancy and the loss of, is bittersweet.
- When Breath Becomes Air, by Paul Kalanithi: This must be one of my all-time favourite books. Successful doctor Paul Kalanithi dreamed of being a writer, and upon realizing his imminent death, decides to realize his intention and documents his death, beautifully.
- The Year of Magical Thinking and Blue Nights, by Joan Didion: One of the greatest American writers of all-time—and a contributor to Vogue—Joan Didion suffered and wrote through her losses of her adult daughter and husband, all within a year.
- It’s Okay Not to be Okay, by Sheila Walsh: This one’s on loss in general, and was recommended by someone in my group. She brought it up a few times during the sessions, so it must have helped.
5/ Join a Free Group Counselling Support
Because everyone who joins a support group has personally gone through the experience themselves, at times it’s more comforting to talk to strangers than to friends and family who haven’t experienced this type of loss.
I went through Anya Mostrenko’s Butterfly Run support group and I highly recommend it. The safe and supportive vibe she creates made everyone feel so welcome to share their stories. Everyone had so much empathy for one another’s stories. Every group gets six sessions bi-monthly, and there might be a wait so reach out immediately.
The other free option I’ve come across is the Empty Cradle group. They started meeting in-person in New West again as well as an online and call-in option.
If someone has started running the program again, check out BC Women’s Hospital Perinatal Loss Support Group.
If you feel this might help you in ~any~ way, I highly encourage you to reach out.
PS. Call the BC Bereavement Hotline to get the latest resources.
PPS. There are also some paid group counselling you can research.
6/ Run (or Walk) a Charity Run
A team of 10 women who experienced loss came together to make the Butterfly Run happen, and Anya was a founding member! The 5km run that honours infertility, pregnancy loss, and infant loss was on hold or held virtually for a few years because of Covid, but it resumes in person this October
The Shopper’s Drug Mart Run For Women run isn’t directly pregnancy loss related, its main goal is to support women’s mental health, which is a huge part of the whole pregnancy experience, whether or now you experience loss. This fairly new run takes place in many cities across Canada.
7/ Seek Private Counselling Specializing in (Pregnancy) Loss
- Alexandra Stewart Counselling – Grief/Loss Counselling, Infertility
- Heritage Family Health – This is where the counsellor I sought out practices
- Lotus Counselling – Topics covered incl. pregnancy loss and termination, recurrent miscarriage, stillbirth, anxiety during pregnancy
- Coast Counselling – Serves women who have depression in pregnancy loss, miscarriage
- Brood Care – Online course for miscarriage
So, that’s all folks. Nearly 6000 words of everything I want you to know about miscarriages. I hope you never have to use this guide yourself, but just understanding how some people feel and see things could help if you hear a loved one go through it.
xo, Miranda
