The silent pain of Mother’s Day

Posted on 12 May, 2019

For some, Mother’s Day isn’t a day to celebrate.

Rather, it’s a day where grief is at its most acute.

For those women who desperately want children, but have not been able to, or for those mothers who have lost children, it’s a day of mourning.

I battled infertility for two years. It seemed like an aeon but I know there are women who’ve been fighting for much, much longer. And, at the end of the day, I’m one of the lucky ones. We got there in the end, and that made the sickening rollercoaster ride worth it ten times over. But others aren’t so fortunate.

It’s an all-consuming time. From the moment you wake, til you close your eyes at night (and sometimes even in your dreams), your sole focus is having a baby. Charting the right time, trying like crazy during that miniscule window, and then the torturous two-week-wait to find out if…maybe this time…you’ve done it. Repeat this cycle over and over and over again.

Everyone deals with infertility in different ways. When I look back on my time trying to get pregnant, my over-riding memory is of being incredibly ANGRY.

I was angry at the women who would happily exclaim that their pregnancies were effortless accidents.

I was angry at the women who would say ‘we’re trying too…it’s so hard isn’t it?’ I’d ask how long for…’oh, this is our second month.’

I had to be restrained from launching myself at the heavily pregnant woman puffing on a cigarette out the front of my work, wanting to scream ‘don’t you know how lucky you are?’

And because our failure to conceive was ‘unexplained’ it was all the more frustrating. I’d fallen pregnant once and miscarried, so I knew I could do it…so why not again? I’m a problem solver – give me an issue and I’ll find a solution. But there was no identifiable cause, and so we continued the frustrating journey.

In the end, we resorted to assisted conception and, two cycles in, fell pregnant with our big girl. The rest, as they say, is history.

With our little miss, I was one of those annoying people who went off the Pill and found themselves knocked up two weeks later. This time, the battle wasn’t to make a baby, but to keep her.

I started to bleed at 25 weeks, spent six weeks on hospital bedrest, and she arrived – all 1.43kg of her – at 30 weeks. It was a long and harrowing journey, which you can read about here.

I can honestly say I have never endured anything so hard in my life. Absolutely nothing can prepare you for watching your baby struggle to breathe and to actually have to contemplate ‘what if she dies?’

But we got to take our baby home. Yes, the first couple of years were incredibly tough, but our little girl is alive. And that’s all that matters.

Those mums of premmies who don’t make it…my God, I’m in awe. They are just so incredibly, incredibly strong. Those women who carry their baby in their womb, give birth, endure the NICU ‘bubble’ and then go home to an empty crib have more grit than almost anyone I can think of.

And then there are the women who have had miscarriages. And stillbirths. And the women who’ve lost children (whatever their age) through illness or accident. And the women who have lost their own mums. For all these people, Mother’s Day isn’t about breakfast in bed, or a box of chocolates. It’s about grieving what they’ve lost – or what is still missing.

Spare a thought for all these women today. And be there for them – give them empathy, a chance to talk or vent if they want to do that. Give them space if they’d rather just shut out the world. But don’t forget them.

While they may not be mothers in body, they are in their hearts.