The story discusses miscarriage and could be triggering for some readers.
My husband and I had decided to wait a few months after our wedding before going on our honeymoon so we could enjoy Europe during the summertime. A week before leaving I had some unusual spotting that I thought could be implantation bleeding (we were trying for a baby but not tracking my cycle closely).
Excited, I took a pregnancy test and instantly two red lines appeared. I did two more tests to curb my inner disbelief. I laid the positive tests out proudly in a line and instantly Googled what to do next.
The following morning we had a doctor’s appointment where, as first-time parents to be, we answered questions, asked questions and organised tests.
When I received a phone call that confirmed my pregnancy, I was confused as to why I was still spotting so I asked my doctor. To be safe, the doctor organised another blood test and an ultrasound for that afternoon. After ruling out an ectopic pregnancy I had to wait until the day of our honeymoon to find out if my pregnancy hormones were rising at the expected rate. That gave my husband and I three days to worry or be optimistic.
In that time we had started to dream about our future as parents. We had this game we liked to play before we got pregnant where we’d match a ridiculous baby name to our surname, the more outlandish the better. Now the game had turned into:
1. Should we tell people we’re pregnant?
2. What articles are helpful to read?
3. What news will we get from the doctor?
Those who know me well would agree that I’m a pessimist. Yet I didn’t fall down a rabbit hole of reading/watching all the awful things that could happen to my body. Instead, I really felt connected to my pregnancy and confident that things would work out. I told some friends, my siblings (including in-laws) and my parents about the pregnancy.
Deeply aware this was taboo at such an early point in the pregnancy (around four weeks) I still wanted to tell people. And here’s the thing— I am still firmly grounded in the decision to tell people about pregnancies early on because the morning of our honeymoon I was told my pregnancy was not viable and I needed more than my husband’s support in that moment. The pamphlet we had received from the doctor about dealing with a miscarriage spoke about the potential grief, depression and anxiety both parties can feel in sharing the loss of a pregnancy. So why wouldn’t we both require care from the people closest to us?
Listen: On this episode on No Filter, Mia Freedman covers the difficult and emotional topic of miscarriage. Post continues after this podcast.
Airports are emotional. If you think of the film Love Actually where people are hugging, crying or laughing it pretty much summarises the spectrum of emotion on display during travel. I’m glad my sobbing was not filmed with a voiceover from Hugh Grant. I sat at the airport lounge and cried onto my husband’s shoulder a few hours before our flight. Suddenly babies were everywhere, being rocked to sleep or versing me in a crying battle. It was too much. It was isolating and lonely. And not even the prospect of eating authentic Italian pizza was enough to make me feel better in that moment.
When we arrived in Rome both of us took on tourist mode. We went straight to having gelato, visiting the Trevi Fountain and Colosseum only stopping to eat or swig water. There wasn’t much time dedicated to sitting and thinking about what had happened a mere 24 hours before. My husband and I were taking wrong turns down streets, laughing, speaking bad Italian and complaining about the heat—we were having fun at being just newlywed tourists.
I thought that feeling would last, not necessarily to avoid the grief altogether, but to just sit in the enjoyment of being in a new country with my favourite person. The wave of emotion I felt later that evening back in our hotel was therefore a shock. I remember curling into a ball on the bed and looking out at the cobbled road wanting to take in the excitement of Italy but instead I was so sad. I knew it was okay to cry, but I felt guilty not wanting to go out for dinner. Shouldn’t we have been at some beautiful restaurant in an alleyway with fairy lights, a glass of red and a pizza the size of a coffee table? Thankfully, my husband was feeling the same way as me; he got us slices of takeaway pizza to eat in bed.
When we arrived in the seaside town of Maiori it was exactly how I remember seeing the Amalfi Coast in the travel section of a magazine: picturesque cliff faces, fascinating architecture and sparkling ocean dotted with boats and a myriad of colourful beach umbrellas. We immersed ourselves into beachside culture, stumbling on the rocks when jumping in the ocean, sitting on our reserved beach chairs and only getting reprieve from the sun when it was time to eat. What we didn’t realise at the time of booking this trip is that Maiori is a holiday destination for families. We could have embraced a party town with loud music and summer games, instead there were children playing in the water, toddlers screaming “Mamma, Mamma” along the main café strip and a congestion of prams on every path. It was exhausting. I couldn’t decide whether to ignore what I was seeing or process being upset. My husband and I had a fight on our second night in Maiori.
There is a restaurant in Maiori that is famous for its authentic spaghetti. Thoughtfully my husband had booked a table at 8pm for the two of us so we could eat and listen to traditional music. I was excited and looking forward to getting dressed up when he initially told me.
But when it got to 7.30pm, I was still in an old t-shirt, my glasses and severely creased linen pants. I slid on my over-worn Birkenstocks and my husband knew straight away I didn’t want to go out. He was upset and embarrassed that we were going to give the restaurant no notice about cancelling our reservation. He left to get some air and I stayed in bed. Half an hour later he came back with a notebook, a pen and a cannoli because writing helps me process how I’m feeling (and cannolis are delicious). That disagreement was important and very fitting for our relationship. I am very open (in fact an over-sharer) about my feelings whereas my husband takes time to process and understand his emotions. Both of us had a right to grieve in our own way (be sad most days or to be grateful for what we have) but I don’t want to pretend that we were happy at every point of the trip.
Watch: Tina Arena speaks to Mia Freedman about her miscarriage. Post continues after the video.
Talking to friends and family during the honeymoon, many of them said it was good to be in another part of the world with my husband because it gave us uninterrupted time together to talk things through. This was definitely true and allowed us to have lots of conversations that perhaps we wouldn’t have had in our normal daily routines. However, whether we wanted to admit it or not there was pressure to make sure we got our money’s worth of each place we visited. If we were at home, staying in bed and being anti-social would have been acceptable. Instead, some days made me feel like it was a sick joke that prams were seated next to me or mums stopped to breastfeed on the bench I sat on. My husband noticed it was mainly mums juggling their babies, so he was not being triggered in the same way as me.
I acknowledge my privilege that I have a loving, supportive husband who held my hand when we saw a big swollen pregnant belly, kissed my forehead when he knew I was sad or told me to eat more cannolis because I deserved it. However, this is not always the case for women and I want the conversation around early pregnancy and miscarriages to be more transparent.
The grief of something we didn’t even have time to process was consuming. This is why I think it’s important to share early pregnancy with people close to you. Hiding behind the guise of it being “safe” to tell people about pregnancy at a certain time puts pressure on either one or two people in dealing with the aftermath of sad news. Having our community of people to lean on was integral to the enjoyment of our honeymoon and to ensure we were looking after each other’s physical and mental health…you can’t be your partner’s everything.
I don’t know what the future of my fertility looks like but I do know for certain that my husband, friends and family checking in on me both then and now has given me a safe space to grieve.
If this has raised any issues for you or if you would like to speak with someone, please contact the Sands Australia 24-hour support line on 1300 072 637.