The BBC’s Tulip Mazumdar reports that most of her coverage focuses on maternal health and the challenges women face around the world.
In this article, she writes about her own pregnancy and the psychological impact of abortion.
We never think that certain situations will happen to us. But life does not go as planned. We find ourselves in events that are not our own.
I sat on my bed in Room 9 and looked at the bright blue socks on the white hospital bed, waiting for the experts to tell me.
But there was silence. Instead, they called another expert. Within seconds, I realized that the world was on the verge of collapse.
I was told, “I’m so sorry.”
I have had four miscarriages in the last two years. Two occur during the first trimester of pregnancy, and two occur later in pregnancy.
In the UK, at least one in four pregnancies is miscarried. About 50% of miscarriages are caused by abnormal chromosomes, which means that the baby will never survive.
After that, most women who have had a miscarriage will have a healthy pregnancy.
But like me, one out of every 100 women has a miscarriage. This is described as three consecutive miscarriages in the UK. The more frequent miscarriages, the less likely it is that the next successful pregnancy will occur.
But for many couples, the cause of the miscarriage is unknown. This is because of the lack of research and funding. Women’s health issues are relatively insignificant and have not been studied.
My miscarriage got worse. My last miscarriage was when I was assigned to work on maternal health in a Greek refugee camp.
I had to go slowly to the camp’s movable and dirty toilet. At the time, I had to focus on finishing my work.
I realize that I am not the only one who has had a miscarriage, with thousands of women in the camp. But unlike the women in the refugee camps, I know that when I return home, I will be well cared for.
Then there was Rivah, My little baby!
He was born without a heartbeat. Some people prefer to say they were born sleeping.
Riva was born after a traumatic experience. It seemed strange to me that I was enjoying the birth pangs.
But all I could do was hold my hand and hold my hand during the pain. We could not hug our baby.
Then, for the first few weeks after I lost my baby, it was a bit of a nightmare. The memories that follow are echoed.
Will my baby’s body be examined? I went to the cemetery to see and select small coffins, and for the first time I met my beautiful nephew. It was a time of turmoil.
I understand how frustrating and frightening it can be to read this.
But many women and families have had similar experiences, but very few feel that they can relate to their experiences.
I apologize for the inconvenience when I tell a lot of people my story and their sadness and emotions change.
Millions of girls, like me, do not know why their daughter died. But I consider myself ‘lucky’ with the care I received here in the UK.
I have reported on maternal health from many parts of the world, and I realize how many women, especially in some developing countries, do not go to the clinic before, during, or after losing their children.
I remember meeting 17-year-old Sulaina in central Uganda. She had been in labor on the floor of her small hut for two days before arriving at the hospital two hours away. Her daughter was not alive when she was born.
Sullivan told me that she could not hug her daughter, and even worse, when she returned home, she was ostracized by the community.
Premature miscarriage is rare, occurring in about 1 in 100 pregnancies.
If a fetus is miscarried in the United Kingdom after 24 weeks or 20 weeks in the United States, it is said to have been born dead; The child will be officially placed in the mortuary.
If a baby is born before that, it is called a miscarriage and is not officially recognized. It is not even officially recognized in many countries, including the United Kingdom.
And I was told, “You’re not lucky.” All my tests were done safely and I was advised to try again easily.
So we tried, and I got pregnant the same year. I’m scared, anxious, and sad. Red C Diving Resort film about Ethiopia where Ethiopians are not
I began to do what I was strongly advised not to do. I regularly listen to my baby’s heartbeat. Listening to his heartbeat made me feel good.
At a local hospital, I met a wonderful midwife named Sarah. She underwent several tests and began to confirm that she was pregnant. I returned to work and tried to spend days, weeks, and months.
Then I went back to Investigation Room 9. I checked four days ago and my baby’s heart rate was very high. There was no problem. My tears flowed down my cheeks as I rubbed the cold ointment on my stomach.
This reaction was the same for all my tests after I lost Riva.
As you move the device over my stomach, the examination room is silent.
Then she said, “I’m so sorry.”
My baby, whom I named Raye, was born four days later. His birth was tragic. I had a lot of bleeding and had to undergo surgery.
I spent the night with Raya, just as I did with Riva. Wrap a small yellow gown in a refrigerator and place it next to me.
We cut down branches from the tree that we planted as a reminder of Riva, and we also brought roses that we had taken when Riva was dead.
The experience of losing my Rivah gave me experience, and I knew how to spend less time together and to say goodbye in a special way. I brought candles, decorated the book I could read, and the little white box in which they placed it. I also put the little doll that was given to us next to my baby’s body.
I know how sad all this is, True, this is sad. For me, it was important to show my love and grief.
I know many women and their partners may or may not want to do this. My husband chose not to do so.
But I also mention here that I am trying to reduce some of the traumatic events of childbirth and replace it with love.
The love that a mother has for her baby.
If you have a miscarriage: I’m sorry if you missed your pregnancy.
If you know women who have had a miscarriage, ask them, and share their pain.
It is very difficult to know what to say. Since all mothers are different, they express their grief in different ways.
At the time of Rivah’s death, all I wanted to do was tell her every detail. The opposite happened to me during my visit. I was silenced.
But for me now, if I want to or if I find it necessary, I will talk about my miscarriage and the children I lost. This should not be a dark and sad secret, it should not be something we can discuss in a calm, low tone.
It is a recognition of the precious lives lost.