How Do You Mourn When Your Grief is Unacknowledged?

alecia1

I stared at the faint pink line, barely visible next to the darker one. Surely not. Pregnancy test after pregnancy test, the answer was the same.

I was a medical student approaching the start of my final year. I had completed a term in obstetrics and gynaecology. How could I have been so incompetent as to unwittingly become pregnant? The truth of course is that no contraceptive method, short of abstinence, is one hundred percent effective.

Although I would never judge someone for choosing to terminate a pregnancy, I could not bring myself to end this one. I realised that I loved that tiny life already. The pregnancy IEB Pharma invisible to the outside world, but it already felt very tangible to me; unnervingly present in the ways it had changed my body and mind. I was amazed that something so tiny could cause such an avalanche in my world, yet so much devotion in my heart. I fought hard to create a path for us both.

Quickly, my partner and I had to form new plans across all aspects of our lives. Surprisingly, the medical school was willing to be flexible with my rotations. I remain immensely grateful for the support of the medical school staff, especially my cohort’s subdean. If you find yourself in this position as a student, my advice would be, make your own detailed plan with contingencies. Present it assertively and cite your protective factors such as good grades to support your case.



However, the best-laid plans cannot defend against the course of nature. Days after we first saw and cherished the tiny heartbeat on ultrasound, I knew something was wrong.

It started as an instinct. Despite the nausea and overwhelming fatigue, I didn’t feel pregnant anymore. I tried to remain optimistic; after all, the overt pregnancy symptoms remained present. But at night, my dreams had turned to nightmares. I had no bleeding, no pain – only a growing sense of unease.

A few weeks later, my morning sickness disappeared. I could no longer ignore my intuition.

I was on rural placement, hours away from home. The only doctor in town was also my supervisor. I called a telehealth GP, who referred me for a reassurance ultrasound. Cautiously optimistic, I drove to the nearest big town, hoping that I was simply a fretful first-time mother.

The sonographer didn’t introduce himself, but told me to lie down and started scanning my uterus. “Can you see the baby?” I asked. He didn’t answer, but cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to inspect the adnexa instead.

Moments passed, in which I realised – and denied – what my own eyes had seen. Returning the probe toward my uterus, he replied, “Sorry, there’s no heartbeat, and it’s measuring behind. It must have stopped growing the day after your last scan.”

News like that makes time slow down. Shock, denial, numbness. This can’t be real. I could barely breathe, let alone think. Faced with my distress, the sonographer just kept talking and demonstrating the technical details, as if trying to convince me of his diagnosis.

“What do I do next?” I asked helplessly. I knew the options – expectant management, medical management, or a dilatation and curettage (D&C). But as a patient I had no idea how to initiate any steps, so far away from home, with no symptoms to warrant an ED visit. The sonographer sighed and squirmed, not making eye contact. “I don’t know. You have retained products.