Miscarriage

Sharna’s Story

Hello beautiful souls, 

My name is Sharna Southan. I am an Angel Mum & a rainbow mum.

Today, I want to share my story with you, starting from the beginning.

I always envisioned having a family. 

As one of four children, I didn’t want a big family myself, but I always dreamed of having one or two children. In my twenties, I believed that getting pregnant would be easy. I assumed I’d get married, have sex, fall pregnant, and start my family without any issues.

After trying to conceive for a couple of years, I began to see cracks in my perfect plan. On paper, I seemed like the ideal candidate for motherhood: fit, healthy, a non-smoker, with a stable job, a loving husband, and a home. 

Yet, I wasn’t getting pregnant. The well-meaning advice from others to “just relax, it’ll happen” was increasingly frustrating.

We decided to see a fertility specialist. After a few cycles of medication, I finally found out I was pregnant. I was overjoyed. 

In that moment, everything changed. I was going to be a mom; my future plans revolved around my baby. 

We got confirmation from the doctor and scheduled an ultrasound.

Because my periods were always irregular, we didn’t know exactly how far along I was. We went to the ultrasound appointment full of excitement. 

After an uncomfortable wait with a full bladder, the ultrasound technician said they couldn’t see anything and needed to do an internal ultrasound. 

Then came the life-altering words: “I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat.”

The room fell silent, and I felt everything drain away. 

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. 

I turned to my husband and cried, and he just held me. 

A senior technician confirmed that the pregnancy had stopped growing at seven weeks.

We were shuffled back into the waiting room and then to the doctor, who explained that I would start miscarrying naturally at home. 

We went to my mums after the appointment, for support. Her cry is still etched in my mind. She grieved my loss so heavily!

The Doctor told me to expect a heavy period. 

What happened next was far from what she described. 

I experienced severe contractions and bleeding to the point of passing out. 

My husband was frantically Googling my symptoms. 

By Monday, I was in such bad shape that my doctor called an ambulance to take me to the hospital, which was 45 minutes away.

The ambulance officer, who had helped me before during epileptic seizures, was like a guardian angel to me. I felt my dad, who had passed away when I was 19, had sent him to look out for me.

At the hospital, I was met with blank stares as I explained my situation. I was admitted to the emergency department and given pain relief for the contractions. 

For the first time, a gynecologist mentioned that one in four pregnancies end in loss. 

Despite this statistic, I felt completely alone. 

The nurse in the emergency department was kind, she had a lovely sense of humour and tried to make the situation bearable. My husband stayed with me the entire time up until surgery. 

I was prepped for a D&C (dilation and curettage). 

The nurse told me I would be fertile within the next few months, but in my medicated state, I didn’t respond. 

Later, I wondered why she would say that—it wasn’t helpful at the moment.

I woke up alone in recovery and was sent home, feeling utterly empty. This all happened in 2017, and it remains one of the most traumatic experiences of my life. 

I was fortunate to have a supportive family to help me heal and recover.

When I got home, I was left to navigate the grief, heartache, physical & emotional changes & challenges on my own.

If you know someone going through a similar experience, please don’t say, “just relax, it’ll happen” or “you still have time, you’re young” or “at least your loss was early.” Instead, learn to be there for them. 

Sit with them, acknowledge their experience, and even if you don’t know what to say, simply say, “I’m here.”

Thank you for listening to my story. Remember, you are not alone.

If you ever need me, I am here!

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