Before my miscarriage, I didn’t know miscarriage was possible. Looking back, I realized something was missing; the nausea and fatigue I felt early in the pregnancy had gone away by the eighth week. I didn’t know fewer symptoms could be a sign of pregnancy failure. I reasoned that everything was fine until I noticed blood on my underwear.
Full of confidence, I took the pregnancy test alone. The sonographer was pleased to have me and remained calm as she examined my abdomen. No heartbeat. I learned that the pregnancy had ended a few weeks earlier but there was still a pregnancy in my uterus. Of course, it had to end somehow. I received a booklet that explained how to remove the pregnancy from your body (medication, surgery, or wait until it happens naturally). She said it was a personal choice.
I don’t know which option to choose because I don’t want any of those options. I wanted to have my baby at seven months and maybe have a doula with me during the process – like Gigi Hadid and Anne Hathaway and so many other mothers are using now. I read my options over and over as if one had suddenly become attractive.
I also turned to social media (of course) where I learned about Arden Cartwright, also known as a miscarriage doula. The role of a miscarriage doula (Cartwright was a pioneer in this field) is similar to that of a birth doula, but their role is the dark side of motherhood. They provide guidance and tools for dealing with the physical and emotional burden of pregnancy loss. “My original idea was to provide doulas for women who are pregnant and full-term, but what if someone goes into labor in the first or second trimester?” she told me. “We should provide doula care for these newborns as well.” Like Cartwright, many miscarriage doulas have experienced miscarriage themselves, which builds a connection between client and doula.
As I navigated this strange new world, I began to bleed myself (option three on the prescription). On Monday, five days after the scan, I felt uncomfortable, but not unbearable. By Tuesday, I was bleeding so much I could barely get up off the bathroom floor. I was rushed to the hospital where they inserted an IV into my chest and connected wires to monitor my rapid heartbeat. When I stabilized, I was taken to the delivery room to join the full-term mothers as they awaited another scan. The specialist told me it was “good news” and that “the pregnancy results had passed”. Is this all “product of conception”?
After being discharged from the hospital, I was high on morphine. As this became clearer, I began to question how I would move forward. What did I do wrong? What should I tell my friend? When would I try again? If it ends this way, should I try again? I decided to seek the help of an abortion doula to find answers.
I contacted Katie Rose Whiting, an abortionist in London who trained under Carteret. Whiting once worked in the luxury fashion industry, entering a job after her first miscarriage. (She also suffered a second miscarriage during her training.) “I wanted to use all the information and tools I had personally gathered to help women who have experienced similar losses, bringing healing to the places where trauma often occurs and bringing recovery,” she said.
We met online a few weeks after my miscarriage. At the beginning of the session, we all lit candles, creating a virtual cocoon between us. I found Whiting to be a therapist, a source of practical guidance, and (as she says) “a little bit weird.” She looked exactly like I had imagined: wavy hair, ruffled dress, a bunch of rings on her fingers and tiny tattoos. I couldn’t explain exactly why it happened, but I felt immediate relief, so when she asked me what happened, I told her everything — even the things I thought I’d forgotten. I said my blood tests had come back normal and there was no underlying medical reason for why this was happening. “Like nature, not every seed will grow and yield a harvest every season,” she said. “Our bodies know which seeds are healthy, which are unhealthy, and when is the right time for them to bloom.” It was a profound experience.
During our meeting, Whiting told me about a process called microchimerism. Even early in pregnancy, fetal cells cross the placenta and enter the mother’s bloodstream, where they can survive for decades or forever. “They’re really with us and we’re changed because of them,” she said. It’s comforting to think that pregnancy doesn’t end completely — that I can kind of keep going.
Just as a more “traditional” midwife might use massage or essential oils, Whiting also has a range of tools to guide her clients. She calls this process “a winter of the heart, a time to let go and replenish.” Some of her advice was practical, like telling me about the British government’s new missing baby certificate. Others should be filed under “alternative” (see: vaginal steaming). How useful you find them depends on how open your courtship is. Her focus is on “blood production” after a miscarriage, for which she created a custom self-care kit. My diet includes iron-rich foods, supplements, and nettle tea. She showed me the toolkit over Zoom.
In a 2017 study, 97% of women who received doula support said it “helped” their miscarriage experience, even though it had no clear effect on medical outcomes such as pain scores. I asked Arden Cartwright if her work as a midwife was increasingly being recognized. “Not only is the demand for my work increasing, but the number of medical professionals I work with for help is also increasing,” she said. Today, she receives regular referrals from midwives and fertility specialists.
Like this study, I can’t be certain that my experience as a doula will change my body or the outcome of future pregnancies. But it taught me that my miscarriage was much more than just “the outcome of a pregnancy.” My doula told me it was important. It’s here, in a little imaginary way – in my heart. It’s always there.
