As Mrs Singapore Universe, I want to talk about how I cope with my miscarriage

I got married in 2013 at the age of 26. Now a mother of two, I was crowned Mrs Singapore Universe 2019 in May and will be representing Singapore at the Mrs Universe pageant in Guangzhou later this year.

But this is not a column about beauty or talent. It is about giving a voice to a neglected group of women — those who have suffered the loss of a child through miscarriage.

I went through that myself and know how crushing and lonely the experience can be.

On Oct 31, 2015, I woke up with a dull pain in the stomach. I was 17 weeks pregnant with our second child, our first son.

Just two weeks earlier, I had surprised my husband on his birthday with a gender scan. He had always wanted a son who could share his interests in cars. We named him Baby D.

The author and her husband at their eldest child’s one-year birthday party, where they first told friends and relatives they were expecting a second child.  Photo courtesy of Li Minhua

The pregnancy had been smooth, thus the pain did not bother me. But a couple of hours later, the pain became unbearable.

My husband quickly took me to the gynaecologist. It wasn’t a long drive, but it felt like forever. Without alerting my husband, I took out my phone and starting timing the pain. It was regular: Three minutes apart, each lasting approximately 30 seconds.

All mothers know this: What I was experiencing were regular contractions and labour pains. It was at this point in time that I told my husband: “The baby is coming today”.

When we arrived at the clinic, my doctor confirmed my greatest fear: I was dilated, Baby D was in distress and had to be delivered. My nightmare had just started.

My doctor said that at 17 weeks, Baby D had no chance of survival. I cried and begged him to save my baby. But he explained that medically, the age of viability was 24 weeks of gestation.

He added that a 17-week-old foetus was not well-developed enough and had very high risks of having some form of disability. I prayed hard that someone would wake me up. What I was hearing could not be real.

THE LOSS

It took me 30 torturous hours to deliver Baby D. The doctor offered me medication to manage the pain, but I insisted on not having any. The physical pain and exhaustion were in no way comparable to the mental pain I was going through.

Towards the end of my labour, Baby D’s heartbeat was slowly fading. The nurses turned off the fetal doppler and I was left to wonder if my child had died. Baby D arrived in this world, sleeping and without a tear. That day was his birthday and his death anniversary.

"The last picture I have of Baby D and I, together as one," says the author.  Photo courtesy of Li Minhua

He was quickly checked and taken away on a surgical tray. I was then told that the foetus weighed 200 grams, and that they had found no physical defect, leaving me with no answer to why the labour was triggered at a mere 17 weeks’ gestation.

I was discharged the next day. While waiting for my husband to drive the car over, I saw other mothers cradling their newborns in their arms. I went through the same labour process; why was I left with nothing but grief and a dead child in the mortuary?

THE CREMATION

I went home, feeling all alone and empty inside. Everything that everyone said was falling on deaf ears. I knew they were all concerned, but they did not understand what I was going through. After collecting Baby D from the mortuary, we placed him in a one-foot long casket. There he laid, fully-formed with paper-thin skin, 10 fingers, 10 toes, and long skinny limbs.

As there were no commercially available clothes for such a small baby, we wrapped him in bed linen, surrounded with baby items which I had prepared.

Finally, Baby D was cremated. My biggest regret was never having the courage to take a picture of him. I am left with no photos to look at, and can only remember him in my heart.

"I wish I received a birth certificate of Baby D instead of these documents," says the author.  Photo courtesy of Li Minhua

People tell me he is in a better place. To me, there is no better place for a baby than in the arms of his mother. I had to maintain a brave front for my daughter who was then 14 months old.

I showered her with the love that baby D did not have the chance to enjoy, but even this made me overwhelmed with guilt. When the household was asleep and silent, I wept.

I researched and read on how to deal with grief, hoping the Internet would provide me with some answers. Coincidentally, I chanced upon a non-profit organisation called Angel Hearts.

It creates burial gowns for babies who, unfortunately, do not make it home. These burial gowns are upcycled from donated wedding gowns.

In addition, following a suggestion online, I documented and shared the loss of baby D on social media. I was curious why the birth of a child was so widely-celebrated yet the loss of a child was kept hush-hush like a taboo of some sort.

To my surprise, friends who read my story started sharing about their loss too. I realised that the simple act of sharing baby D’s story had encouraged other women to step forward and talk about their experiences. This in turn made me feel less alone, brought me comfort, and aided my recovery process.

I also began volunteering with Angel Hearts, by manning flea market stalls to raise funds and raising awareness for our cause.

At these stalls, we also distribute flyers in the hope that more women who have gone through similar experiences can join us and learn that the recovery process need not be a lonely one.

RAINBOW OF HOPE

I cannot remember how long I remained distraught over the loss of Baby D.

But I believe that there is a rainbow of hope at the end of every storm. My rainbow child did not come to me easily. The pregnancy was a very difficult one. I was on strict bed-rest for 30 gruelling weeks, having to stay in bed except to eat or use the toilet or go for my weekly visits to the hospital. 

On the day of Baby D’s first death anniversary, I was warded for pre-term labour (again!) in the same ward where I lost Baby D. What were the chances? I remember crying bitterly and uncontrollably till the point I was breathless.

I begged the nurses who came to console me to please save Baby D’s brother as my heart surely cannot take losing another son, and definitely not on the same day!

Thankfully, this time, we managed to keep the baby in for another month.

Even though it took a total of 28 progesterone jabs, 885 oral progesterone pills, 560 pills to stop contractions and many nights in the hospital, I was relieved that my 34-week premature baby is now a happy 2.5 years-old boy.

The author's third child, whom she calls her 'rainbow of hope', was born premature.  Photo courtesy of Li Minhua

In my journey to recovery, especially at Angel Hearts, I have met many strong mothers who never gave up after the loss of a child.

They have given me the courage to stand on stage to share and advocate for what I believe in, and I am thankful to the pageant for providing me with the platform. In doing so, I hope to inspire and empower other women.

The author in a family portrait taken on Aug 30.   Photo courtesy of Li Minhua

Miscarriages are not a taboo, and we are certainly not alone in this journey. I never allow people to tell me to get over it just because it’s been four years.

Even my (now late) grandmother cried and shared with me about the child she lost about 50 years ago, and how she had never forgotten him.

I encourage all those who’ve been through such an experience to take time to grieve and heal. There is no need to forget what we’ve been through. Rather, use the memory as your motivation and strength to help others.

I hope that through my own efforts, Baby D will live in the minds of many others who are inspired by his story to walk out of their sorrows. 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Li Minhua is Mrs Singapore Universe 2019 and a mother of two. She holds a double degree in law and finance from Australian National University and runs a vegetable import and wholesale business with her husband of six years.