We are incredibly grateful to Sarina and Vik for sharing their story with us as part of South Asian Heritage Month (18 July – 17 August). This year, the theme is #FreeToBeMe and we invited them to share their experience of pregnancy loss and how they have learnt to live with their grief so that they can be the parents they want to be to their baby boy.
Our journey began in 2015, when my husband Vik and I first met. We got engaged a year later and married in 2017. We always planned to travel before starting a family and at 24 years old, we thought we had time. Society shapes us to believe that when you start trying for a baby, it will immediately happen, almost instilling a sense of fear into us in our younger years. It’s particularly enforced in the Punjabi community because fertility struggles, miscarriage and baby loss are not talked about. It’s hidden, locked away in this cupboard of shame and judgement.
Our ‘trying to conceive’ journey began in 2020, and it took us around 7 months before we first conceived. Every month before this was filled with desperation to see those two lines on the pregnancy test, and followed by disappointment every time my period came along. But once we were pregnant, it was amazing. I almost felt as though we were in this amazing bubble, and nothing could take us away from that. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before that bubble burst and I started to have some bleeding at 5 weeks. I was told by the medical professionals that it was a bit of delayed implantation bleeding and everything looked okay. I was booked in for a scan five days later and it was then I saw the tiny flutter of a heartbeat. Due to COVID, I was alone, Vik had to just trust that we were okay with a call. This moment changed my life, and I felt a love like never before.
A few weeks later, I woke up and my pregnancy symptoms started to fade. I remember saying to Vik at this stage that for some reason, I just didn’t feel pregnant anymore. He reminded me that as we were approaching the end of the first trimester, my symptoms would start to fade, and I would start to feel like my normal self. Naïve as we were, we believed everything was okay and booked a private scan so that Vik would be able to see our baby at 10 weeks. The sonographer began to scan me, and the atmosphere seemed to change very quickly. She asked me how far along I was, and I told her 10 weeks and 5 days.
I immediately knew something was wrong, and next came those dreaded five words, ‘I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat’. I never knew that five words could punch you in the heart so fiercely.
People often talk about loss and say that when they lose someone they love, they can literally feel their heart breaking. I never believed that until this moment. Looking across at Vik, I felt like a failure and my heart broke again. In the midst of my tears, I apologised to him because guilt set in, and questions of doubt overwhelmed me. I never understood why I immediately felt this way but on reflection, I think it was a feeling of expectation. In the Punjabi community, I feel that expectations are constant in a Punjabi woman's life. The expectation to be a good wife, the expectation to be a good daughter-in-law, and the expectation to create a family. But I failed at this, and that’s why my immediate reaction was to apologise.
We were told by the doctors that our loss was “bad luck” and to try again. We decided that we wanted to share our story of our Baby Dinosaur with the world, so we created a video to tell everyone what we had gone through. Initially we were so worried about what people would think because again in the Punjabi community, societal and cultural influences tell us that miscarriage is something to hide, something to be ashamed of. We were lucky that we had support from our immediate family, and they encouraged us to share our journey, to stop the uninvited questions from the extended family members.
Our second loss came much sooner than expected. I found out I was pregnant again in the same year, but both our reactions were different from the first time. We were incredibly anxious and surrounded by fear. We only knew about our Baby Butterfly for three days before our baby left us, and in a sense, the second miscarriage was more traumatic than the first.
We named our second baby our Baby Butterfly, the one who left too soon, before we had a chance to admire their beauty. But our Baby Butterfly was the one who reminded us that transformations are born through patience, struggles and loss. The one who showed us that we must have patience and resilience to ride the storm while rebuilding ourselves.
After this we decided to take a break, and in September 2022, we began tests and treatment for IVF privately. We found out that we were pregnant with our rainbow baby, Hukam. Every moment of the pregnancy journey was filled with anxiety and on reflection I don’t think we enjoyed the journey as much as we could have. This is because baby loss steals the innocence of excitement and joy throughout the journey. Every milestone was met with a sigh of relief rather than happiness and we couldn’t relax until our baby boy was finally here.
Today, we are enjoying every single moment with Hukam, but every day is surrounded by wonder. Wondering what characteristics he has of his siblings up above, wondering whether he would be here if our treatment or previous pregnancies were successful. I don’t think we will ever be ‘free’ from our grief and the wonder, but we have tried to learn to live around it so that we can be the best version of ourselves for Hukam. After experiencing two miscarriages, our faith has been the only thing that has kept us going and we remind ourselves of how blessed we have been to now have our baby boy. Our Baby Dinosaur and Baby Butterfly will also be part of our story and remembering them helps us to navigate this new chapter.
We would love to have another child, but for now we are taking things day by day and enjoying every moment.
To our angels in the sky and our rainbow after the storm, sharing our story is all for you.
Support for you
Here at Sands, we know that talking about pregnancy and baby loss can be difficult. Please know that you are not alone, and there are people who understand and whom you can speak to in confidence.
Sands Helpline
t: 0808 164 3332
e: helpline@sands.org.uk