We lost 14 babies between us – but now we’re mothers

When you’re longing to become a mum yet struggling to get there, Mother’s Day looms heavy in the calendar. The cards, flowers and smiley families all serve as a painful reminder of what you lack. That’s why, on this weekend last year, four new friends gathered together for moral support.

Hannah Redler, Katherine Degara-Pavey, Pippa Bolton and Tess Harding had all met in March 2023 through The Worst Girl Gang Ever (TWGGE) a support group running courses for women following baby loss. Each had different experiences of miscarriage, having lost 14 babies between them, and the Hertfordshire four had formed a tight bond.

“We knew Mother’s Day would be a difficult one to get through, so we went for brunch together,” says Hannah, 32. “Miscarriage just isn’t much talked about. Despite one in five pregnancies ending this way, it’s strangely isolating.

“You’ve lost something so longed for but probably hadn’t told anyone you were expecting, so the grieving is done in secret. Or if you have confided in people, they often say something well-meaning that makes you feel worse. So being with other women who ‘got it’ was just more comforting.”

Hannah, a retail director, had just discovered she was pregnant in the spring of 2022 when she married Tom, 32, in an idyllic barn wedding.

“As we said our vows we squeezed hands, delighted about our little secret. Tom had to drink my Prosecco so people wouldn’t notice I was abstaining,” says Hannah.

“We honeymooned in Venice, excitedly pointing out buggies we liked and talking non-stop about our future family. But in the second week I started bleeding heavily. Tom went to ask for sanitary towels in Italian while I stayed in the hotel calling 111 for advice. It was devastating losing not just the baby – but all our dreams.”

The newlyweds cut short their honeymoon and returned home that day. 

“We sat on the plane in shock. Returning to work the next week everyone asked ‘how was Venice?’ and I just had to smile and say ‘great’,” says Hannah. Putting on a brave face became a necessary coping tool as she suffered two further miscarriages. 

Similarly graphic designer Pippa, 36, had been in Iceland with her partner Martin, 40, during her first trimester in March 2022, when she started spotting brown blood. “It was meant to be our last adventurous holiday before the baby arrived,” she says. 

Back home Pippa went to her local Early Pregnancy Unit where a sonographer found two embryos but no heartbeat. “It was too early to be classed as a miscarriage, so I had to wait a week carrying on normally,” she says. The next scan showed one of the embryos had grown, so Pippa endured a further wait until a third scan confirmed she’d had a “missed miscarriage” (when the baby has died but hasn’t been physically miscarried). She underwent a D&C (dilation and curettage) procedure at 13 weeks to remove tissues from her uterus, then struggled for over a year to conceive again.

“I’m a freelancer so I didn’t take time off, of course I thought about the twins I would have had, but you hide the pain from the outside world.”

Meanwhile, as a primary school teacher, Katherine, 34, had to field questions from inquisitive kids asking where she’d been. “Just being surrounded by young children felt cruel and overwhelming when all I really wanted was one of my own,” she admits. “I had to walk out of the class at one point.” 

Katherine, who’s married to her childhood sweetheart, another Tom, had four miscarriages in total. “I felt totally inadequate each time, what was wrong with me, was I just not destined to be a mum?” 

Tess, 38, another teacher, endured five heartbreaking miscarriages. Unlike the other women, Tess and husband Chris had already welcomed one baby, Charlie, in April 2020, with an uncomplicated pregnancy. “We just assumed it would be smooth sailing again,” she says. Tess fell pregnant again the following year, but lost that precious “peanut” in January 2022. 

“Then another in March, April and June, which needed medical management, and a fifth time in October where I had to sit in a corridor waiting with pregnant women happily clutching scan photos. It was agony.

“I was pregnant for nine months in 2022  – yet had no baby to show for it. When anyone tried to console me with ‘at least you have one’ I felt fury rising, because this didn’t acknowledge the cumulative pain of recurrent miscarriage. By now Charlie was asking for a baby brother, so the guilt that I was failing him was huge. I began despising myself and my body for letting everyone down.”

Pregnancy charity Tommy’s estimates that one in five pregnancies end in miscarriage, over 80 per cent of which occur before 12 weeks. Around half of these cases are attributed to chromosomal abnormalities of the foetus, but many are unexplained and unlikely to be anything the mother has done. But that didn’t stop any of the women feeling it was “their fault”.  

Recurrent miscarriage (RM) is currently defined as three or more consecutive pregnancy losses, and affects one percent of couples. 

Hannah, Katherine and Tess were all separately referred to a recurrent miscarriage clinic for investigations, but say the psychological toll was unbearable. 

“My third miscarriage, just before 8 weeks, was a particularly dark time,” says Hannah. “It felt like a miracle that we’d passed the point of our first two miscarriages, but then the heartbeat faded and she was gone.

“I went to my parent’s house in tears, the loss was agony as was knowing I’d have to carry my baby for five further days as I waited for surgery.”

“I started hating my own body, not trusting it and feeling claustrophobic inside it. I’d felt like I’d failed my husband, and even once told him he should leave me for someone else.

“I felt like I’d robbed my parents and my in-laws of a much wanted grandchild. I didn’t feel safe in my own body and I told Tom I wanted to move house. The silence of a family home with just two of us was deafening. Where we live we’re surrounded by other families pushing buggies, I just couldn’t bear it. 

“When I saw a former colleague I hadn’t seen for a while, he proudly whipped out a baby scan saying he was going to be a dad. I went to the loos and cried.”

After the four women met through TWGGE’s “Warriorship” platform last year, they were able to share their heartache together. And they bonded through what the group calls the “uglies” – feelings of resentment, envy and anger accompanying baby loss, which women might feel ashamed to discuss.  

“Any time a friend announced their pregnancy it felt brutal,” admits Hannah. “I couldn’t send a congratulations card, I swerved kids birthday parties. I was happy for them but just so broken for us.”

Tess had to endure the awful irony of being at someone’s baby shower when one of her miscarriages began. “Surrounded by pastel balloons, cupcakes and cooing women I pretended everything was lovely while I could actually feel myself cramping and bleeding, knowing it was happening yet again.”

Tess admits her miscarriage ordeal cost her friendships. “My misery made them uncomfortable, and that was a hard pill to swallow because it was when I needed them the most. But having these three ladies by my side made me feel safer again.”

Swapping their stories and validating their “ugly” feelings – even finding dark humour in them – helped the women feel less alone. 

In a wonderful surprise, each of the four women fell pregnant late last spring, and what’s more, all of them went on to have healthy babies within days of each other. Three of them were within 11 days but Daisy was a bit earlier. 

Hannah was the first to break her pregnancy news in a heartfelt message to the others, praying they wouldn’t be devastated. To her delight, they each messaged her privately saying they too were in the early stages. Once it was all out in the open they again became each other’s support group sharing their many, very natural anxieties about whether their pregnancies would last. 

“We were each terrified until we got to the viable stage around 24 weeks,” says Katherine. “We were anxious for ourselves and each other, knowing what we’d all been through and willing every baby to make it.”

Happily, in what they call a “miracle”, all the babies arrived safely. Tess had Daisy [DOB 12.12.23] a little sister for Charlie, then Pippa had Alice [9.1.24], Katherine gave birth to Evie [14.1.24], and Hannah brought the only boy to the gang, Arthur [19.1.24].

“When you’re desperate for a baby and people urge you to ‘keep trying’ it’s not necessarily what you want to hear,” says Hannah. “But that is what we all did. During my pregnancy with Arthur I made a point of saying to anyone seeing me pregnant for the first time ‘it took a long time to get here, and we had three miscarriages’, because I never wanted anyone to feel I’d tripped into pregnancy easily. He was so wanted after so much loss.”

Katherine believes the recent introduction of baby loss certificates is a good thing. “It won’t bring the baby back, but having their grief recognised might help some women during the lowest time.”   

This Mother’s Day, all four are looking forward to feeling grateful for their longed for babies.

“I don’t know whether it’s the power of community or someone was watching over us, but it feels like a miracle,” smiles Tess. “This year we can finally celebrate.” 

What not to say to someone after baby loss

According to The Worst Girl Gang Ever (TWGGE) co-founder Bex Gunn

‘At least …’

Direct a sentence starting with the words ‘at least’ and you’ll be met with an eye-roll. Or a snotty, mascara-streaked breakdown. “At least it was early …” Why? Because you hadn’t had time to form a connection? No one has ever felt comforted by this. Every loss is heartbreaking no matter when it happens. Don’t try to put a positive spin on our loss. If you minimise the loss, the grief is doubled. ‘At leasts’ are just like slagging off your brother. It’s fine for you to do it, but no one else.

‘At least you know you can get pregnant’

Although the knowledge that your body is capable of pregnancy can be comforting to some, the fear of never being able to bring a baby home far outweighs this. Women struggling with recurrent miscarriage find no comfort in the knowledge that they can become pregnant, because it’s only led to pain and isolation. Knowing you can get pregnant is not helpful if you can’t stay pregnant.

‘At least it wasn’t a real baby; it was just a bunch of cells’

Equating our hugely devastating baby loss with some science-y crap won’t ever make us feel better. Being made to feel that our baby wasn’t real is heart-breaking. Your baby mattered, you matter – don’t forget that.

‘At least you didn’t have the chance to get too attached’

This is such a wild misconception. Our heartbreak is valid because the moment we see those positive pregnancy lines is often the time we become ‘attached’.

‘It wasn’t meant to be’/‘It was God’s plan’

Ahh, OK then. We don’t need to feel sad any longer now you have told us that? Telling us that our gut-wrenchingly horrible experience of baby loss was “just one of those things, not meant to be” hurts. And hurting someone should never be ‘meant’.

‘At least you are still young’

If we are young, we have therefore decided that we want to become young parents. We’re aware of our age – it was almost certainly part of our decision-making process. Being reminded that we are young can make us feel naive.

These comments almost always come from a place of love, but also of misunderstanding. When it comes to baby loss, there is no ‘at least’.

For more information about The Worst Girl Gang Ever, visit theworstgirlgangever.co.uk