How Claire Brett is lighting the way…
You can call me an Armidale local these days, but once upon a time my folks owned a pub in Mungindi – it was called The Two Mile. After I was born, Mum had well and truly had enough of that life. I’m pretty sure she threatened Dad – it must have worked, because we moved to Tamworth soon after.
It was there my Dad, Ross died. He had pancreatic cancer – I was five years old.
Mum decided to move to Armidale and aside from a couple of years in New York working as an au pair, I’ve been here ever since. I met my husband Jake here and we moved in together just five months after dating. When you know you know right? We bought a farm out at Kentucky in 2016 and two years later our first son, Rosco, was born.
He was a textbook pregnancy. No problems at all. Life was good – we got married on the farm in 2019 and six months later started trying for our second baby.
That’s when the miscarriages started. The first one was what’s called a ‘missed miscarriage’ – something I’d never heard of before. I told Jake he didn’t need to come to the eight-week scan. I was travelling okay, had no signs or symptoms of anything being wrong and knew from my first pregnancy that you can’t really see anything on the ultrasound at that stage anyway.
I remember making jokes with the technician, passing the time. Then there was this awkward quiet. And he spoke:
“It looks like you’re going through the early stages of miscarriage. There’s no heartbeat.”
I felt so stupid. Embarrassed even. I was a 31-year-old woman but had no idea this could happen. I’d been excitedly messaging my friends while walking into the scan, and now I had to walk out of there, get myself to the car and still run errands before heading back to the farm.
I was walking through the aisles at Coles; like an out of body experience.
“Please, no one see me, please, no one talk to me.”
They told me to come back in two weeks, in case I got my dates wrong. But I had blood tests and my HCG levels started dropping. l had to keep showing up for work every day, not knowing when my miscarriage would actually begin. I felt like a ticking time bomb.
Thankfully, I was able to start working from home and went back to my GP to ask about my options. She referred me to a specialist who said I could either wait it out, take a pill to trigger miscarriage or have a dilation and curettage (D&C). We opted for the latter because my body just wasn’t responding and I wasn’t coping mentally.
The procedure was booked for 17 August. The anniversary of my Dad’s death is 19 August.
The timing of it brought up a lot of my anxieties, sadness and trauma. It was a hard week – somehow we got through it. I wasn’t allowed to eat before the surgery, so when I got out all I wanted was McDonalds. I remember standing in the line, ordering chicken nuggets, thinking: this girl in front of me has no idea what I’ve been through today.
“Just be nice to me. Please be nice to me. Or I’m going to break.”
I’ve always tried to treat people with kindness and respect – but now more than ever it’s how I live my life. You never really know what the person next to you is going through.
Later that week we planted a tree, something just for us – something for me to look at through the kitchen window and remember.
Then there was Jimmy
We waited two more cycles and tried again.
In the months ahead I had four more chemical pregnancies. That’s when you get a positive test result, but three or four days later you get your period and start to miscarry. It was during this time I went to see my GP – I was so sad, so low and I needed help. I was referred to a psychologist at Centacare who was great from a medical perspective, but I felt it was lacking in that maternal care.
I was told I needed to give myself another 12 months before we could really start investigating what was happening. Amazingly, not long after I fell pregnant with Jimmy.
Getting to the six-week mark with him was terrifying. Walking into that ultrasound appointment triggered all my previous trauma and I honestly felt like my legs wouldn’t be able to physically carry me down the hall and into that room. But I love looking for signs and on the drive there I got one, loud and clear. I could feel myself having a panic attack – in that moment a truck pulled out in front of me with the words ‘don’t panic’ emblazoned across it. I knew then everything was going to be okay and Jimmy arrived safely at 37 weeks.
That’s not to say the months in between weren’t incredibly stressful and very sad. Because, the thing is, pregnancy after loss is a complicated thing. You still mourn the child who never arrived. You count the days, weeks and months. You imagine the stage you’d be at along the way and do the sums on the age gap between your kids. All those things and more were racing through my head while I carried Jimmy and cared for Roscoe – and I was sad, really sad.
It was made worse by the fact that once I got to the stage of giving birth I had to re-tell my story to the midwives – as I’d been seen by a specialist during my pregnancy with Jimmy. When COVID hit, they wouldn’t let Jake into the hospital and I broke. You try so hard to hold it in – especially when there are male doctors around.
“Don’t look like a lunatic. Don’t look like a psycho.”
But being alone in that first ultrasound was where my trauma began, and being alone at that late stage with Jimmy would trigger that trauma all over again. Ultimately, Jake was allowed in for the delivery. Thankfully, once I held Jimmy in my arms, I knew I’d be okay, and I was.
Lighting the Way
I struggled with depression and anxiety during my entire pregnancy with Jimmy, but obviously couldn’t be medicated for it. So I had to find ways to calm myself. That’s when I started using candles to give myself a moment to stop and just breathe. I loved the experience so much I started making candles myself.
It began as a hobby – I just wanted to help someone who might be in the same situation as me. Because while the psychologist support was good, I couldn’t help but notice the need for a more nurturing, maternal kind of support for women experiencing pregnancy loss in regional locations. I believe women need both options – a psychologist and a therapist.
That’s when I came across Jo Kendall – a counsellor and coach with a background in holistic therapies. I could tell the moment we met that it was meant to be and Lighting the Way was born – a safe space advocating for women in regional and rural NSW, supporting them in both pregnancy loss and pregnancy after loss.
That year we sold my candles in October – the international pregnancy loss month – with all proceeds going to Lighting the Way. We have since teamed up with chiropractor Grace Stephen and Mel Kelly of LASS Baby – lactation and support services. Together, we’re here to support women in their mind, body and soul during the most difficult time of their life. We’re coming up to our one-year anniversary and have raised enough funds to help 12 women along the way – and we won’t be slowing down anytime soon.
This 15 October is the international day to light a candle for pregnancy loss. We encourage everyone to take a moment for yourself to breathe and embrace the calm.
We need to be reminded that we’re not alone – we need to know that there’s a community here to help and the days will get brighter again. So look for each other and, if you’re anything like me, look for the signs. Remember that tree I planted when I miscarried the first time? It bloomed on what would have been my due date for that first missed miscarriage. It gives me great comfort when things like that happen. So please know that it will be okay, it will get easier and you will bloom again one day too.
Find the Lighting the Way team
Claire Brett
Lighting the Way Founder – advocating for women in regional and rural NSW experiencing pregnancy loss and pregnancy after loss.
lightingtheway@gmail.com
Jo Kendall
Jo Kendall Holistic Therapies, Qualified Counsellor and Coach
Anxiety – Nervous System – People Pleasing – Resilience – Sustainable and True Wellbeing Practices
Dr Grace Stephan
Wholesome Health Chiropractic – Doctor of Chiropractic and Clinical Pilates Instructor
Mel Kelly
NICU Nurse, Midwife, CMC-Lactation, IBCLC- Lactation and Sleep Consultant. Supporting parents through pregnancy, postpartum, feeding and sleep.
The Pink Elephants Support Network
In Australia, spontaneous pregnancy loss (occurring before 20 weeks’ gestation) is the most common adverse outcome of pregnancy. According to The Pink Elephants Support Network, it is estimated that around 300 Australians and their partners experience early pregnancy loss every day – that’s around 103,000 people a year. It is estimated that one in four pregnancies end in loss.
In April 2022, The Pink Elephants Support Network released a short online survey to understand the types of support available to, and accessed by, people following early pregnancy loss.
“Key findings include that respondents were almost equally as interested in information about the emotional aspects of loss (64%) as they were about the physical aspects of loss (67%). Half of respondents (51%) indicated they wanted to talk to another individual who had experienced an early pregnancy loss following their own loss (i.e. peer support). 40% of respondents reported experiencing barriers to accessing support following their early pregnancy loss.”
Enter Lighting the Way.
