It's a lonely place, sitting in the cold, dimly-lit X-ray room, waiting, longing to hear that everything is OK, but knowing in your gut it's not.
That was how I felt the first time I lost a baby.
That day is forever embedded in my mind, not only because the news I received was the most devastating news any soon-to-be-mother could ever hear come from their doctor's mouth, but also because I remember feeling so incredibly alone.
No one ever talks about miscarriage, how often it happens or the fact that most miscarriages have nothing to do with the mother.
All anyone ever talks about is how wonderful pregnancy is, how awful delivery is and how amazing those first few moments with your tiny miracle truly are.
That was the pregnancy I was expecting. That was the pregnancy I wanted.
That was the pregnancy that was taken from me in a matter of moments.
From the moment I started spotting to the moment I was told there was no heartbeat to be found, every second in between seemed to drag, the people coming in and out of my room blurred and my only thoughts clung to hope.
This could not be happening to me. I was young, healthy and did everything right. This could not be happening.
However, as each person did their job, examining, taking blood and talking to us about the possibilities and outcomes, each was trying to prepare us for the worst, gently letting us know that what we were hoping for and praying for was probably not going to be the outcome of that night.
It's a lonely place sitting in a hospital room trying to mourn a baby we never met, but a baby we had already planned a life for.
Last week, parents - and I say parents because whether you have been a parent for five weeks, nine weeks, 12 weeks, two years, three years or 31 years, you are a parent nonetheless and the pain of losing a child at any age affects all parents the same.
It's devastating, and on Oct. 15, parents across North America took a moment to remember those tiny souls lost.
One in four women suffer a miscarriage. This is a statistic I had never heard before.
Although that statistic would not have helped comfort my pain at the time, it would have alleviated the guilt that accompanied the loss. Miscarriage, for one reason or another, is not something women feel comfortable talking about.
Perhaps it is because we don't feel we deserve the right to properly mourn because the life we are mourning we never actually met.
Maybe it is because the loss of a child is one we as parents would rather honour in private or maybe it is because no matter what anyone tells you, when you lose a baby, all the scientific explanations being used to explain what happened go out the door and personal guilt consumes you.
Whatever the reason, I found that once I started talking about my miscarriages, other women would open up about theirs and the loneliness I once felt slowly began to fade.
There is a small community of moms and dads living with the loss of theses lives that never had a chance to live. For me, although I had to go through three losses, three devastating moments of disbelief and three separate periods of grief, in the end I was blessed with two amazing gifts - my children.
Some are not so lucky. Some struggle to have a baby much longer than I did and some never have the opportunity to carry their own children.
It is a silent struggle couples tend to try and work through on their own.
I know my husband and I did, but now that I know I am not alone I want others to know the same.
The loss of a child at any stage or age is devastating, but it doesn't have to be lonely.