'As I sat down to write this, Zoe Foster Blake announced her pregnancy.'

Content note: This post deals with miscarriage and other themes that may be triggering to readers.

As I write this, Beyoncé and Zoë Foster Blake have announced their pregnancies in the most beautiful and hilarious way (simultaneously).

While I feel extremely happy for them, I can’t help feeling pangs of jealousy.

My husband and I first started trying to conceive on our honeymoon in Italy 18 months ago, how romantic! We assumed, as I am sure 99 per cent of the population does, that we would fall pregnant as soon as we stopped using contraception. I was that person who thought that I would stop using anything and wham, bam, thank you ma’am; I’m up the duff!

After six months of trying with a dreaded period arriving almost on time every month, I had a feeling. A gut feeling that something was wrong. Which I have come to realise that you need to always trust.

I had seen a GP before who advised me that I was young, too young to be talking infertility or seeking alternative assistance. She told me to keep trying and that she would never, ever, ever refer me to anyone to have reproductive assistance because of my age. I was 28. I wasn’t really that young considering I got my period when I was 12.

I relaxed for a moment. Took a deep breath. Thought that she was right. Doctors are always right. We trust in them. Relax, chill.

With her advice in my mind, time passed and so did the months that I was not falling pregnant. I decided to seek another doctor’s expert opinion and managed to meet the greatest GP on the face of this Earth.

I went to see him and told him that I wanted to have a baby and he immediately referred me to a fertility clinic to get some testing done. He agreed that I should get the ‘all clear’ for peace of mind.

A poke here and a prod there, a balloon inflated where? The tests were done. The results were in. Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome, or PCOS for those in the know. A heart shaped uterus. And I have Negative A blood group, which means that my body might attack my baby with husband being positive.

Attack. That was a fun piece of information.

Basically, I thought my body was ruined. That, and my husband works away which added a new dimension to our already troublesome situation.

I didn’t have any normal symptoms of PCOS, I am not overweight, no abnormal facial hair that I want to tell you about, no receding hair line, no sleep apnea. It was a shock to say the least.

So, my husband and I decided to begin fertility treatment. I was wholeheartedly prepared.  I waited for my next period to begin, as I was due to begin ovulation induction in my next cycle.

LISTEN: Meshel Laurie on her battle with IVF and a husband who didn't want kids. (Post continues...)

Then, one morning weeks down the track, I took a test and for the first time in my life – I saw two lines. I was pregnant! PREGNANT. With my own little baby, that I wanted so badly and we did it naturally.

No chemicals. No needles. No labs. No freezing sperm. We did it! A little bit of pillow-under-my-ass-to-help-the-sperm-go-in-the-right-direction, but you know, naturally. I took four tests, just to make sure, all saying the same thing.

I tried so hard. I ate the best I could. Balanced meals high in iron. I walked every day. I swam. I took all the right vitamins. Drank no more than one coffee a day. Even turned to decaf if I wanted a second cup. I took naps. Slept. Cut out sugar. Painted to relax. Didn’t drink one sip of red wine. I bought pregnancy books. Read them. Joined Pilates. Meditated. Booked appointments with the obstetrician, GP, dentist, masseuse! Tracked my baby’s development. Downloaded the right apps. Read the discussion boards. Drank lots of water. I did everything I could to give my baby the right start in life.

I went for an appointment with the obstetrician when I should have been 10 weeks and 2 days. I was so happy because my husband, who works away a lot, flew in so we could go to the appointment together. It was my first scan. I was nervous, my heart was pumping through my chest for this monumental occasion. I pulled down my skirt, exposed my belly (which I thought was already showing a little baby bump) and she put the jelly on my stomach and then the ultrasound machine on my should-be-ten-week-pregnant-stomach.

It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I failed.

There was nothing. There was a black space, a sac, but nothing. No baby.

My heart sank. No baby. No miraculous conception. My body was not working and there was no baby inside it. We were sent for another scan a few hours later, we awkwardly went home and I didn’t know what to do. I was so upset, he was so optimistic. I knew. He didn’t. We watched a couple of episodes of Suits to really calm us down, but more to pass the stupid time. We went for another scan, an internal. It showed what was a sac with what looked like a five-week old embryo. No heartbeat.

A couple of hours later, the obstetrician called with the inevitable news. It didn’t look good but we should have another scan two days later. So we did. An extremely painful, full bladder scan.

The obstetrician told me I was going to miscarry and I was so deeply upset but also very grateful for her honesty and bluntness. No more waiting. No more scans. No more questions.

I miscarried four days later in what was the most painful experience of my life.

I know childbirth will be worse, but you get a baby at the end. I got nothing. Zilch. Guilt. A brief moment of fleeting closure. My baby was gone and I couldn’t stop bleeding. My bleeding lasted three weeks. No one tells you that.

No one talks about miscarriage and I hope that changes. In a generation of social media, where nothing is sacred and everything is shared, if this is happening to a quarter of our female reproducing population, why aren’t we talking about it?

I will tell you why. Guilt. Shame. Sadness. I have experienced all of these. It is hard, really hard. Nothing makes it easier except time. Even that sometimes feels like a stab in the guts.

I don’t know what the answer is and I am not really trying to find it.

But do go out. Have a glass of red (for me), buy yourself things, shout, scream, cry, oh cry like you have never cried before and know that it is all okay. I have allowed myself to have bad days and good days. I have allowed myself to go for a run if I feel like it or have a glass of wine if that suits me better, which it usually does. Just cry.

I know time heals, I know that. I know that I will get over this and will move forward with my life if that means fertility treatment but I wanted to write this to know that I am like you. You are not alone. Miscarriage is shit. There are no silver linings. It’s not enough that, “hey… at least you got pregnant”. It’s not enough, and nor should it be. I lost something incredible. I lost a life that was inside of me and I am allowed to feel this low.

I keep wondering if I could have done anything different. Not walked as much? Drank more water? Meditated more?

Some day I will realise that there is nothing I could have done. It is just shit.

If you or a loved one needs support after miscarrying, Mamamia urges you to contact SANDS on 9895 8700 or to visit this website.