What it would have meant to me: The new miscarriage leave everyone is talking about.

Yesterday it was announced that parents in the NSW public sector who suffer a miscarriage or stillbirth can now receive one-week paid bereavement leave. This is a first for Australia but follows a similar move by New Zealand where a more compassionate paid leave option was introduced earlier this year - one that seeks to recognise the pain and the grief that comes from miscarriage and stillbirth. 

New Zealand and Australia are now among the first in the world to implement this type of leave.

To date, women have been entitled to ‘special maternity leave’ if they miscarry - after 12 weeks. And it’s unpaid. This means many women and their partners have to dip into annual or sick leave, just to have some time to process, let alone grieve, their loss. In terms of a loss before 12 weeks, it’s hard to even find a reference to this. 

The truth is, we don't like to talk about stigmatised topics like miscarriage and stillbirth at work. Or we don’t know how to. This is despite the serious impact - not just for the individual and their family, but for the organisation. A loss is not only traumatic on a personal level but can lead to impaired performance at work for months or years, and can result in employees deciding to actually leave their jobs (read more about this here).

Some mixed views on this new form of leave are emerging. From those who think it’s about ‘optics’ to some degree - part of a broader sprint to come up with the most ‘progressive parental leave scheme available’ – to those at the other end of the scale who feel it signals a genuine and long-awaited shift. A shift not only in terms of how government and employers acknowledge the very common reality that is miscarriage, but even just in terms of how we talk about it at work. Others argue that it’s a private matter and not a necessary thing for employees to disclose. Surely women can access sick leave or annual leave discretely. Formalising a 'type' of leave for early pregnancy loss is invasive in the eyes of some.

What I haven’t heard so far this week are the stories from the people at the centre of this development. Yet there are over 100,000 of us in Australia that share the experience of early pregnancy loss, every year. So, I thought I’d weigh in on this one – because I’m one among many. And I think by understanding the very human impact of early pregnancy loss on individuals, rather than reviewing it through a policy lens, we enhance our collective understanding of why this is a thing - and why it matters.

I found out I was pregnant a few months into our marriage. My husband Andrew and I were well into our thirties when we met, but we knew it was the real deal. One of the reasons we fast-tracked our wedding was so we could start a family. At the time, I had my eldest daughter, who was in her early teens. I had her at 19, and while of course that was young to become a mum, I still longed to have another child, or three, in the years that followed. I ended up waiting a decade.

But here I was, finally pregnant again and things were tracking well, I didn’t have any morning sickness which was unusual given I spent my first pregnancy over a toilet bowl. But apparently, all signs were good. At the 12-week scan, we saw our baby wriggle around on screen – we giggled every time she jumped. The next day I did the rounds of the office, wielding the Polaroid style ultrasound pic and pointing out her cute profile.

A few days later, I received a call at work. It was hard to process what the doctor was telling me at the time, I was between meetings and caught off guard. He said something had come through the recent blood work. I will never forget the certainty in his voice as he told me my baby had little chance of survival. I doubted his certainty. After all, the scan was great and from all accounts, we were told we were looking at a healthy and well-developed baby – perhaps a little on the small side but the dates are never completely spot on. He said they ran the bloods multiple times for that reason – and admitted it didn’t add up. Fast forward through a traumatic CVS that same day (that ended up being the 1% that don’t produce a reliable result!) followed by a week or two of desperate phone calls to the ‘best’ obstetricians in Melbourne (that coincidentally didn’t want to touch us with a ten-foot pole!), we arrived at around the 15-week mark.

We were finally connected with an obstetrician who was willing to take us on and talk us through our options. She was incredibly compassionate but gave it to us straight. Our baby (a little girl) most likely had Triploidy – a rare condition that occurs in 1-2% of pregnancies where the baby has 3 sets of every chromosome, not 2 as nature intended. It’s incompatible with life and incredibly rare to get past the 6-week mark. Yet here she was, at 12, 14, 15 weeks and counting, heart beat strong and my belly clearly growing. At that point, most people knew we were expecting – especially given I’d announced it at that ‘magical’ 12-week mark. This meant we had to nod our way through many awkward conversations about the joy of what was to come – when we knew the opposite to be true.

We lost her at around 17 weeks. Her name is Paige. And she will always be our second daughter. 

I can tell you now, throughout that entire traumatic experience, the one thing I was not thinking about was the type of leave I was going to submit. Most days were a blur, but I remember being curled up in bed for hours at a time, with Andrew and my eldest daughter, devastated - together. Andrew was in regular contact with my leader who was incredibly supportive. But how could he or others possibly understand the reality of this experience in the moment. The way it dragged out over weeks and held us in the worst possible limbo – trying to detach from what felt like the most natural attachment there could be.

Looking back on that experience, I’ve thought about what it would have been like if there was a known, supported and accessible mechanism to support me and my family during this time. Would it have made a difference? I think it would have.

Fortunately, I had a leader who didn't ask me to cobble together a combination of sick, annual or unpaid leave to get through that week, or the following week for that matter. It's the last thing I would have been able to think about. We just worked it out later. But I know that's not the experience for many who have to use these other 'types' of leave to get through a time of loss - types of leave that were never, ever intended to cover such a devastating experience.

Let’s agree this. When we miscarry, we aren’t sick. We certainly aren’t on a holiday. We are grieving the loss of a child we fully expected to birth, love and raise. Whether the loss comes at 6, 12 or 18 weeks, it doesn’t matter. There isn’t a timeframe on attaching to another soul, especially one you've created – it just happens.

So from where I'm sitting. I do believe this move by the NSW government is a step forward. I believe that validating loss for what it is is the right thing to do. And it's the human thing to do.

Beyond offering a dedicated 'type of leave', opening up the conversation around miscarriage and loss at work is meaningful. Expanding the support available to grieving parents is important. Without obligation, pressure or expectation, we can create the necessary and normalising space for those who have suffered a loss, and who feel ready to accept support. To let them know they are seen, heard and validated for the devastating experience they have had, like so many others before and after them.

 Paige now has one big sister and three little sisters who talk about her all the time.