‘You see devastation in your wife’s eyes, but inside you’re crumbling, too’
Brett Salako urges men not to suffer the anguish of baby loss in silence
My wife Alice was about eight weeks into her first pregnancy when she turned to me and said she didn’t feel pregnant any more. We’d got married in May 2014 and conceived that October.
But our dreams were shattered when we were given the news that Alice had suffered a miscarriage.
I didn’t know what to say or do. I stared at her and watched as her world collapsed. It was utterly overwhelming.
As a man, I felt I had to be the strong one and be there for my wife as both of us sat there crying. Foremost in my mind was the feeling that I couldn’t protect her, and couldn’t protect our baby. I felt embarrassment (we had already discussed names), shame, hurt, confusion and anger. In the Duchess of Sussex’s heartbreaking account of her own baby loss, she mentions her husband’s tears. I know those tears too well, and how the pain will stay with him. But it’s not a pain men talk about. It isn’t a pain we’re asked about. Everyone who came to support us asked:
“How’s Alice?” But when my mother-in-law said “how’s Brett?” it meant everything to me – an awareness that there were two of us going through the grieving process.
I don’t want to take anything away from the physical and mental anguish for a woman of losing a baby. But it’s so important we recognise what a male partner goes through, too. I didn’t talk to my friends about the pain I was suffering; only Alice. I couldn’t find any support out there for men.
Last year, I decided to speak up, contacting the Miscarriage Association and asking if I could tell my story. I’d kept all those feelings inside, mainly because there is still so much stigma surrounding men and miscarriage; no acknowledgment that men’s grief can be just as deep. That you look into your wife’s eyes, see the devastation and know there’s nothing you can do about it because you’re crumbling inside too. After a third miscarriage, our beautiful daughter Emma was born in 2017. But in April this year, we lost another baby, just before our 12-week pregnancy scan.
Partners weren’t allowed to be present at appointments, so I had to drop Alice in a rainy hospital car park, miscarrying our child on her own. I was so emotional I couldn’t even drive, and had to pull over to cry. It was one of the hardest moments I’ve ever been through. I can only hope talking about it helps lift that pain, even a little, for someone else.