Miscarriage is fairly common: it is estimated that approximately one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage – but equally common has been the lack of attention and acknowledgment of its devastating aftermath for so many.

It’s 26 years since our last miscarriage and now at 62 years of age, life continues to remind me of the far-reaching effects of such a traumatic event.

My husband, Chris, and I didn’t need to have that talk about whether we wanted children or not. It was pretty obvious. So, when that pink line appeared after our first go, I thought: Geez this is easy, first try, bullseye.

My GP confirmed the pregnancy and told me my due date was 10 December 1995. Just in time for Christmas, I thought. She also told me that as I was fit and healthy, to expect the usual timelines of a first scan and occasional blood tests.

The next month was a joyous adrenaline rush. We were going to have a baby! We didn’t put much thought into the logistics of what that meant. We were living in a two-bedroom flat in St Kilda and just assumed whatever we needed to do, it would work out.

I saw my pregnancy as an adventure: moderate morning sickness reminding me the hormones were pumping, hating the smell and taste of coffee and craving jalapeño corn chips. I didn’t even miss alcohol.

But then several weeks in, the spotting began. Three days later, bright red blood appeared and then the cramps.

It was the eve of Anzac Day and Richmond and North Melbourne were playing a rare Monday night AFL game. Richmond’s win was a slight diversion until the morning threw a flood light on what was happening.

We had to get to hospital – I knew it was bad.

It’s funny, the things you remember in these circumstances. I recall going downstairs on to the street and seeing four Richmond players having coffee on an outside table of a cafe below our building.

On any other day I would have been exhilarated by such a sighting but today the footballers seemed to be in a parallel universe: there was their reality; a great win the night before and there was mine; potentially a great loss.

Once at the hospital, a scan was arranged quickly. It was the first time we had seen the baby: the radiologist had obviously seen many just like ours.

She quietly, respectfully said she had to go out and get the doctor.

A doctor appeared. I still remember his name. He already had a kind, sad face before he looked at the screen.

He gently told us that there was no heartbeat and that the foetus had died the week before by his estimate.

Hours later I had minor surgery to remove the “remains” of our first conception, our greatest joy.

I found out that in medical speak it was a “missed abortion”. The foetus has died but your body hasn’t yet recognised that or expelled the “pregnancy tissue”.

A missed abortion. What a horrible term. Up until that day my body (and brain and heart) thought I was still carrying a thriving baby. All of us would now need to accept the reality.

The reality that what was to be our best Christmas present ever, was now lost. I felt that my body had failed us.

In what seemed like seconds, our attitude to life – our life together – had done a screeching U-turn. Our excitement would now be replaced with fear and an underlying feeling that the worst-case scenario was always lurking around the corner.

Four more pregnancies would follow; each with its own hopeful beginning and then traumatic ending. Then, my ovaries prematurely shut down and I went into menopause before the age of 40 years.

After our miscarriages we were forced to cobble together a new life: the life we had never envisaged. The life no couple like us would have ever wanted.

In a recent opinion piece, Isabelle Oderberg, chair of the Early Pregnancy Loss Coalition, wrote: “As with any trauma, birth trauma can affect a patient’s entire wellbeing, not just in the aftermath of the event but for years, even a lifetime, after.”

Just because an event is seen as “common” doesn’t mean it is something that is easy to “get through”. In the wake of recurrent miscarriages and the forced acceptance of reality, we, like many, experienced poorer emotional, physical and financial health with long-term consequences.

Through the work of the Early Pregnancy Loss Coalition and others, the trauma of miscarriage is finally being acknowledged, and the provision of more research, information and support are the next vital steps.

The experiences and voices of so many of us will finally matter.

• In Australia, support is available at Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636, Lifeline on 13 11 14, and at MensLine on 1300 789 978. In the UK, the charity Mind is available on 0300 123 3393 and Childline on 0800 1111. In the US, call or text Mental Health America at 988 or chat 988lifeline.org.

• Tess Pryor is a Melbourne writer who specialises in health promotion and community engagement