My heart goes out to poor Lily Allen, who has suffered a miscarriage just this weekend at six months pregnant. To carry a child for so long, and then to lose it is painful beyond imagination.
Nine years ago today, I lost my baby. I was only three months pregnant at the time, but the experience was excruciating and has never left me, even after all these years.
I was just beginning to feel well, after a tough few weeks and was looking forward to my dating scan, when I started to bleed. I was rushed to the hospital but there was nothing anyone could do. It was just a case of letting nature take its course.
They sent me home, and left me to pick up the pieces. My then-husband tried to support me but by his own admission, a few hours after it had happened he had come to terms with it. He tried his best to console me, but I felt like I was sailing a very lonely sea.
The house filled with people each day, for several days, and I was surrounded by flowers, but I felt empty and alone. It felt like no-one could reach me anymore.
Slowly, life returned to normal and "moved on" but I felt a sense of panic that if I moved on, I would somehow be leaving my baby behind. New year rang in and I was sobbing at having to leave my baby in 2001.
By March - and without any deliberate intention - I was pregnant again, and after a scare at 12 weeks, two weeks bed rest and a very quick and premature labour, my son was born in October 2002.
There are no words to describe the love I have for my son, and I would not swap him for the moon and stars. But there will always be a tiny pocket of sadness in my heart for the baby I lost. She will always stay with me, quietly nestling in my memory.
I will never forget.