Nicole Ryan (Sinn Fein)

I am holding a copy of my seven-week scan. It is the only evidence I have that my pregnancy ever existed. I am not alone in this. I actually count myself lucky. On 22 March last year, my 31st birthday, I found out that I was pregnant. Whenever any woman finds out that she is pregnant and looks at that positive test, she naturally maps out a life for that child. She maps out his or her future, hopes, dreams, names and all of that. I was very naive about pregnancy and what that entailed because it was my first time. I had gone to the GP and done my check-ups and everything was great. At seven weeks I began to bleed. I did not know what was normal and what was not, so I went back to my GP and was told that it just happens sometimes to some women and if a miscarriage was to happen, there was nothing I could do about that anyway. For me, in my very first pregnancy, I did not even fathom that miscarriage could happen. It did not even enter my stratosphere. I went to the emergency department in CUMH, where I spent about five hours waiting to get an ultrasound scan. The maternity ward in CUMH has women at different stages of pregnancy, and obviously the emergency unit has women who are worried and waiting for scans. I was sitting in that environment. I went for my scan and they told me they could not see anything. They could not see any baby or fluid or sac or anything. I was sent home after being told that I would have to go back to the early pregnancy unit in Cork the following day. The Minister of State can imagine the worry I had when I was sent home. Having been told they could not see anything, I thought I was losing the baby. There was nothing visible.

I was distressed. I could not sleep that night. I spent the whole night crying because I thought this was the worst-case scenario. I went back to CUMH and the early pregnancy unit the following morning and went into the clinic, where I was sitting among women who were also getting various scans. They may have had bad news or good news; I did not know. I remember sitting across from a woman who was crying her eyes out. She was sitting there by herself; there was nobody there with her, and I just thought that could be me next after I went in for that scan. I went in and they did an internal scan and I was shown the heartbeat for the first time. Everything felt amazing. Any woman who has had children knows that first scan and the feeling of, "Oh my God, this is real. This is happening." I was told there was nothing to worry about and I could go home, so I did.

Naturally, as you progress through the pregnancy, people tell you not to tell anybody because the 12-week mark is the safe mark, after which nothing can go wrong. After a woman gets to 12 weeks, she is in the safe zone. I told my closest family members and friends. It is not inconceivable to become excited and want to buy little gifts as the woman goes through this. I booked my 12-week scan for the Tuesday. On the Sunday before my 12-week scan, I woke up at 5 o'clock in the morning. I had cramps before I went to sleep and when I woke up that morning, I just knew something was wrong. I pulled back my sheets and I was covered in blood. I was alone, so I got into my car and drove myself to CUMH. It was the most torturous drive of my life. I knew deep down what was happening but I begged and pleaded with everybody just to make sure this was not happening.

I went back into CUMH and I sat in the little waiting area. There were mothers coming out with babies, and I was bleeding. I had to go to the bathroom to show them that I was actually miscarrying. They had to see that evidence, which was not the most humane thing to make me do. I had my scan and I was told it did not look like the baby had progressed beyond the seven-week mark. It was not where it should have been. I went home and had to go back to CUMH the next day to get an internal scan to confirm this. That drive home was the worst drive I have ever had. I do not think I have ever had an experience like it. I had to drive back home by myself. I parked my car and I had to call my fiancé and my mother to tell them what was going on, that I was miscarrying.

The following morning I went back to CUMH and got the confirmation. They did the internal scan and told me I was miscarrying. I was given my options. Women in that situation can have D and C, which can be very invasive and can cause tears, or take medical intervention or just let it pass naturally. I chose the option of medical intervention but I was not told anything about what was going to happen when I did that or how it would affect me physically. I was told it was going to be like a bad period. I went home and took my medical intervention. I had to call CUMH because I was not sure if what I was experiencing was normal.Nobody told me I would have enough amniotic fluid that, when the medical intervention worked, my waters would break. Nobody told me that I would pass the pregnancy when I was sitting on the toilet, that I would not know what to do, that I would be distraught, crying and panicking while sitting there, and that all I could do was flush. Nobody told me I would have to go back and be told I had to do it again because there was still residue left. After all of this, I had to go back one last time, when I was told the best time for me to try to get pregnant was right now because I was the most fertile for the first three months after the miscarriage. As a woman who has gone through something like that, the last thing you are thinking of is getting pregnant again. It was horrifying because I did not understand what would happen to me emotionally afterwards; how I would be so envious, how I would not want to leave the house, how everything would be a trigger, how I thought I would go crazy and how I thought I was going crazy. I felt so isolated and so alone in the process. This was the case until I spoke to other women who said they had had a miscarriage too but had never told anybody. This happens an awful lot, more than we understand or more than we have statistics for. Women have been suffering alone for a long time.

This Bill is rooted in lived experience, driven by evidence and shaped by compassion. This is the big thing here. It begins with a simple and powerful truth, which is that every loss matters, no matter what loss it is. We are debating the Bill today and this week we had fresh validation from across the Irish Sea, as on 6 July 2025 the UK Government announced that parents who suffer miscarriages before 24 weeks will be entitled to at least one week's bereavement leave, with full legal rights for mothers and partners in upcoming employment reforms. This follows earlier recommendations by two UK MPs for two weeks of paid leave for miscarriage losses. It is a change that underscores the physical and emotional toll of early pregnancy loss. The shift reflects an evolving understanding that pregnancy loss pre-24 weeks in the UK is not a clinical event but is very traumatic and deserving of protection. The Bill before the House echoes this with regard to 23 weeks in this country. It proposes paid leave of five days for women and 2.5 days for their partners.

The Bill also proposes a voluntary and confidential pregnancy loss register. This is incredibly important. The State does not recognise losses prior to 23 weeks. People are supposed to just carry on and pretend nothing happened. There are also legal protections in the Bill. Pregnancy loss is one of the most common forms of bereavement but one of the least recognised in society and law. The statistic of one in four women experiencing pregnancy loss is not a true statistic because it does not take into account women who miscarry at home, those who have missed miscarriages and other cases. Behind the statistics are thousands of stories of grief, silence and people returning to work with empty arms and aching hearts because the law makes no space for their pain.

The proposals in the Bill are not radical. They are rooted in best international practice. In England and Scotland parents can receive a formal baby loss certificate for losses before 24 weeks. In New Zealand paid leave after miscarriage is already in place. In Australia workers are entitled to leave following pregnancy loss. In the North of Ireland our Sinn Féin colleagues have pushed for cross-party momentum towards a baby loss certificate scheme to give families the recognition they deserve. We believe the State should afford no less here.

The Bill is built on the findings of ground-breaking Irish research, including the PLACES project and the RE:CURRENT project led by UCC's pregnancy loss research group. The PLACES project highlights the profound impact of pregnancy loss on working lives. Women and partners spoke about the absence of paid leave, the lack of information and the emotional distress of returning to work too soon, often in silence and often unsupported. One of its key recommendations is clear; this is the introduction of medically certified paid statutory leave for pre-viability pregnancy loss. The Bill delivers exactly this. The RE:CURRENT project evaluated services from people experiencing recurrent pregnancy loss and found serious gaps. Only half of maternity units in the country offer specialist clinics for recurrent miscarriage. Psychologist supports are limited or non-existent, and too often the care provided lacks the sensitivity and consistency the loss demands.

The Bill does not fall into the category of "nice to have". The Bill has been informed by countless conversations with advocacy groups such as Féileacáin, the Miscarriage Association, clinicians, researchers and many grieving families. Countless women have been met with coldness when they try again. Some have to beg for investigations. One woman who delivered at 22 weeks was told funerals were only for real people. Another woman who had the ashes of her 22-week-old baby and wanted to take them on a flight was told she could not board with the ashes because she did not have a death certificate. This is what women are suffering today.

I want to be clear to my colleagues and everyone contributing on the Bill that it is not party political. This is not a party political matter. I hope the House will support the Bill. We can improve it, make progress in the Chambers and shape public awareness together. To delay the Bill is to traumatise even more women. Every parent deserves recognition and every loss deserves dignity. Every person navigating grief deserves time, space and care, and all of our support.