I remember the lead up to my baby’s demise as if it is something I could relive over and over again.
I had waited a good 10 days after my first missed period before I let myself think I might be pregnant, I bought a test from boots online and I even paid for next day delivery, knowing that I wanted to find out before the weekend. The test came, I ripped it straight open, peed on the stick and walked away. I had had my hopes up like this before now, so why would this time be any different. I came back to the test, and couldn’t believe my eyes. I checked and checked again, oh my goodness I couldn’t believe my luck this was going to be the most exciting time, I couldn’t wait to tell my partner. By this point I would have been 6 weeks pregnant according to the due date calculator, I continually double checked this working out that my baby would be due on Xmas eve no less!! The irony was not lost on me, but we were never great Christmas people and now finally we would have a reason to enjoy Christmas.
My little sister at this point was a week over her due date, struggling with all the decisions of sweeps/inductions and the intervention that goes along with delivering a baby. I knew I wanted to wait as long as possible to tell our family and friends, thinking I had a full understanding of the things that could go wrong in the first trimester.
I rung the clinic, booked myself in, waited 3 weeks and went to my first appointment. I wasn’t a high risk pregnancy, phew. And so I carried on as normal, taking my vitamins, eating well, being careful and counting down the days to my 12 week scan when we could finally see our little one and I would really believe I was growing a tiny human.
The week before my scan, I had small spots of bleeding but I knew that this was a symptom of pregnancy and it never lasted more than a day, and so I carried on. My best friend’s hen do was coming up, I was going to travel up on the train and enjoy a weekend of no drinking and no pressure. I had told a couple of the girls, so that they could help me hide my little secret they were over the moon and we spent the weekend swapping drinks and whispering of what it would be like to have a little me. I avoided the water activity, in fear of putting my baby at harm. Little did I know it would have made no difference as the unimaginable had already begun.
I woke up on Sunday morning still at the hen do, feeling refreshed and glad I had no hangover just pleased that I had made it through with only suspicions on why I wasn’t drinking. I showered and then sat in my towel reading a book waiting for the girls to wake up. As I got out of bed, I couldn’t believe my eyes a shock of red greeted me on the bed sheets. Surely not, this couldn’t be happening, not here, not right now. I stripped the bed, washed the sheets and got dressed hoping this was just spotting they talk of, and I’d been sat down so of course it looked worse, but I had my scan on Thursday I would find out if all was well. My bed stripping was commended, what a nice house guest I was. How could I tell anyone it’s because I was hiding the fact I had bled on them.
I returned home to my partner; the blood having cleared up. I said to him I think I need to see the midwife tomorrow, then we went to bed feeling low. The morning came, and the blood had vanished. Oh the relief.
And we carried on.
Scan day – we had a spring to our step, we chatted on the way there of all the things we needed to do to get ready and who we wanted to tell first and whether I would have a bump by the time we went to the wedding that followed the hen do and what people would say and whether there would be photos taken and our best kept secret would be outed.
In we went, my weight and height taken. Sat back down, looking around at all the other expectant couples and imagining how their children would grow up to be.
Into the scan room we went, chit chatting away, cold jelly on, screen in front of us to watch our baby. Nothing. black screen, no wiggly baby. The shock floored us, the sonographer asking us if it was a much earlier baby and how we would need to do a vaginal scan. Hope, a glimmer of it.
Screen turned away from us this time, I couldn’t bear to look, scanner inserted, tap tap tap on the keypad measuring away. Nothing. Still nothing, no heartbeat just pregnancy tissue. Silence and tears followed.
Through to the other clinic we were sent, no baby print out, no excitable step to our walk just trudging and tears.
Bloods would be needed to track my HCG levels. The lovely nurse sympathizing and looking after us, explaining the next steps. All a blur.
Home. Sadness. Emptiness. I was no longer pregnant, my mind had kept my body pushing along not letting it believe my baby was no longer viable. As soon as it had been confirmed, I snapped straight back to zero symptoms and zero bleeding. I no longer had sore breasts and morning sickness was a thing of the past along with my hopes of what the next few years would look like.
By now I was an auntie, to the most beautiful little baby boy. I was in love, my auntie era had begun and man was I here for it, regardless of my recent trauma. I knew that my baby’s journey was just shorter and full of no less love than my baby nephews.
Instead of presenting my little sister with the scan photos as I had hoped, I had to tell her of the baby that she knew nothing of was no longer. Her sadness for me, floored me yet again. She knew what it was to go through pregnancy, how hard it was yet to end up with a live baby and how I wasn’t going to get that.
My grief came in ebbs and flows, one minute I understood how this is nature and is common in 1 in 4 women and that I was there for my baby for as long as they had needed me for. And the next I was crying; big uncontrollable sobs of how sad I was for the future I couldn’t see ahead of us anymore. I found the more of my friends I talked too, the more it helped. Our baby was real, they existed if only for a short time they still needed to be grieved for. And man, were we grieving.
The hospital visits continued, weekly painful reminders involving having my blood taken. Some visits worse than others, imagining why all the other patients were there, seeing pregnant tummies, crying girls with their mothers consoling them, wondering if they looked at me and tried to imagine why I was in here.
3 weeks passed, no blood, no cramps and my HCG levels were still high, falling but not quick enough and still no change in my body, it certainly wasn’t letting go of the remaining tissue.
Scan number 2 – this time different to the first the sac being far bigger in comparison, small slice of hope, maybe they were wrong maybe I’m still pregnant. No, no heartbeat. Unviable intrauterine pregnancy suspected.
3 choices – natural, medical and surgical management. I broke down again this all seemed so final so “THE END.” How could I choose how to evacuate my baby, but it’s not a baby anymore it is only tissue, but it was my baby, my lovely lovely baby.
Phone calls and decisions, weighing up options. Back in for bloods, my decision made I was choosing surgical management under GA. Ready to book in and see the final chapter through. Blood results – HCG still high enough to be unsure. Another scan booked in, to confirm that the 2nd scan was the true representation of my baby’s demise. Scan done, appointment with surgeon. All options explained again. I was solid with my decision, I could not wait any longer I needed an end. My body needed an end. I was to come back in the next morning bright and early, first in. Bloods needed to confirm my blood type. My veins not playing ball, several attempts made, more water drunk, more bruises appearing. Time to take the tablets, placed under my tongue. The taste vile, the pain following the dissolving a whole lot worse. Thinking of myself as able to cope with pain well, this was unimaginable, perhaps doubled by the fact that I chose this, I chose this method to evacuate what was once my baby.
More nurses and then I’m on my way to surgery, being prepped, squeezing my eyes tight shut with only one word answers being given. The pain silencing me. Then I’m taking deep breaths, and I’m gone. Waking up in another room, seeing my nurse, asking if it’s done, asking if my baby was a boy or girl. Coming out of the haze, realizing this chapter is over, the book is closed.
Recovering with tea and buttery jammy toast. Standing up to go for a wee, seeing the scarlet blood drip onto the floor and down my socks. Felling guilty that someone needs to clear up after me, the clear reminder of what I had just been through.
Home. Different this time. More peaceful, less racing thoughts, cuddles with my nephew and the knowledge that my baby was loved and wanted even just for the short time we were together.
Forever remembered, little shrimp our first love ❤️ 03/24 – 07/24