Miscarriage to me was accompanied by blood and pain. It never occurred to me that it could be silent.
How I miss the naivety that the two lines was the hardest part. While my husband and I were trying, I was so focused on the trying part and our combined fertility, I even bought my husband ‘special vitamins’. I did not stop to think about the pregnancy part.
After three cycles of trying, we got a positive pregnancy test in February 2022. I had expected something when my BBT (basal body temperature) went up and not down, so that morning I immediately said to my husband ‘I think I am pregnant’. Three separate trips to the pharmacy to buy different brands of tests, we felt we had our confirmation – we were going to have a baby!
Sadly, it was not to be.
Like clockwork, the morning sickness – more like all day sickness – started at 6 weeks. I was nauseous all the time, I could not keep anything down, and all I wanted to do was lie in bed and expire. But this was ‘good news’, I kept on being told, ‘It means things are progressing nicely’. So I bucked up so to speak, started a new job, and suffered in silence.
Later it became unbearable, and although I was never diagnosed, I believe I had hyperemesis gravidarum. I took some anti-nausea pills, very hesitantly as I was worried about their potential effect on the baby, but I couldn’t cope any more. In between this, I also had a urinary tract infection. It was not a fun time.
Easter. Finally I was starting to feel better and I was reaching the end of first trimester. ‘A good sign’, again, I was told. At this point I still had not been for a scan. The NHS only offers two and my husband and I back then were not in the financial position to go private. I also never pushed to have an early scan with me being so sick, as I said, I was told this was ‘normal’. How I hate that word.
April 28th 2022 – a date that will forever be etched in my brain. My husband and I walked hand in hand to the ultrasound department, giddy with excitement at finally being able to see our baby. “This is our first” I said to the sonographer, “Our first baby and scan.”.
She was nice and smiled. My pants were lowered and then the cold gel was applied, and after some swivelling, the sonographer visualised our baby.
Something was not right. “I cannot find a heartbeat” she said, “I am sorry.”
What? What do you mean you can’t find it? Look harder! But I knew, our baby was gone. Confirmed by the internal exam.
“When?” my husband asked. He somehow had the strength to ask this.
“6 days ago.”
My baby had reached all the way to 12 weeks, and then nothing. I was devastated, I was shocked, I could not understand.
The next few days were horrific. There was an issue with the early pregnancy unit in our city, so we had to be referred to another. I waited a day to hear from someone, and when we eventually did, we were told we had to wait a further 3 days before I could be booked into hospital for a medical management – what I had opted for.
“Is there not a danger in waiting?” my husband piped up to ask again. He was better at thinking during this time.
“No, but if you start bleeding, then come in right away.” the nurse directed to me.
Not only did I have to walk around for 3 days with our dead baby in my womb, but with the constant fear of bleeding. The knowledge of it all coming to an end. I have PTSD from this experience.
I was booked into hospital on the 3rd of May, but due to further delays, we could only start the procedure the day after this. I could not deal with the waiting anymore, I walked out of the hospital, but was ushered back by the nurses.
The process started on the morning of the 4th, and then we waited and waited. They told us part of the delay was because they did not want me to miscarry at night when the staff compliment was less. That is exactly what happened. In the late afternoon the pain started, really bad. And then I felt a rush of liquid, perhaps the amniotic fluid because there was not much blood. Without nurses, my husband and I went back and forth to the commode in our private room (we fought for one) to clean me up and change. On about the 4th time, I put my hand there, and there was baby.
It was a he. Even though small – he fit in the size of my palm – everything was there. He had 10 fingers, 10 toes, he had eyes, a nose, a mouth. To me he was fully formed.
With still no nurses. My husband cleaned me up again, I changed, and we sat with our baby. We wept, we prayed, we loved him as best we could with what little time we had. Eventually the nursing staff came and then our baby boy – Finley – was taken from us. We opted to have further tests, so we knew this is what would happen.
Unfortunately, what I thought was the end was not to be. The placenta had not passed, so the doctor had to come and remove it. It was extremely unpleasant. However, the next day all seemed fine and I went off home. To continue bleeding.
I bled a lot, and this resulted in many trips back to the hospital and another procedure, as not all the tissue had come away the first time. ‘It’s common’, I was told. The second procedure was worse than the first, but when it was over, we thought we could move on.
We collected Finley’s body not long after and had a private ceremony at home. We wanted this for our baby boy.
I bled for over 2 months and I did not have a normal cycle until July 2022. The physical toll the missed miscarriage took on me meant that my recovery was longer, and my husband and I wanted to wait before trying again. It also took a long time before I was ready for that part of our relationship.
Come September, I was ready to start trying. I bought ovulation strips so that I could check if my cycle was as it should be. Even though I had always been very regular, I was now unsure about everything. September was also the month we saw the foetal medicine doctor. The day of the Queen’s funeral. It had been re-scheduled a handful of times, but the doctor was insistent on seeing us, even with the day being what it was. Sadly, we walked away with no additional knowledge as to why this had happened to us.
The genetic tests were inconclusive, but confirmed male, it was also not a molar pregnancy (I knew that), and other than that, the doctor could not say much else. We ended the appointment with being told that there was no indication that we could not go on to have a healthy baby. You sure about that doc? I am still so full of doubts.
We tried ‘properly’ in September, and in October I had a positive pregnancy test. I was nervous and unsure, the line was fainter than with Finley, but I was oh so hopeful. A friend who became pregnant around the same time as me also had their baby that day, and Finley’s due date had not yet passed. It seemed it was meant to be. I knew my body needed time, but I had it my mind that I wanted to be pregnant before the end of the year. Before we were supposed to have Finley.
Two days after the positive test, I ran a half-marathon in support of Tommy’s. I was worried the whole race, scared that I would do something to hurt the baby that had just started growing. I finished and raised the money I had set as a goal, and things seemed okay because I had a stronger pregnancy test.
Unfortunately a few days later (around 5 weeks), and after some further faint tests, I started to bleed. I knew what it was. A chemical pregnancy. I did not want to see a doctor, to be reminded of that painful process. So I bled at home, pretended it was another period and moved on. Except it was not that easy.
During this time, a very close friend of mine was going through fertility treatment. It was different, but still a shared pain. We relied on each other a lot.
I kept a thread of hope, but as the end of the year approached and I kept on getting my period, I was finding it harder to cope. Then came the news that my friend was pregnant. She told me because she believed she was miscarrying and turned to me for support. I pushed all the trauma aside and supported as best as I could. I knew how she was feeling, and I wanted to help her through that pain. She ended up not miscarrying.
It was a weird feeling. I was happy and relieved that someone I love dearly did not have to feel this loss. But it left me thinking, what about me? What is wrong with me? Why did it happen to me? I ended up a having a nervous breakdown in December 2022, just before we were travelling to see family back home. We ended up still going and I am grateful for the time away. But I still got my period. On New Year’s Eve. It sucked, it hurt. I really thought I was pregnant that time round.
It took time, but through the breakdown I recognised that I need help and that I can no longer do this on my own. I have sent my counselling requests in and I am hopeful, hesitant and scared too, but mainly hopeful. I know my story is not over yet, but I have to start again somewhere.
I want to end by thanking all of you who have been brave enough to share your own stories. I share the dark places you have been to, the terrifying thoughts and grief. I see you and I hope you see me too.