It took us 11 months to conceive our first child. Then after nearly a year on the contraceptive pill I stopped taking it in July as I was sick of how the hormones affected me. By some miracle I was pregnant after my period in August.
This time around I just knew – I had implantation bleeding, breastfeeding my first had become so painful, my face had broken out in awful spots and all I wanted to eat was eggs which, according to my husband, happened the first time I was pregnant. I mentioned to my mum at her birthday that I was sure I was pregnant and said we’d find out the following week.
My period was due on the Tuesday and on the Saturday I took a pregnancy test which was positive. But we weren’t surprised this time, it felt like it confirmed what we already knew. It was scary and exciting. The new baby was going to be due two days before our first had been due, although he was six days late.
A week later I had some slight blood in my knickers. It was minimal and very brown but I thought I’d check with the GP anyway, just to be careful. She organised a scan but we had to wait until I was at least six weeks. The scan was organised for six weeks and 3 days.
I went to the hospital on my own for the scan. In my own mind I thought I was just taking advantage of getting an early scan and I never imagined what was coming. During the first scan the sonographer could not find a heartbeat but she said that it was inconclusive, not bad news and not good news. It was too small and soon to really see, so I would need to come back in 7-10 days.
I was re-booked for 10 days later, when I was eight weeks. Our little boy was in nursery so I asked my husband to come, just in case and because they were allowing partners in. At this point I still didn’t think anything untoward had happened. I couldn’t believe it when she said there wasn’t a heartbeat and the baby wasn’t as big as they should be at this age.
She called in a consultant who had a look too and confirmed it was a missed miscarriage. He said I didn’t need to make any decisions now. I cried, I was in shock, I felt hopeless and empty. I never knew what sadness and pain felt like until that moment and at the same time it still didn’t feel real. I had spent the whole weekend feeling so sick how could the baby not be ok? I now had to tell family and friends what happened. In my mind the baby was still there, inside me, safe and therefore how could it be bad news.
We went back a week later to see a consultant. She confirmed it was a missed miscarriage and went through the options of natural, medical, surgical under local or surgical under general.
After some thought and more tears, I opted for surgical under local anaesthetic. Natural management clearly hadn’t worked and the anxiety of bleeding at any moment was difficult to deal with. Medical management would have meant I wouldn’t have been able to breastfeed our 1 year old for bedtime and I couldn’t bear the idea of doing that to him. I didn’t really want to go under general or be in a hospital during the pandemic and we would have struggled to have someone look after our boy so early in the morning, so I opted for surgical under local. It would be done on Thursday.
I have never cried so much in my entire life. I cried, hard, every day for an entire month. I felt the loss every day. I couldn’t understand how my baby was inside me and not ok. And to have him or her removed felt wrong.
On the day of the procedure I was ‘lucky’ that another consultant was available to scan my tummy while my consultant undertook the procedure. It’s hard to feel lucky when you are bleeding from the medication and having your dead baby surgically removed from your body. Nothing feels more vulnerable than having your legs up, spread with an instrument keeping you open.
The procedure was uncomfortable, but nothing a bit of yoga breathing couldn’t help with. It was after that the pain became unbearable, the physical cramping and feeling of emptiness combined with the emotional loss became completely entwined and unbearable. The staff were so kind and showed such empathy but none of it matters when you are going through the worst thing you’ve ever had to endure.
For weeks I had nightmares. I couldn’t sleep for fear of the nightmares and was more tired than I’d ever been. I cried. I shopped, which brought joy for a matter of moments. We went into a lockdown so all the support I should have been able to have was taken away. I tried to look forward to Christmas and planned time with my parents. That was taken away by the pandemic too. To lose a baby is one thing, but to have your support network taken away is another.
I had three weeks off work, then just got back to it. It was hard, I couldn’t concentrate. I was easily distracted and still cried, not every day but often. A month later I found myself in a meeting with a hospital where they were talking about a patient who had miscarried several times and I froze. I wanted to run, I couldn’t hear about others experience I could barely understand mine, but I was a professional. My colleague kindly phoned me after to see if I was ok, and I wasn’t, I needed time to myself to cry some more. From this day, it unravelled.
I spoke with a friend who helped me to say ‘I can’t concentrate, I’m grieving and this is too hard’. I made a plan with her that I would speak to the GP and get signed off. I did this the following day and informed my manager as soon as I could. I thought I would take a month off and be fine. I’ve now taken three months off. I received counselling, but unfortunately the NHS only offers 7 sessions and that’s it.
Not a day goes by when I don’t think about our lost baby. The brother or sister for our little boy.
I’ve since thrown myself into crafting, it’s a distraction and I like to see the finished product.
Only now, four months later, I’m trying to talk about what happened and how I feel. I’m not sure I can understand it still. This is part of my life and who I am now, I have to accept it.