I will never forget the look on his face…
My miscarriage was not straight forward. Not many are, but having reflected and spoken to many women – friends, family, healthcare professionals – about their own experiences, then sharing mine, I have come to learn that my experience was not ‘normal’.
Late September 2019 – I discovered I was pregnant. We were due to move house and we were excited to find out if we were going with an extra person. Liam waited on the bed while I took the test in the bathroom, hoping we would sit together waiting for confirmation. Two lines appeared almost instantly before I had a chance to get out of the bathroom.
I will never forget the look on his face – he was the happiest man on earth.
We spent the next couple of weeks being secretly excited looking for quirky ways we could announce our news on Pinterest. I ordered a baby grow for a future uncle and had my “baby on board” badge for the London commute in the post.
We booked an early scan. Not because we were worried, the thought of anything bad happening never crossed our minds. We simply wanted to see our baby. I had no spotting, no pain but did have ‘classic pregnancy symptoms’.
“There’s nothing there.” said the sonographer. “Let’s look internally.” Still, we didn’t feel any fear – “it’s probably just small, we are only about 7-8 weeks”, we thought. An internal inspection revealed the same thing. Nothing.
We were referred to the Early Pregnancy Unit and from there they ran all sorts of tests to prove I was pregnant. Bloods every other day for a week, urine, scans. Every test showed that I was pregnant, apart from the scans. My HCG levels were increasing rapidly – “Maybe it’s multiple embryos, which would explain the growing levels”. They told me to come back in a week and then hopefully we would start to see them on the scan.
We still hadn’t told anyone. There was still hope we would share the good news with our loved ones soon.
November 5th 2019 – the day I was due to go in and see my babies on the screen and for this nightmare to end.
At 2 am I got a phone call from my sister saying there was a fire at my parents’ house. We flew down the motorway to find ambulances and fire engines outside our childhood home. I kept thinking it would be ok because today we will have good news that will give everyone a bit of hope.
We got to the hospital after little sleep but were optimistic about seeing our little one(s) after continuing to feel all the symptoms and still no spotting or pain. “Your levels are increasing, but we still can’t find anything” – I was booked in immediately for a laparoscopy for a suspected ectopic pregnancy. We were allowed to go and get an overnight bag, which is when I called my sister to tell her what was happening.
I was admitted and stayed overnight in order to secure the first operation of the day. Liam was with me until they opened the doors to put me under.
I will never forget the look on his face.
After I came round from the operation Liam told me that the buyer for our house was going to pull out unless we completed that week so he’d been moving our stuff out. The doctor came to my cubicle and told us that during the operation they still couldn’t find anything and that I was, in fact, still pregnant.
There was a sliver of joy that we were right not to give up hope. I faced further investigations: x-rays, more bloods, vaginal exams – over the next 2 days until they decided to terminate whatever was there. I was taken down in a wheelchair, unable to fight with anyone anymore. I was given gas and air and held down by 3 nurses and 2 consultants while they performed a D&C to get rid of whatever it was. I screamed in pain. Liam was outside and could hear it.
I was kept in until my levels returned to normal. It wasn’t until the D&C that I started bleeding.
We went home for one night then moved in with my in-laws. I was asked why I was sad, why I didn’t go back to work to take my mind off things. I couldn’t grieve properly as I didn’t have a space to. I didn’t have a house, my childhood home was in ashes, and our house purchase hadn’t gone through yet.
The grief process didn’t start properly until after Christmas when we had moved into our new house. There I was able to scream-cry into a pillow without anyone judging me. My friends had babies that I wouldn’t hold. I remember one of them visiting me afterwards, ready to drop. Her hugs physically hurt me.
Nearly 3 years later, I have a little girl of my own. The pregnancy was tough. I was convinced I wasn’t coming home with a baby. I had a beautiful pregnancy, with no complications, no spotting, normal sickness and food aversions and back pains. I was suspicious of it going too well. “I’m not that lucky”, I’d say to myself. I had a planned C-section that went off without a hitch. The night before I got 1 hour of sleep because I thought something bad was going to happen.
I couldn’t get excited. I took Liam’s excitement away because of my fear of hope.
The after-effects of my experience have been damaging. I’m scared of having any more children because ‘I got lucky once after, I don’t want to push my luck’. I’m scared of losing my daughter. My perfectly healthy, happy little girl. I’m scared the people and things I love will get taken away from me.
The experience was damaging and painful. However, the Miscarriage Association was and is a comforting resource in times that are difficult, to help me feel I am not alone. When people say I should move on because I have a daughter now. When they ask when the next one is coming along. When people ask if she is my only child. Knowing that others have experienced this is reassuring. It may take a long time to heal, but there is strength to be found in even our darkest moments. I have learnt to hope again and I hope my story will help others find hope too.