My first positive test with my husband brought as much happiness as my very first pregnancy test, if anything more. I had previously miscarried 5 babies, but this time I thought things would be different.
I miscarried 2 weeks later. This was my husband’s first experience of loss, and as heartbroken as I was, it was nothing compared to my husband. To say I ever accepted a loss of life, I had learnt how to deal with it, and this time I had a husband to support through his grief.
We lost another baby shortly after, this time convincing myself I had not given myself time to heal, and my body rejected the pregnancy. We started fertility tests shortly after. My first visit discovered I had PCOS and despite the healthy amount of eggs I could see on the screen, I was informed this could cause a problem conceiving. Up till now we had pretty much got pregnant at every attempt.
Blood tests concluded I have an autoimmune condition called APS/Hughes Syndrome/antiphospholipid syndrome.
I fell pregnant shortly after my appointment.
I usually lose my babies around 6 weeks, but this time i reached 7 weeks and immediately booked a private scan. We arrived at our scan, and informed the lady performing the scan of my previous losses, and there I broke down and continued to cry as she scanned me. "There is the heart beat" I looked at the screen and there was a slight flicker.
Days later I started to bleed. They could not find a heart beat, but as i was still in the very early they asked me to return a week later.My stomach abnormally swelled, and slept most of the day. I became very poorly. The next scan revealed no heart beat, and can only describe the image on the screen as "bubbles" My baby had not survived but something was not right.
I was asked to sit in a waiting room, while another professional was called. Surrounded by ladies with their pregnancy notes and glowing bumps. We sobbed. I was left in the waiting room, watching what seemed like hundreds of women clutching their scan pictures. A scan revealed I have a “Molar” pregnancy. I can’t remember every detail of that consultation. The only words that stuck in my head was “Chemotherapy” The consultant started to become teary and choked up, and looking back something makes me think that she had had personal experience of “Molar pregnancies.”
I was operated on the following day to remove my baby. After waking up from the operation, I asked the nurse who had fixed my hair, held my hand, and stayed with me until I fell asleep if my baby had gone. She replaced the hair grip she had previously taken out, rearranged the sheets to hide the growing pool of blood and squeezed my hand.Tests revealed I had a “complete molar” The first scan could not have detected a heartbeat as it never existed. I felt cheated.
A molar pregnancy requires lots of follow ups and urine tests to ensure my HGC levels return to normal. My body still thought I was pregnant and the swollen stomach which had harboured potentially cancerous cysts still made me very ill. Luckily my levels dropped without the need for chemotherapy and the 6 month count down started until we could try again.
I'm not sure how we had not given up hope, but I was determined!!! I was advised to take baby asprin and inject with fragmin daily once I became pregnant again. I was given the all clear in March and fell pregnant on our wedding day in April. We lost the baby at 7 weeks.The day I lost the baby, our family were struck with more bad news. My husband’s mum was given days to live after being diagnosed with cancer and passed 12 days later. We could not grieve this loss. How could we?
I am 21 weeks pregnant as I write this. I have heard every un-supportive phrase. “ It was not meant to be” “maybe you cant carry girls” “at least it was not a baby.”
In the first few weeks, the pregnancy was a very taboo subject or people awkwardly ask if I’m excited. Excited is not a word I would use. More frequent trips to the toilet to check for the first sign of another loss, the count down to 12 weeks, the upset at every scan because I know bad news will follow, my husband’s constant worry, the thought of telling my mum I have lost another. So, no I'm not excited. I'm hopeful.
Well now I have a growing baby boy, I can feel him kick. My husband can see him use my uterus as a punching bag. Family are noticing a visible bump. The thought of losing my little man puts fear into me. I've felt him, I've seen him wriggle, wave and snuggle into my belly. I can name this baby as we know he is a boy, something I've never been able to do.
Friends are wanting to organise a baby shower. Without wanting to sound ungrateful, until I have him in my arms, the thought of celebrating something that is so uncertain is tempting fate.
I feel that talking so openly about my angels has helped me through our journey. I just hope this story helps someone else speak out and share their grief and find support in others.