We had been trying for months for our second baby. I knew I was pregnant well before the positive pregnancy test because of my ovulation tests.
My Boyfriend’s mum had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. A few days after the diagnosis, I had a little bit of spotting.
I went to A&E and waited three hours for the BEP clinic to open. They scanned me straight away and there was my baby, growing well with a heartbeat at approximately 8 weeks gestation.
They put the spotting down to "him" attaching to the womb, but I still didn't feel right.
I just felt like something was going to go wrong. Two weeks later, Jon’s mum passed away. The next day I had spotting again and went back to the hospital.
They told me I had lost the baby. I should have been 10 weeks, but the baby only measured 8. He must have died not long after I had that first scan.
I didn't show any signs of him passing for two weeks. I started to lose him on the morning of Jon’s mums’ funeral. I sat through the service in agony and pushed my feelings to the back of my mind, so Jon could grieve for his mother. I had decided to grieve for my baby after.
The day after the funeral I went to hospital to have the operation for the baby to be taken away. I regret this more than anything now.
I really wish I had let nature do it for me. I’m hard on myself, even now because some part of me says that they could have been mistaken.
The rational part of me knows that they weren't; they had checked and checked. I still hate myself for having that operation but I don't fully understand why.
When I was woken up after the operation I had a lovely nurse with me, she held my hand and cried with me for nearly an hour. I don't know her name but I'm forever grateful to her. She is a credit to Whiston Hospital; she was there for me when I needed her and I don't even know who she is.
It’s been 18 months since I lost him. Last week I found the scan photo from the first scan and I broke. I realised I never actually grieved for my baby, who we tried so hard to create.
I was obviously devastated, but it wasn't until recently that I felt the whole impact of what we went through.
Our life could have been so different. When I'm alone and I let myself think about it, it's always the same question, "why us"?
I remember thinking at the time that I shouldn't show my emotions because people would think I was being stupid. So many people didn't understand and I forced myself to play my poker face. I felt like other people didn't think of it as me losing my baby. He wasn't even born and I felt strange. But I know now, "HE" WAS MY CHILD. It doesn't matter about age or gestation, in my eyes and in my heart "he" was my baby and I loved him the second I knew he was there.
What upsets me the most now is I got all the "I'm sorry's".
Jon had lost his mother and his unborn child in the same week. How he managed to stay together and be so strong through it all I will never know. He is my rock. Dad’s hurt too.
I know many people go on to have a successful pregnancy and healthy babies after having a miscarriage. But I'm too scared now to even try. I have never experienced emotional pain like that before and I'm not strong enough to run the risk of feeling it again.
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