#misCOURAGE story, 21/04/2017, by anonymous
I'm writing this hoping it will be cathartic.
I feel absolutely heartbreakingly bereft and, even though my husband has supported me throughout this nightmare, also completely alone. I'm glad, though, that I hadn't told anyone other than him about this most recent pregnancy, as I've found the un-telling of the previous two doubly distressing.
I do not want to have to support other people through this grief which is mine.
I had my first miscarriage at 4.5 weeks last year. A chemical pregnancy. Somehow that term feels minimising, like "blighted ovum" or "silent miscarriage". It might not have been visible on an ultrasound but we knew it was there, and we loved it and we wanted it.
Reassured by the GP (and the internet) that it was surely just down to bad luck, we decided to wait until after our wedding to try again.
Fast forward to January and overjoyed to conceive first try. It almost felt too easy. So confident, so delighted, so naive. I started to read all the baby books and think about names.
This time I was 5.5 weeks when the bleeding started. It was brutally efficient, which I'm now grateful for, with hindsight.
Again it was just a case of bad luck. And probably a good thing, really, since the baby must have had some kind of chromosomal problem, almost certainly incompatible with life, and how great to be able to conceive so quickly, and no need to wait to try again, no need to do any tests, you're perfectly normal and everything will be fine.
4 weeks later and deja vu with a positive test. This one, surely, is a winner.
The symptoms bowled me over for the first time and I delighted in the nausea, bloating, tender breasts. I arranged a "reassurance scan" at 7 weeks, hoping to see a heartbeat for the first time. Instead I had the cruelty of an inconclusive result.
A pregnancy much too small for my dates, but the possibility that perhaps I'd miscalculated, and after all, I hadn't even had a period since the last miscarriage so that could explain it.
Then the agony of waiting and waiting and waiting and feeling like I was counting every slow second until the next scan, a week later. Still inconclusive, grown a bit but not enough. No heartbeat. Another scan in a week.
And that's where I am now. I know this one isn't going to work out either. I've conceived 3 times in a row out of 3 attempts, for which I am grateful, but I wouldn't wish 3 miscarriages on anyone.
I'm young, I'm healthy, I'm in love, I'm emotionally, financially and practically ready for this. I've done everything right, but my body is somehow wrong. It isn't fair.
I would love to have a story that ends with the news of a successful pregnancy, but I'm not there yet. I'm still carrying a baby that has almost certainly died. It is a horrible, horrible thing and it is hard. For anyone else going through this, I'm so very sorry.
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