#misCOURAGE 07/09/17 by Andrea
I heard myself screaming on the phone to my mom that I was loosing the baby.
It was like I was outside of my body, I had absolutely no control over my actions, my voice. I felt I had fallen down a well and I saw nothing but darkness around me, and all I could hear was my uncontrollable sobbing and screaming.
We have two beautiful, kind, loving boys. Both were very wanted, and both wanted a baby brother or sister to be big brothers to.
My partner and I were aware that age would be a negative factor in trying to conceive, but we also wanted to add the missing piece to our family. It took us exactly 12 months for the long waited positive test to appear. We were overjoyed, my partner was so eager to tell the boys that that morning it was the first thing he told them. Both our precious boys were over the moon. The eldest asked me every day when he could tell his classmates that he was going to be a big brother again. Every day his shiny black eyes would stare at me asking the same question.
Every day I told him he would have to wait just a little bit longer.
On the 6 May I started having this very light pink discharge. As an "experienced" mother, I panicked and rang my midwife and the hospital. As it was a Saturday no one was available. My midwife eventually called me back and told me not to panic as it should be normal to have this. The discharge kept appearing every time I wiped myself, but never went on the pads I started using.
We had our first midwife appointment on the 22 May. She did a urine test who showed "some sort of infection". Still the midwife told me not to worry with regards to the discharge (although it was still going). All the formalities and endless forms were filled out in a blur as all I wanted was to ensure my baby was OK, healthy and safe. I told the midwife that according to my math I could be either 8 or 10 weeks pregnant as my last cycle had been a bit strange (shorter and lighter). So she booked me in for the initial scan on the 26 May. I was somewhat relieved and anxious that I would be able to see my tiny baby for the first time. I still remembered how my first scans went with my children, and I was sure this one would also be memorable. And it was, but for the wrong reasons.
The sonographer's first words were "The embryo is measuring 5 to 6 weeks". I had to ask her what that meant as I was supposed to be at least 8 weeks. She said "I can't also see a heart beat, that means that you are earlier in your pregnancy than you thought or the baby stopped growing. I will have to do an internal scan" She sounded like a robot. I told her I was having pink discharge and she told me not to worry it would be fine. Again she told me the embryo either had no heart beat or that it had stopped growing. Coldly she told me "I'm sorry but you will have to come back in a weeks time to confirm if you had a miscarriage." Just like this. My brain stopped working right then and there.
All I could hear was the word miscarriage. My partner tried to calm me down, advising that maybe we did have the dates wrong and that we were going to be fine.
We weren't. It was my eldest boys 10th birthday, my birthday present to him would be to tell him he could tell his colleagues about his baby brother or sister. I had failed him. I failed everyone. My body betrayed me.
The pink discharge became light red on the 30 May. I never had a single indication of pain. Never. And because of this all the doctors who say me in A&E seemed a bit surprised. In the evening of the 30 May, I felt the first pang of pain. I panicked. My soul left my body and stood watching from above whilst I rang my mother who lives thousands of miles away from me that I was loosing my precious baby.
I can't fault the treatment from everyone at the Hospital. This was not the Hospital where I had been seen. Every single soul that saw me understood my pain, and I felt support for the first time since the bleeding began.
The bleeding turned to clots. The pain resembled my period pains (which can be very painful). On the morning of the 31 May, after a stroll along the beach, I had the first unbearable pain. Like I was being torn from the inside. I could barely walk. When we eventually got home, I went to the toilet and as I wiped, I saw my baby, inside the sac, attacked to the placenta. All in one piece, and I could actually see my baby. It was horrible, but at the same time it was a visual confirmation that I had failed this little human being. We buried it in our garden, inside a jewellery box and planted a rose to mark the spot.
Today, two months ago, I died a little.
What was harder was the comments of the few people who knew what had happened. "It happened for a reason", "you still have your boys"... I KNOW THAT. And I value my children more than anything in the world. And I will never allow anyone to doubt that. But the sense of failure, loss, pain, incompleteness is still here. I am unable to smile, unable to feel like I did. It's like some part of my soul is still outside my body, looking down on me... I don't wish it upon anyone.
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