I had been with my partner for over 4 years when I found out I was pregnant. I worked as a live in carer and worked around the country. I was away from home when I did the test which came back pretty clear straight away I was pregnant. I did another 3 just to make sure. I was so excited, I couldn't wait to tell people.
I got my booking appointment with the midwife. Then my letter for my scan at 12 weeks. I attended that being nearly 13 weeks pregnant. My scan didn't match my dates from the size of the foetus it was only 5 weeks. They told me they couldn't see much at this stage and wanted me back in a week's time to check growth. I knew something wasn't right, how could my dates be out by that much? It was impossible.
I kept repeating that to my other half on the way home, speculating reason behind this. The week past quickly to my next scan. My partner and myself went in for the scan, my mother-in-law stayed in the waiting room. The sonographer told me that the foetus had died, it had not grown in the past week, and there was no heartbeat. I went completely numb and started sobbing, my other half held me tight not saying a word.
We where taken into another room, where once alone, I felt my world crumble.
My crying was uncontrollable, my other half got his mum and she came in and threw her arms round me and joined in the tears. Once I was able to hold myself together to walk out of the hospital, we left.That was hard walking out in to a room of pregnant women, now I was no longer one of them. I was told it was a missed miscarriage but that was basically it. No other reason why this happened, and sent home.
My head was spinning, I wandered around at home, walking in and out of rooms. I had been trying hard to give up cigarettes but what was the point now and I needed one, so went outside. I spent the the rest of the day walking around zombie like and most of the night spent staring into the darkness sobbing.
Next day I called my midwife explaining what was going on and to ask what happens next. The midwife told me that things normally now do what they need to. The midwife said she would speak to the hospital and discuss with them and get back to me, I didn't hear any thing else. I went into the weekend dreading that moment, I was going into the toilet constantly panicking what I would find.
All weekend I was a wreck but nothing happened. Monday, I called the midwife, though the hospital was supposed to called me. I was told I could go in and have an operation or wait for things to happen naturally. I decided I couldn't go through it any more and said I wanted the operation. I went into hospital the next day, I was nervous, but I thought I was holding it together well.
My mother-in-law came with me she was a real support. I started to notice that the nurses where a bit off with me and my MIL noticed this as well. I felt that I was being treated as if I was having termination. There was no kindness or understanding from the nurses I felt that they had not read my file at all and just assumed. Only the wards sister seemed to be caring.
I got left on a bed in the corridor outside theatre, where I broke down.
The theatre staff were lovely, seemed to understand and tried taking my mind off the situation. When I woke up in recovery, I started to cry as I knew that was the end. I was in recovery for some time watching people come and go, I was told someone would come get me to take me back to the room. Hours past and many phone calls to my ward for someone to collect me.
In the end I heard a recovery nurse say if someone does not come and get her we will have to shut recovery. I felt awful, if I actually could get myself together I would have walked out. Finally after an hour and a half someone came to get me. The rest of the day was like that. I was told that the nurse needed to do this and then disappeared. The ward sister came in to check on me, asked if I eaten? I said no, and she wanted to why not, I said I hadn't been given anything. With in minutes she had food with me. She said that the new shift would be starting and that they would look into discharging me. The ward sister introduced herself and said she would sort out my discharge. Then I couldn't find her, and was constantly chasing for every little thing including pain relief.
Four hours passed, and all I wanted was to get of the place. When the nurses finally came to see me, I let rip with every thing I was going through, emotionally being treated like a second rate citizen was the last straw, being forgotten and left in recovery, being treated like I chose to be there.
One person all day had actually shown compassion towards me at a time when I needed it the most.
This made me feel that this was my fault, that my unborn child died. I will never know what happened and why my baby died at five weeks but even though it makes me sad I know it wasn't my fault and slowly it's not so painful when I think about it.
Time is a great healer.
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