Story of #miscourage by Frances,
It was the eve of our 12 week scan. I was slightly nervous like all pregnant women are before the first 'big scan', but really excited too. I was 4 weeks on from the elation of seeing our baby with a strong heartbeat at an 8 week scan, where the lady doing the ultrasound confidently declared,
"The growth and heartbeat are perfect. Your chances of miscarrying now are less than 5%!".
She then happily handed me two pictures of our baby.
A 95% chance of the pregnancy continuing - great odds, right?! I'd been taking folic acid and Vitamin D since the end of February too, and my blood tests had also been perfect.
I felt so lucky that my pregnancy was going so smoothly. I didn't feel entirely invincible, as no pregnant woman is, but I was confident enough to begin enjoying the pregnancy, and remind myself when reaching for the Ritz crackers to control the nausea, that it was all so worth it. My husband, also beaming at the very mention of the pregnancy, would pat my belly from time to time, and we called our baby 'bean'.
I started to look to the future, and was given a due date by the midwife, as well as a date to hear the heartbeat at 16 weeks.
Apart from the day I got married, never in my life had I been so excited.
On the day of the scan, I noticed a couple in the waiting room marvelling at their 12 week scan photos, pointing out their baby's little nose. "That'll be us in a few minutes!" I thought to myself, excitedly. I ticked the 'yes' box for screening, then lay down on the bed. The jelly was applied, then the lady doing the ultrasound suddenly had a complete change of expression on her face.
"Have you been bleeding Frances?" she asked, tentatively.
In that moment I knew, yet I still asked, my voice quivering, "Is there something wrong?" while averting my gaze from my baby lying there, silent.
"There's no heartbeat. I'm so sorry," she replied. I can't remember exactly what happened next, apart from walking through the hospital in a complete daze, confronted by that strange reality of daily life 'carrying on' in the midst of our grief and shock.
A few hours later, I was upstairs at the same hospital being spoken to by a gentle consultant. "A missed miscarriage," he said. My body thought it was still pregnant. I thought I was still pregnant. My tiny baby, desperately clinging on, had given me no signs that its little heart had stopped, that it was laying still in its protective sac.
Two days later and after a six hour wait on the same ward I was sent up to after the bad news, I was in a cold general anaesthetic room, a cannula in my hand, a mask on my face, and my heart racing at the thought of what they were going to do. My last thought before I entered the darkness of general anaesthesia was of the sadness on my husband's face when the lift doors closed on my way down to theatre.
I would wake up in a pool of my own blood a little later, empty and exhausted. Little did I know that this was not 'it'. I would never have known that nearly 3 weeks post miscarriage a pregnancy test would STILL be positive.
My body clearly wasn't ready to let go just yet.
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