My first was easy. I fell pregnant quickly and had a straightforward pregnancy. His birth was an emergency c-section but he was safe and I was safe and that's all that mattered to me. My second was easy too... at first. I fell pregnant quickly. But had an early miscarriage.
These things happen, I told myself and, after an afternoon of paracetamol and tears, I went back to work the next day.
I told no one. I was ashamed.
I was pregnant again 6 weeks later. It all seemed to be going well until I had a scan at 11 weeks. The pregnancy hadn't developed. There was no baby. There was then an agonising two week wait to see if I'd got my dates wrong or if by some miracle a baby would appear. I hadn't. It didn't. After the indignity of internal scans, the wait, the booked D&C, I miscarried naturally at 13 weeks. It took a lot more than a couple of paracetamol to get through it this time both physically and emotionally but yet again I was back at work the next day and I remained silent.
My third miscarriage was two days before Christmas Eve. I expected it this time. I thought I was tougher. I thought I could cope. It had become so normal that my husband gave me a quick hug and disappeared to the pub. It wasn't ok though. I wasn't OK. I hated my body. I was ashamed of my weakness. I was saddened that what had started off as a tragedy in my husband's eyes, now seemed mundane.
So I asked for help. My GP was wonderful, professor Quenby was wonderful.
They didn't find a cause though - just one of those things. My fifth pregnancy, which started as twins, resulted in my one beautiful daughter who is now sleeping in my arms. I wouldn't have had the strength to try again without the support, the frequent scans and the hope they gave me. I just wish I could have accessed it earlier.
It's only now, with my family complete - with my two lovely children - that I'm able to find peace with our 4 little babies that never were.
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