Saturday 16th April 2011 – I’d been looking forward to that date for ages. I should have been going for a girlie weekend away – driving up to my best friend’s house to stay over with another of my friends. I’d not had a night away from Monkey for a long time, let alone a girlie break – I was really excited.
I was also just over 10 weeks pregnant with ‘Bump #2’ – aka Poppy was due on Remembrance Sunday. I’d been for my booking in appointment with the Midwife on the Thursday and clutched by Blue folder with pride. I was obviously even more excited about being pregnant, even though it meant I wouldn’t be drinking over the weekend, but it had taken longer than expected to be in this ‘state’ so I didn’t mind. Hell, I’d spent my own Hen weekend being the only one not drinking, with my son being well on his way.
So I got up in the morning, got my bags ready, Daddy P was catching up on his sleep and I was due to leave just after lunch. Just after 10 am all those plans fell apart, I’d started bleeding, really faint, but it still scared the life out of me. I rang NHS Direct for advice, 4 hours later and still no clinical response, I rang out of hours instead. They gave me ‘it is almost certainly ok’ line but ring your GP on Monday morning to arrange an emergency scan and go straight to A&E if things get worse. Well, there was no way I was going away for the weekend now. My friends tried to persuade me, but I knew I’d be anxious all the time and just wanting to be at home.
The bleeding didn’t stop, so I was on the phone to the GP first thing on Monday morning and was booked in for an early scan on Wednesday. Silly me, when we arrived for the scan I was asked for a wee sample, I thought OK, strange, didn’t do that last time, must want to check for infection or something. Dooh – the first thing they said was ‘Ok, the test has confirmed the pregnancy’. Oh right. Reality. The only problem was, I just didn’t feel pregnant any more. No sore boobs, no feeling sick, just very stressed out and upset with the continual bleeding. Anyway, as soon as I saw the scan screen I knew something was wrong – we’d had my son’s first scan at the same time so I had an idea of what we should have seen. There was no heartbeat – had I got my dates wrong? Anyone who knows me, know’s that I’m attached to my diary and don’t make mistake with dates. The sack was a funny shape, not great and sized at 6 weeks, so they told me there was still a chance that all was ok – I didn’t believe it for a minute, but Daddy P held on to the faint chance that all would still be ok.
We were told to come back in another week, which was awful, every day the bleeding got a little bit worse, I dreaded visiting the toilet. I was drained. We went back a week later, I did a wee sample – it was red. They didn’t check it, I didn’t look at the scan screen, I didn’t need to. There would be no ‘Poppy’. The problem was then that I hadn’t bled enough – great, was it possible to bleed more? Anyway, I was offered ‘options’, at this stage, I just wanted ‘it’ to be over, I had had enough. I opted for surgical intervention. As it was going to be a Bank Holiday for the Royal Wedding I couldn’t have the procedure in my preferred hospital and was booked in at another hospital for Friday 29th April. No baby, no royal wedding for me.
The morning before, I was bleeding really badly and was advised to go straight to my normal hospital, I felt so weak and pretty much passed out on the A&E nurse. I was transferred to the ward after a lengthy ‘wait and see how this progresses’ and put on a drip. I spent the day on the ward, on the drip, being told to walk around the ward – it would help with any final bleeding. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to cry, it was a truly awful day. I was allowed home that evening, no need for a surgical procedure, all gone, end of the story.
I did get to watch the Royal Wedding, with Daddy P and my beautiful Monkey.
I’m not unique, I’m not special, unfortunately, I know a lot of people who have had different experiences of ‘miscarriage’ but all with the same result. I was 43 when it happened, I knew that for me, that was my last chance for another baby. It took me a long time to accept that my son made 3 and that was us, even longer to let go of the cot. But, the day I finally decided ‘enough is enough’ and let go of that dream, I felt so much better. I still get upset about it, even writing this. I spend Remembrance Sunday thinking about what might have been and give my son an extra big hug.
I have the most wonderful, funny, naughty, little son. He IS unique, he IS special and I love him very much.