Wednesday, 17 October 2012

Still waiting...

I never thought I'd be waiting this long. When I lost our baby so many stories came out of the wood work about how this person had only took 3 months and got pregnant again and that person got pregnant the next month. The longest I heard was 6 months and when they told me I thought that was just the longest time to wait. But its October 2012 and my last pregnancy ended prematurely on December 1st 2011. And I'm still here waiting.

After our miscarriage I was told by my sister in law the pain doesn't end till you have your baby in your arms.  I don't know if thats true but I suspect it might be as it's the one thing I fantastise about. Holding my very own child. Cradling it, protecting it from any harm, smelling it, loving it. Is that weird-smelling it??! I truly cant wait.

My life feels like its made out of 2 week slots. There's my period, then 2 weeks where the excitement builds up to the magic 'ovulation' date!! Then there is a few days of hope and what ifs. Then there is 2 weeks of waiting. And thus far, this ends with a few days of that dreaded period and my emotions at rock bottom again.

Hope gets less each month. Each period brings with it more fuel to fire the thinking 'what if this never happens again. What if there is something wrong with me. What if I'm never a mother'. Each month these thoughts get harder to shake off.

Each month my relationship with my creator gets harder. I think part of this is that I subconsiously don't want to bother Him. Like if I spoke to Him about anything else it would distract Him from what I really want Him to do. Maybe if I spoke to God about something else then He'd forget. And nothing else seems that important next to the big 'thing'. And I don't want to bore Him (or myself) going back with the same thing every time. So I end up not speaking to Him. And I know there is no logic in that thinking. Its also a protection thing I think. Don't put hope in God providing this 'thing' incase this 'thing' is not on his agenda and never comes. Don't raise your hopes to have them shattered. I've seen people live like this in the past. Never getting excited about anything, not looking forward to anything-just incase. So they don't get their heart broken. And I've always thought what a stupid and sad way to live. So why am I living like that?

I don't blame God for what happened anymore. I don't understand why some of us loose babies. Be it at 12 weeks or 40. Why can't it be full proof when that egg is fertalised. I dunno. But over time I've learnt that to judge God does no one any good. I cannot judge Him. I can never know answers. I know I have to trust His ways are bigger. And I have to trust that He loves me. This is all I have and all I know.

But I still struggle with my relationship with Him in other ways. He has been so kind and patient and gentle this past year. Amazingly so. And I feel I have grown so so much and matured a mad amount in the past year.

I feel my faith is deeper and my eyes are wider.

But I can't loosen my grip on my world enough to let God in control of it again.

Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial because when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love Him. James 1:12

God, I do love you. I'm sorry I don't speak with you like I used to. I'm sorry we don't hang out as much. I'm sorry I've taken back parts of me. I know you're good and I don't blame you for my pain. But I am scared of my future. I'm scared you may not want children for me as its taking so long. And I'm scared what that means for us. But I know this is part of being yours. I gave you my life 12 years ago and I stick by my choice. Whatever my future holds I want what you have for me.
Please Lord, I ask for new life, a child to love and look after. You know this. But I want first to be your child again. Give me peace. Teach me again how to give it all back to you. How to be a daughter.
Thank you so much for your unbelievable kindness and patience with me. You are truly LOVE. Love I cannot understand. I am in no better place than when I am with you. Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere. Use me for your glory here on earth. I am yours. Amen.

Tuesday, 31 January 2012

Crap and confusion

So they are having a girl and I had my period.

All that kinda goes in to insignificance as I watch another friend go through a miscarriage.
Knowing that pain makes it worse to see someone else go through it. I want so much to take her pain away. And if anyone deserves this she does. Having just had a still birth last year.

Then another friend of mine told me she'd had 5 miscarriages. 5! I can't imagine the pain and the torture of these two ladies. As far as I'm concerned these two are super Mum's. With 5 in heaven and 3 on earth. And the other 2 in heaven and 1 on earth. These two are my hero's.

I don't understand. There are no words. Just admiration and love for two women who had to walk through hell and still are.

My faith is struggling. I know God is real. I've seen too much to doubt it. But this is too much. Too much pain. Too much death and loss. Where is He? God where are you? I love you but how much more can we take?

Tuesday, 24 January 2012

Waiting Game

Its been nearly 8 weeks since my baby was removed. I am due my 2nd period in 2 days. 
We tried our best this month ;-) But I'm sat here with period pains and keep running to the loo to check and see if I've come on. 
I so wish that I would be pregnant this month.

My brother's girlfriend was 1 week behind me in my pregnancy. I keep reading her updates on facebook. Every week she has some update programmed to show everyone how her baby is getting on. Its week 20. Tomorrow they find out what they are having, a boy or girl. I felt quite sure I was going to have a girl. I would have called her Elle. (I just had to convince my hubby). Its the name I've always wanted to call my first. I'm trying really hard to be strong so that if they tell me tomorrow they are having a girl, I don't feel negative towards them. I don't want to take any joy away from their moment. But I secretly am hoping they have a boy. So that for the rest of my life I don't have to look at their girl and think of my missing girl. But such is life. I'm sure I'll cope either way.

I have been going a little crazy wondering if I'm pregnant. I had been feeling a little sick the past few days so I did a pregnancy test yesterday. I had one left over from last time so I thought I'd just have a quick check. It said negative. But I'm keeping my fingers crossed that it was just too early to tell.

But I doubt it as my period pains are quite normal and I don't have sore boobs or anything else.

Last time we didn't really try like this. I just came off contraception and we went on as usual. I did really want a baby but my hubby wasn't so convinced so I think that was our compromise. It took 8 months to conceive that way which I don't think is a long time considering the pill had to come out of my system. 

But now we've tasted it we both really want to try again properly. 

If it doesn't happen I'll obviously be gutted. I just don't want to see that horrible sight of red blood. I feel like I've seen enough of that to last a lifetime. It still only seems like yesterday I was literally watching my dreams being flushed down a toilet. I don't want to do it again.

But the likelihood is in the next few days I will have a period. Saving grace is we weren't trying with any ovulation sticks so on the first day of my period I shall be ordering some for this month. So hopefully we can be more precise.

Still, hopefully we won't need them. I'll let you know.
Why do they call it the waiting game. There is no game involved. Unless you count the feeling that someone is playing with your heart.
Fingers crossed x

Thursday, 12 January 2012

Worth the risk

Feeling sad today. 6 weeks and 2 days since we found out we lost our precious little baby. Life has moved on, its a new year. But my heart still hurts.

Alot of the time I'm ok. But it seems like every day I hear of another friend who is pregnant, another scan picture replaces their face on facebook. I am happy for them, but a little bit in me cuts every time I see or hear it.

I'm still fat. I feel huge. I still have a chin full of spots. They are even on my scalp.

(As you can see, I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself tonight).

Me and my hubby have started trying again. This week is 'the week'. I'd be over the moon if we were pregnant. But in no way will it make up for what we've lost. I lost a baby. Not the hope of one. I'll never get that baby back. But my heart still aches to be a Mum. So we try again. Not to replace our first but to make a second.

There is that lingering feeling of 'what if we don't get pregnant again'. Then there is that lingering feeling of 'what if we do and we loose it again'. What if in 2 weeks time my period doesn't happen, I'm pregnant and in March I go to another scan and see them measuring a big black hole.

But its like love, or romance should I say. We date and we get hurt and the break up is horrendous. But we do it again and again because when it finally works out its worth the risk.

Sunday, 1 January 2012

My prayer

Dear God,
I pray for all those who have a piece missing. All of the women and their partners who have lost a baby. Will you comfort us and be gentle with us. Thank you that the bible says you cry with us. In our tears and in our loneliness be there with us.
I pray you look after our little ones as I believe they are in your care now. I pray for all those who desire another one. One they can see and touch and love and care for here on earth. I ask that you will give us healthy pregnancies and beautiful babies at the end to love. And till then I pray you will heal us and help us to accept our hearts with a missing piece. Help us not to feel guilty in moving on and trying again. Help us to simply accept. To look at the light moments in the darkness and to see our future positively.
I personally am so grateful for the time I spent with my baby. For every woken night needing a wee, for every bit of nausea, for every afternoon of tiredness, for every time someone hugged me and pushed against my ridiculously sore boobs, for every little bit of being a Mum. I thank you for that miracle and that time.

A month on

Now I sit here a month on, Christmas over. Now 1st January, the start of a new year.

I'm having my period. That started about 5 days after the bleeding from the operation stopped. It was heavy to start with but has almost disappeared today after only 2 days. I guess it will take a while for my body to get back to normal.

I'm still sad. So sad. But its a different sort of pain now. Not so raw. I've realised that you don't move on from the loss of a baby like you move on from other things in life. I'll never be the same again. I can never experience pregnancy for the first time again. You can't have a second first time. I can never have a first baby again. Because that was my first. I might not have met my little girl (I have a feeling it was a girl don't know why) but she was real. It wasn't just the hope and dream of my baby. My baby was real, I'm sure of it.

My heart was broken and I guess it will heal in time but it will always have a piece missing.

I'll never be the same. My baby made me a Mum. I might not have the baby here now to prove it. But I know I am a Mum inside.

Hopefully this year will bring me another one. This time one I can love and look after and touch and see. But I will never forget my first.


The physical side of things is easier to explain so I'll start with that. I was a bit woozy the next day and fragile but no pain as such. The rhesus negative injection in my leg was actually the sorest thing. But even that wasn't bad. I made the mistake of going back to work 2 days later. I am self employed and if you don't work you don't earn. I'd already lost out on a weeks worth of work (the busiest of my year ironically) so it pushed me to go in. Also, I didn't want my boss knowing about what had happened. I don't want him to know I'm planning on starting a family. I have no contract with him and I worry if he found out he'd want to get rid of me and replace me with a younger girl who isn't in the mind of child bearing. I have to protect my job so I thought I should go in. Big mistake. I forgot how physical my job is, I also didn't have a break to take my next set of painkillers and I ended up at the end of my day crying, being useless at my job, shaking and having stabbing pains. Not great. I wouldn't advise going in to work until you feel totally ready and even then think about how physical the job is. If you are having to pretend you're 100% like me as you hadn't told anyone what had happened then its a lot of strain to put yourself under emotionally too. I'm usually a very tough person emotionally and I was a wreck.

So I took it easy for another few days. I ended up back at work properly after another 5 days. However, my job is very physical so I think you might be able to return to an office job sooner. However, having said that, if you have a job where you can take sick leave I would totally advise it. I think you just have to keep reminding yourself to be gentle to yourself and not rush things. If I would have had sick leave I would have taken 2 weeks off for sure.

The period pains were fine and easily managed with some painkillers. I went back to my GP at one point as I had terrible pains but we worked out I was constipated. Never had constipation like that before. It was severe pain. I didn't poo for about 5 days after the op and after then it was like passing a brick. But the GP said this is a side effect of the painkillers they gave me from the hospital and as soon as I switched to ibroprofen the pains went away. I was on painkillers up till about 6 days after the op then stopped completely.

I bled all in all for about 16 days, the last few days were like that irritating end to a period when you're just wearing panty liners and wondering if it'll ever stop completely. And sometimes you'd think it was over then you'd move about, go for a walk or something and then there'd be loads of blood all of a sudden.

One of the saddest things physically is watching the blood go down the toilet. I really felt like it was symbolic of all my hopes and dreams literally going down the toilet. Its also hard to see yourself heal. I know that sounds weird. I watched the bruise of my hand, where the drip had been, turn all sorts of colours before it eventually faded away. I felt the egg-like-bump on my leg where they injected me slowly deflate. Then lastly I went my first day without any blood.

It was like my body was saying, its all over now. And my heart was in total disagreement.

There were good hours and bad hours. I'd have an hour or two where someone would pop over with some flowers and we'd have a chat or watch a film and I was fine. Then I'd have an hour where I was back in the same place I was when they first told me the baby was dead. Proper heart breaking tears.

I was wondering if my heart would ever heal. Then I'd feel guilty for wanting it to heal.

My first trip out of the house (apart from that awful attempt at working) was a quick christmas shop 10 minutes away. I thought the walk and fresh air would be good as I was starting to feel a bit better emotionally. But the world seemed way to fast. The fact everyone was rushing around getting their christmas presents just made me want to escape. I kept finding myself in the quiet shops and the back streets, in places I'd not usually have shopped. The world was too much for me. I would also find myself, and this continues now, in the middle of a shop wondering what I was doing, what is it I came in for. In some sort of daze. Everything was too much.

I got on a bus and cried all the way back home. I felt so lonely. Living in London I'd gotten used to protecting my baby from the chaos. I'd hold my bag over my belly when I was in a busy room or going through the barriers of the tube in case they flung back at me. I watched my step everywhere I went. Its particularly slippery outside my house so I'd got used to reminding myself to be careful there. It seemed everything about the outside was a reminder that I was no longer pregnant. You get used to having that other person around, inside you growing. I'd talk to it sometimes, I'd be protective of it. Basically I was becoming a Mum. Already making sacrifices, not drinking, not eating prawns, eating more fruit, all the usual things. I was already totally in love with my baby and always felt it about, whether it was from feeling tired, or the sore boobs. I knew it was with me.

Now it felt like I was so alone. So empty.

Operation Day

My operation was due anytime between 5-7pm so they had asked me to get there for 2pm. I went to the ward where they sat me and my husband on a chair and gave me a bag, which had 2 robes (one for the front of me and one for the back to protect my modesty). A pair of slippers, those flight sock things and a horrid pair of paper knickers.
As I had not had this operation before and had not given birth I had to have a pill to open my cervix. These were two very small white pills I had to insert in to my vagina myself. This was quite easy to do and I went to the toilet to do it. Then I had to wait an hour or so for it to take effect. This meant I ended up being the last operation of the day, along with another girl in exactly the same boat as me. Like me, she also has a rhesus negative blood type. And she also lost her baby at 8 weeks. Although she had found out straight away due to an early scan and I hadn't found out till the 12 week scan.

You aren't taken down on a bed or a stretcher. You walk down to the theatre. This seemed weird to me but I guess it made sense as I wasn't ill. But it did feel a bit like I was walking the plank. I walked with the other girl and our husbands came as far as they could. We were then asked to wait in a small room. I had my operation on 1st December and I could hear the choir in the hospital reception singing carols. They were singing Ding Dong Merrily on High. It felt very haunting as it echoed around the hospital. It was a weird reminder that although the world had stopped for me the past two days, for everyone else it went on as usual. It also reminded me that this Christmas was going to be totally different to how I'd imagined. I'd so looked forward to having a little belly to show off to family. I was even looking forward to not drinking. To be made a fuss of and generally enjoy the family christmas vibe knowing that I was starting a little family of my own. As I write this, exactly one month on, I can tell you that this was the hardest christmas I've had. A time when you should be happy and having fun, playing games. Every day I'd try as hard as I could to put on a brave face, have a glass of wine, be life and soul. Then every night I'd get in bed and cry. I felt everyone thought everything was ok, that one month on I was over it. No one talked about it. Maybe no one wanted to ruin their Christmas by discussing it with me. But inside I was desperate to talk about it and so so sad this wasn't the Christmas I was hoping for and it wouldn't be the new year I'd been getting so excited about the past 3 months.

The operation is apparently only 5-10 minutes. That seemed very short for something that seemed so massive to me. They put me to sleep at 6pm and I remember waking up at 7pm. I was crying before I was fully awake. I was speaking but not in control of what I was saying. But I was crying and saying really softly 'I really wanted that baby, I really wanted to be a Mum' over and over, to any nurse who happened to be around me. I asked one nurse how many children she had, she said none and told me I was still young I'd have another chance (that old chestnut). Then I turned to another nurse and asked her if she believed in God. She said yes. I asked her if she thought my baby had gone to heaven. She said she didn't know.

It is like I was watching myself from out of my body and I was actually shocked at how deep the pain I was feeling must be for these things I was saying and asking to be coming out of my mouth before I was fully conscious of them.

As they wheeled me back to a ward where my husband was I cried all the way. When I saw him I just said 'it's gone'. I was so sad. It was like a new depth of sadness. The realisation that I was completely empty. I felt totally empty straight away. That feeling stays now. Its not an emptiness you can explain, its not like being hungry or anything like I've ever experienced. It is a very lonely place.

My sister in law had said to me something her doctor had said to her when she was having the operation and it really comforted me. She said to think of it like I was being cleared out to make a nice new clean home for the next one. That this one had prepared the way. That is some kind of comfort to me.

They put a rubbish pad on your rubbish paper knickers after the operation. I bled through that straight away. I could feel it running out. I couldn't really move yet as I was still so drugged up but luckily I'd thought of bringing some baby wipes and new knickers and pads with me from home so my husband helped wipe me down and put a new sanitary towel in a new pair of knickers and put them on me. For me that was just a beautiful moment. Watching him care for me and love me. It felt like a real intimate moment. Funny how even in the midst of darkness there is always a light. That was definitely a 'light' moment and one I'll never forget.

I was too lightheaded and kept going white and faint when I tried to get up so they wheeled me up to another ward where I could rest for an hour or so and then I went home. As soon as you come round they give you something to eat and drink which is great as you have to fast all day, even water. Then as long as you wee ok you can go home. At this point I was still bleeding a lot and had bled through the next pad in that hour. They said that was normal. I wasn't in too much pain, they give you some good painkillers. The pain is like a period plus a little more.

So I went home. So sad, so heartbroken, so tired. And empty.


Thursday, 22 December 2011

Limbo day

I found out on Tuesday. Wednesday was my limbo day. A day of shock, tears and a day of realising that I was carrying my dead baby.

All this time I thought I was pregnant, and I guess I was, its just the baby wasn't growing. My body still felt so pregnant. I'd developed a little pot belly already, I was absolutely shattered by 4pm, my boobs were massive and still sore. I felt like this was one of the cruelest things about the miscarriage. That your body had been totally tricked. If I took a test it'd still show pregnant, I had all the pregnancy hormones in me. I also felt really sorry for the baby. I think because I felt I'd let it die on my watch and not realised. What kind of a mother would let their child die and not realise. I felt so sorry for it that it didn't make it. I kept holding my tummy and saying "I'm sorry baby, I'm sorry I couldn't do anything".

The next day I knew I was having the baby out and part of me wanted that (wanted is the wrong word) and the other part didn't. I wanted to stay with it. It felt like then it would over. And I didn't want it over.

That night before I went to bed I started bleeding. It was a lot. It soaked through a sanitary towel in about 30 mins and there were bright red blood clots sat on the top of the towel, about the size of two 50p's. I felt strangely calm about it. I guess I was passing the baby naturally. It felt like nature/God's (whatever you want to call it) way of confirming that this was the end. It's a weird thing for someone else to say that your baby is dead and they are going to remove it. You take their word for it. So it somehow felt comforting for my body to agree. I was also glad that it hadn't happened 2 days before because it would have scared me. So I took this as a strange positive.

Monday, 19 December 2011

The Reactions

You know that feeling when your chest hurts and there's a surge that overwhelms you to cry? That must be why they use the term 'heartbroken'. I've never felt it like this before. Absolutely totally heartbroken. They were no other feelings apart from sadness. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel confused even, not at first. I just was so sad. Even though the word 'sad' doesn't really seem to cut it. You can be sad about your football team loosing. This was sad on a new scale.

I don't know how single women get through a miscarriage. My husband was my lifeline. He was so incredible, so loving. I know he found it hard to watch me cry again and again. He was sad too but felt he had to be strong for me. The past 3 months I'd fallen in love with him again. Watching him get a new lease of life for work, doing all the jobs around the house that had needed doing for so long! Being pregnant had obviously caused one kick up the bum for my husband, he was doing the man thing and trying to provide and get things prepared. I could see him getting more excited as we approached the 3 month mark. It was lovely to see. He will truly make a great Dad someday. But for now, he has his work cut out being a great husband. And boy is he that. My love and respect for him has grown even more.

Other people's reactions varied. At times like this people don't know what to say. Some people say the wrong thing but I know they don't mean to. I got sick of hearing people say 'at least you know you can get pregnant'. This statement is of no use to me. Neither is 'you're still young, you can try again'. Although well meaning, I have lost my baby. I may know I can get pregnant but I don't know I can keep pregnant. Also, yes, I can try again. But I didn't want to try again. I wanted that baby.

Thankfully in my sadness there wasn't much room for anger so I just answered this with a polite 'yes thats true'.

We felt like fools having to go to everyone who we'd told we were pregnant and then tell them it was a false alarm, there will be no baby. For some reason it felt embarrassing. I know we'd done nothing wrong but you do start thinking, 'what if I hadn't worked so hard', 'what if that time we had sex did some damage', 'what if going to the gym caused it'. I thought all these things but I know that some babies just won't make it. It doesn't matter what you do.

My husband said the doctor had said to him its like forming a sentence but with a spelling mistake.

I believe in God. I believe there is a higher power. I believe there is a heaven. I believe there is some order to this messed up world even when we can't see it. This doesn't make me doubt that. But it doesn't make it any easier I don't think. Non believing friends would say to me, great you have your faith. Believer friends would be worried I was angry at God. Truth is having faith in a God doesn't make understanding this easier. Or it didn't for me. I have no idea why this happened. You can put it down to 'survival of the fittest', some babies don't form right so they don't make it. I get that. But I believe in a God who could put that right in me and has the power to put in me a healthy baby. So why didn't he stop this from happening. So you see, I don't think faith in God makes this easier to understand.

But I do think it makes it easier to cope with.

I'll be adding this to my list of things to ask God when I get to heaven. Along with, why are some people disabled, why are some areas so poor, why are there gay people etc. There is a massive list of things that don't make sense to me on earth.

But as for coping with it, yes I think having faith in God does make it easier. I believe God loves me and wants good for me. I believe he is sad with me. Ultimately I know that life can be shockingly crap and throw some horrible stuff at you, but that one day it'll all be over and I'll be safe in heaven. And that is the only thing that gives me hope.

Black Tuesday

They sent us for a second scan straight away. This time an internal one again where they can get a closer look. They compared the measurements against the 5 week scan and said the baby had grown for a few weeks but probably didn't get past 7-8 weeks.
They gave us two options. One is 'wait and see' which basically just means go home and wait and see if the baby passes on its own and you bleed it out. The other option was the operation called ERPC. This is where they put you to sleep and suck out the baby and everything else. Ours didn't, but some places offer the tablet, which my sister in law has informed me makes you feel really sick.
We chose the operation as the doctor said you could wait for weeks to bleed naturally and I thought it would be good to have it over.

I remember in the midst of having this conversation going to the toilet. I just about shut the door and doubled over crying. I felt like I was in a horrible dream. My underlying fears from the past 3 months all coming real. I held my stomach and felt so sorry for the baby in there that hadn't made it.

I guess I was in some sort of shock and denial about it all. I was asking the doctor if I could go to work that night, how long out of work I'd be after the operation etc. That's all I seemed worried about.

I've never been pregnant before. This was my first experience. I worried the whole time I was pregnant. My husband said he was shocked by how much I worried. Maybe I knew that something was wrong. Maybe deep down my body was telling me. I think I probably did know but hard to say when you've never been pregnant before. How do I know what's normal? I have nothing to compare it against.

After starting the day with a 11am 12 week scan, we finished it about 4pm, headed home in silence.

Sunday, 18 December 2011

The first 12 weeks

Not a subject a lot of people talk about. But so many people go through it. I didn't realise how many until it happened to me. So I thought I'd put it down in words on here, for other women, who like me, found out they were loosing their baby and for the next few days lived on google in an attempt to find some sort of solace or answer to the questioning.

When we found out we were pregnant I was overjoyed. At 5 weeks I was having some pain in the right hand side of my groin. I was sent for an internal scan (it doesn't hurt, just a little uncomfortable) and heard the reassuring words that it was exactly what they expected to see at 5 weeks. It was great to hear someone tell me I was pregnant! You are the one initially telling everyone that you are pregnant, the doctor, family, husband. So for a professional to tell you, its reassuring that you're not making it up and fooling everyone!

I walked out of the hospital holding hands with my husband. We were so happy. I remember feeling like I was on cloud 9. Like all my dreams were coming true. Funny how you don't realise how much you want to be a mum until it's upon you. The pain was put down to where the egg was released, although it continues now to this day.

The next few weeks we started to tell people, close family. My husband literally bought a library full of books on pregnancy. I swapped my beloved savingnon blanc for smoothies and pulled out every baggy top from the back of the wardrobe I could find. Usually a size 10, I felt I was putting on weight really fast and that everyone would notice! 

My brother announced they were having a baby too! Just 1 week behind us. Me and his partner would text nearly everyday, updating each other on how we were feeling. I felt very lucky that I seemed to be having a smooth ride with the symptoms. While she was in hospital with her sickness, I had a few weeks of feeling sick but no actual sickness. And that seemed to stop at around 8 weeks. Which I was to find out later was probably when the baby died. 

We were so excited about our 12 week scan. We'd told a few friends the day before, we just couldn't keep it in any longer and felt that since we'd got this far and nothing had seemed to happen (no bleeding or other pains, apart from the mystery one on the right hand side-which by the way, they were now putting down to ligament stretching). 

As they put the gel on my now very blobby stomach I felt mixed emotions. A little fear for the worst but also a lot of excitement that we'd finally get the picture we'd been waiting for and I could go and tell the whole world I was having a baby!

I could see there was a big black hole. He kept looking about for a bit and then started measuring the big black hole. I knew enough to know that there should have been a beautiful head-heavy baby in that hole. I said 'It's not there is it'. And they confirmed what you fear the most as a pregnant woman.