A missed miscarraige

A missed miscarriage
A missed miscarriage… as I write those words they ring out.

It’s so hard to write but I feel it’s important I put the words out there.
We learned that three days after I’d had the scan at Care my baby died. Just over 8 weeks.
So 4 weeks after the first scan  and until the 12 week scan I was carrying something which was no longer living and we were blissfully unaware.

That’s pretty tough to write.

The smile on my husbands face, his happiness, the excitement we both felt. The idea that my husband would be a father and I a mum, the joking over baby names. The one name we found we liked. The planning over the baby’s room – how could I not think about this after the first scan. The talk with the midwife, the doctor, the future that was ahead which seemed so exciting. The changes to my diet, the changes to my body, the due date of March 21st. The repeated joking over the fact it was 4 days before my own birthday and I’m not one to share.
It consumes you, the whole IVF process consumes you, as so many of you wonderful women know. It takes over everything.

Options

Let nature take it’s course, take the pills or have an operation. Those three options. I slept on it, researched and decided that I would go for the operation so it was done. Except it’s never quite that simple.

I had to wait a week for the operation, a week.

Away

We decided we would go away, we booked a hotel by the coast that morning, about a 4 hour drive up north. We stopped on the way, played Eye Spy – as ridiculous as it sounds it was something to do on the long drive to help us not think.

We arrived at the hotel that evening, to our hope the hotel was lovely. We booked somewhere nice, with a spa bath and nice furnishings, 2 minutes from the sea front.
We planned to stay for two nights and then head somewhere else like the Lake District but after a day trip to the lakes, with the silence and peacefulness I couldn’t handle it. I am
normally one for going somewhere peaceful and escaping, doing nothing in a nice hotel but not this time so we extended our trip by another night.

We ended up staying an extra three nights in total.

We walked along the beach, collected shells, played on the pier like children, watched fireworks, ate Fish and Chips, did touristy things and some day trips. We cried a lot together but we also had fun together, something that my husband pointed out we hadn’t done too much of this year.

I got upset because I found myself having a nice time, I felt guilty.

It was tough but at the same time being by the sea, just the two of us it did us good. I told my three best friends and my parents we were going away (they understood) I stayed off social networks and was just with my husband.

Symptoms

I stopped taking the IVF pills on the evening of the 8th. By the Saturday I had bleeding. My boobs had gotten smaller and were back to their normal size – as they are small any change is noticeable. It would appear that the IVF pills were behind my body change, it wasn’t the pregnancy it was the IVF pills.

Pain

Around 4am – 6.30am on the Sunday (11th) I woke up with blinding pain, the worst I have ever felt. I took painkillers but they didn’t seem to do anything. I had a warm bath and still no luck. The pain did ease slightly at 6.30am enough for me to doze off  but it remained a dull ache.

On the Tuesday around midday the pain was back, I was bleeding heavily and in the middle of town so I had to keep going into public toilets repeatedly.

It was again the worst pain I have ever felt. I could barely move at points and had to lay on a bench with my eyes closed. My husband managed to flag down a taxi and we got back to the hotel, the whole time I was trying not to throw up because the pain was so bad.

We made it back and I burned up, the pain was still so bad. After two and half hours in total something passed and the pain pretty much stopped, except I was sore. I didn’t look down the toilet, I don’t think I couldn’t have handled or gone back from that.

I had a hot water bottle on the bed and rested.

We knew

We knew then, with the pain stopping pretty much instantly what had happened.

More hospital

I called the hospital on the Wednesday and they told me to come back in for a scan Thursday (the day I was due for an operation). So we were back, in the same place/ area where people go to have their 12 week scans.

Thankfully we were sent to a private room, with walls as thick as paper. We could hear the discussions from the nurses, from congratulations to women to the nurses talking among themselves about what they wouldn’t say to patients.

It was horrible.

We waited and waited. The environment was just awful, after 45 minutes my husband wanted to leave, what was the point in us being there. I went to the reception and asked, I was told they knew we were there.

After just under an hour we got called in for the scan. Just under an hour of us sitting alone in that room.

The scan

This time there was no screen for me to look at as a lay back and held my husbands hand. It felt like it took a while to do the scan, I told the nurse I didn’t want detail, just the bare minimum. I think we managed to hold it together in that room as we were told I’d passed and what we thought was confirmed.

Back to the room

We were sent back again to the room to wait for our notes. Again time passed and I went to reception and said we’d like to leave. I was then told the nurse was almost ready to see us. We went through to where there was a main nurse and two other nurses. The environment felt cold and too many people were in the room for something so personal. We sat there as the same was confirmed. It was likely I would pass some more blood  but the main… it had gone.

I was told that I would have another period, then after a month we could ‘try again’.

That was what we were left with, we could try again. I’m sure the nurse mean’t nothing by it but if she had just ready any of my notes she would know that we couldn’t just ‘try again’.

Game over

So that’s it. We’re done now. We had one more try with IVF, we got so close to the dream, we felt the happiness I didn’t think was possible – maybe I need to be grateful for that.

I’ve cried every day since the 8th and sometimes when I think it’s getting easier, I fall back again.

My husband has been through too much for us to go through this again. He did IVF for me, for us, he’s had so many operations, so much heartbreak,  I can’t put him through more. Having been through all of this, I couldn’t do it all again.

People have started to say we never know about what could happen in the future but we do – we knew the deal going into this and we can’t go through it again.
Going forward

I’m not sure I will ever get passed this. My husband says you don’t really get past it but you learn to live with it or accept it.
Talking about it

I need to tell the friends we saw a few weeks back but it’s still so raw but I will. My parents have been amazing and my best friends – I couldn’t ask for more. We didn’t really talk to
anyone about IVF but I feel the need to tell people about what has happened because it was something. I was pregnant, we were due a baby and that baby was due on the 21st of March
2017.

When we were by the sea side we went into a jewelry shop as I wanted to get something to mark what had happened. My husband spotted an eternity ring with the infinity symbol on it which we brought and I wear on my right hand, it’s tough because in some ways I am reminded so often, but at the same time I want to be.
We started IVF on 1st of January so it really has consumed our year, it’s consumed us as a couple and it really has taken over.

I will end this post for now, my love goes out to everyone still on this infertility journey x

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9 comments

  1. I am so sorry for your loss. Reading this was eerily similar to my own miscarriage last year following IVF: from the blissful unawareness and excitement, to nearly identical pain and passing, to escaping to a fancy place right on the beach, to buying a piece of remembrance jewelry that was also an eternity symbol. These weeks and months following a miscarriage you will continue to feel absolutely shattered and irrepairable. But I promise you that no matter how dark and hopeless you feel, it will slowly lift. And it’s okay that you eventually begin to heal. It doesn’t mean that you will ever forget. My heart is with you.

    Liked by 1 person

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