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Three years on…and still no easier

So it’s been six months since my last blog, and three years ago today since I lost Max. I really wish I was writing this blog to say “I am fixed!”. I wish I could say that I haven’t spent the last two weeks dreading this day, that I don’t shudder every time I hear the name Max, that I don’t think about how I should have a two and a half year old, that I don’t look at the age gap between Dylan and Isaac and wishing it was smaller, and that I no longer dread my birthday – knowing that the day after is the anniversary of Max’s death. Sadly, if I did say any of those things I would be lying. I just want to know when this will get easier, if anyone else has been through this, as the years pass, does the anniversary sometimes slip pass without you even thinking about it???

So it’s been six months since my last blog, and three years ago today since I lost Max. I really wish I was writing this blog to say I am fixed! I wish I could say that I haven’t spent the last two weeks dreading this day, that I don’t shudder every time I hear the name Max, that I don’t think about how I should have a two and a half year old, that I don’t look at the age gap between Dylan and Isaac and wishing it was smaller, and that I no longer dread my birthday – knowing that the day after is the anniversary of Max’s death, I don’t look at the forget-me-nots that appear at this time of year and fight back the tears. Sadly, if I did say any of those things I would be lying. I just want to know when this will get easier, if anyone else has been through this, as the years pass, does the anniversary sometimes slip pass without you even thinking about it?

Recently I decided to go through my phone and delete some of the 20,000 plus photos on there. They start in Summer 2015, pre kids, fun girls holidays, nights out, work trips etc – all of which seem a lifetime ago now. Then move to pregnancy photos of me with Dylan in my tummy from Autumn 2016, then hundreds of photos of Dylan’s first year in 2017, all of which were lovely to look through and remember so many happy times.

Then 2018 comes, the year I was dreading looking through. All start off ok, a picture from my birthday reminds me that I spent five nights in hospital bleeding, and that I begged the hospital staff to let me go home for the night so I could go to Pizza Express with Matt and Dylan (as I was due to be back in two days later for a scan). Happy and smiling at the camera, probably thinking I had been bleeding for a week and nothing happened, so surely I was ok, thinking hospital wouldn’t have let me go if it was that bad. Now, having read hospital notes, I know it was classed as a “threatened miscarriage”, and although the hospital didn’t say it, they may well have thought I was going home to lose the baby.

Then suddenly BAM a photo of the Forget Me Not baby loss suite at the Royal Surrey Coutny Hospital, where I gave birth to Max on the 16th April. I am not sure why I took the photo, or why I kept it, but just wanted to always be able to picture the room in which I held him in the little woolen woven basket.

I look through the photos of the next two weeks, and now I know I went back to normal lift too soon. We wanted to keep things normal for Dylan – had family days out (we took him to the Zoo, the beach etc), went back to work, visited friends etc. I know look at those photos knowing that the smile in them was fake, I wasn’t healed mentally or emotionally, even if physically the bleeding had stopped. I kept going through the photos of that time, I guess in some ways a self inflicted torture. I certainly shouldn’t have done this so close to the anniversary, but in some ways I wanted to make myself certain that we never let it effect Dylan. I’ve decided to give myself a break from doing it though for the next few weeks, as I know all too soon I will hit the photos from around September 2018, and know that’s when my heart broke for the second time with the loss of Isabella. I feel like there are photos of me pre loss, and post loss, I feel like something changed within me forever, having that level of pain and hurt.

I don’t know if the years passing will make it easier, all I know is that every April 16th, the date Max was born, I will walk to where Max’s ashes are scattered and tell him how loved he would have been, and that he is always in my heart.

In other brighter news, I had a smear test two weeks ago, and got the results this morning, all clear! Although I didn’t think there would be any problems, I always remember my dear friends Riggy’s battle with cervical cancer and know that cancer doesn’t care who it picks – it can get you any time, so you should always be prepared. Riggy was, and she kicked cancers arse!

I hope you are all surviving lockdown, that you are making happy memories with your families, and looking forward to a summer of meeting friends without fear, and possibly being able to hug your parents for the first time in over a year.

I promise more positive blog next time 🙂

Take care everyone.

P.S – I am not saying I am not happy now, I know how truly blessed I am, not only to have my rainbow baby, but to even be able to have had Dylan as well – as so so many women struggle to conceive. Just some days are easier than others.

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Imprints….

So another year has passed (and crazily six months since the last time I posted on this blog) and I will be lighting another candle tonight to remember the two lovely little babies that aren’t part of our family. The years gone really quickly this time – surprising considering what a “unprecedented” one 2020 has been. Maybe the ten weeks of no nursery for Dylan and Matt being furloughed – allowing us some family time that we never imagined we would have – made it rush by. Although I have to admit those weeks had tough moments, and even with Dylan at school now my maternity leave feels far from “normal”.

I can’t believe that it’s been two years since we lost Isabella. I keep wondering whether I will ever “forget”. How many years it will be before I don’t feel sad on the 25th September (the day she was born) or the 27th September when Max was due. Will I always hate the last week of September? Or in a few years will those dates just pass by without me feeling heartbroken? Will I always feel a stab of pain when I meet another child named Max or Isabella? I think it’s just this time of year that, sadly all my losses are so close to Baby Loss Awareness Week and so there’s lots of stuff on social media, it just brings it all up.

On the day that was the anniversary of Isabella’s death Matthew and I went up to the woods where we spread her ashes. It’s odd as it makes me so sad to go there, but there’s also part of it that’s comforting – almost like we can be close to her, like she’s in the wind and trees around us when we are there.

I am hoping that once I’m back at work, and I know that I won’t be having another maternity leave that my mindset will change and that maybe the losses will be easier to process and less consuming. I think when they went back to work in 2018 after losing Max I was constantly thinking I wonder are we going to get pregnant again, when should we start trying, will I face problems etc and naively thinking it would not happen again. And then I lost Isabella and I spent my time again thinking are we ever going to get pregnant again – it’s too much of a risk etc. Then we lost her and I took ten weeks off work. So it basically felt like 2018 was so baby and loss focus, it’s almost like I lost a year of my life of thinking about anything else. This realisation makes me sad, as I should have been focusing on Dylan, but then I look at him and realise he’s not been effect, he’s just awesome and loves life.

Then throughout 2019 I kept thinking you’re gonna lose this baby too – luckily that didn’t happen. So basically the point of going over this is that when I go back to work in January 2021 I won’t have any of that. Because we are definitely done we wouldn’t put ourselves through it again, and are we’re very, very blessed to have our two little miracle boys. So I think work will feel different. I think I’ll feel like I can focus on my career again, as well as obviously focusing on my family, but luckily IBM has very flexible working so you can focus on career and family at the same time. And I am I’m hoping that that change will make a difference in how I process things.

I still think about Isaac’s birth all the time. And again, I’m hoping, as time passes, that I’ve stopped thinking about it in such negative ways. But the moment, even nearly eleven months on I still feel that I missed out on his birth experience. I feel just heartbroken that neither of us were there when he was actually born. I wonder if I will ever stop feeling that way? Having four births and no positive I’ve birth experiences, I doubt I will.

On to more positive things… I am very, very proud to have been part of a team of amazing women who have raised money for SANDS again this year. Sadly we had to cancel the ball due to coronavirus, but luckily we have some wonderful family and friends who helped raise money by buying tickets for a virtual raffle. We raised a whopping total of £1440, which I’m astonished at because it’s very similar amount to the raffle from last year – but last year we sold a lot of tickets on the night. I want to say a big shout out now to all the very lovely people and businesses that gave raffle prizes. Because without them none of it would have been possible. It’s been heart warming that despite many of the businesses having a tough year they are still being so generous. And of course thank you to all you wonderful people for buying tickets!!

Dylan has started school and is extremely happy there. He’s made some new friends and has some fantastic friends from nursery with him, so I’m really glad that that has gone so smoothly. But even with that, I sit here whilst writing this blog and think about the what ifs. If Max or Isabella had survived I wouldn’t be at home now on maternity leave and Dylan would be in after school club three day whilst I worked (which he will have to be in January, apart from Tuesdays with Granny and Friday afternoons with me). But as it turned out, I’ve been here the first term that Dylan has been at school, and actually been really nice because it felt like he has been able to ease in, and I get extra time with him. So maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, however small the lining and however giant the cloud was!

So I really on this Wave of Light night, it was just a quick blog to say where I’m at, but also to send many virtual hugs to those that are remembering babies tonight and lighting their candles. And even if you haven’t had the misfortune of losing a baby, I know there are many other struggles that come with trying to conceive so thinking of you guys too – as I am sure this is horrendous too. If you haven’t experience loss, maybe you know someone that has, so perhaps light a candle for them.

Until next time, whenever that may be, take care of yourselves xxx

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A year older a year stronger… or so I thought

So it was this time a year ago I wrote by first blog on this site, timed with Baby Loss Awareness Week and the annual Wave of Light (https://muddledmummy.com/2018/10/07/i-feel-guilty-when-i-laugh/) . I had lost Isabella in very traumatic circumstances the month before on 25th September, having lost Max only five months previously on April 15th – and was very “broken” to say the least. I certainly couldn’t envisage a time that I would really enjoy life again, let alone contemplate making a new life.

So much has happened this year, both at work and at home, that it has flown by. It was unimaginable to me that a year on from lighting that first candle that we would be 31 weeks pregnant with a little boy (counting down only 7 weeks to go now before induction – the date has bow been booked!!). It was also unimaginable that Rebecca’s Room would have gone from an initial idea to actually being opened and in use (https://muddledmummy.com/2019/09/08/momentous-miraculous-moments-rebeccas-room-a-reality/). And I DEFINITELY didn’t realise that I would have the honour of being involved in the Secret Garden Charity Ball – all in aid of the Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Society (SANDS) who had funded the Forget-Me-Not suite in which I gave birth to Max.

I was first asked to join the committee late last year, by the wonderful Kat, and was introduced (via the wonders of Whatsapp) to the other lovely committee members – Lauren, Laura and Allison. It was very soon apparent how driven these ladies were for not only putting on an amazing event (which they had done twice already in 2017 and 2016), but also how much they cared about raising money for SANDS. I could only hope that I would be able to help out as much as I could.

It was daunting meeting them for the first time, as they had all known each other for a long time now, and I felt like a newbie at school walking into the pub the first time, but I shouldn’t have been nervous. They were all friendly and welcoming, with some sharing their stories of loss with me, that meant so much to be around other women that understood my pain. I had found a new tribe.

The months rolled by and I tried to help sourcing raffle prizes, securing two tables of lovely friends at the ball, and nearer the time selling as many raffle tickets as I could. They organised so many fantastic things, from light up SANDS letters to a three course dinner with DJs. The date of the ball, last Saturday night, came around very quickly and I was asked to give a speech on the night. I thought all would be fine, my speech covered why I joined the committee, how amazing I thought the ladies were, logistics for the night and what everyone’s money would be going to – listing out some of the ways SANDS helps bereaved parents.

When I practiced it at home, it was fine – different story on the night though! I didn’t even make it to the second paragraph before I felt the tears coming. As soon as I mentioned losing my two beautiful souls the emotions overtook me and I ended up crying on stage in front of over one hundred people. I could blame tiredness, my hormones, nerves – but ultimately, I just think it’s all still too raw for me to be ok. Despite the CBT I am still having, every day I miss Max and Isabella, every day I think what if, and every day I still expect to loss this baby. It just all took centre stage – quite literally – on Saturday night. The next day I was looking through some baby loss awareness week posts on Instagram, and one of the hashtags this year is #itsoknottobeok, also in line with mental health awareness week – and I think I need to keep this in mind. I know some people will find it odd still feeling this devastated, and think it shouldn’t matter as much know as have another little one on the way, but I think ultimately only people who have been through it will understand that a piece of your puzzle will always be missing. But that is ok. How many have a complete puzzle anyway, there are always things people wish for…

Here are a few pictures from the night – we raised so much money for SANDS – an UNBELIEVABLE £5,300 and I am really proud of all of us. Bring on 2020! I would also like to thank my amazing tribe who came to the event to support me, I hope you all know how much I love you.

Finally, please remember to light a candle at 7pm tonight, and remember all those beautiful souls taken too soon.

I got my table forget-me-not seeds to plant

We are expecting…but expecting what?!

So in my head, I think we are expecting more devastation, but my heart won over my head and we decided to try one last time, third time lucky right?! We are indeed hoping to welcome a little boy on the 17th December. I know a lot of people will be shocked by this, I’ve even had one comment of “you’re a glutton for punishment”… but we both felt we had one last try in us. Some people have been a bit more optimistic, telling us they will keep fingers and toes crossed for us. Others have described us as “brave” – which I guess could be taken in a positive or maybe negative way – in that we are brave because we might well lose again.

As before we got pregnant very quickly, which I know is incredibly fortunate, as many couples try for years, but I still sit here and think I should either have little Max at 9 months old or a tiny Isabella at 2 months old, so I can’t exactly feel “lucky”. I’ve already had four scans, and the hospital are keeping very close care of me, scanning every two weeks, as well as being on various medication, which “should” help. The medication is making me feel horrendous, and it’s an even more bitter pill to swallow when the consultant tells me the studies are mixed on if they will actually help or not, but I am willing to try anything.

My first scan was at 6.5 weeks in the EPU, I was terrified. I had convinced myself that there would be nothing there, that the 6 positive pregnancy tests and missed period was just nature playing another cruel trick on us. It’s odd, when you see a teenie tiny heart beating, there is a moment of relief, followed by the realisation that this is the first milestone in many, and I’ve been here twice before, then had it ripped away.

The next scan was at 8.5 weeks, having had a booking in appointment the day before. Again, all I could think was “I bet that hour and a half booking in yesterday was a waste of time, baby is bound to have gone”. But there it was, grown into a recognisable baby shape and heart beating away. Again the same sense of relief, but the same dread of getting through to the next scan and seeing a bigger image on the screen.

The third scan was a Harmony test at a private clinic, even in the nicer surroundings (free parking, free tea and free biscuits!!), I still felt terrified. But again, the scan went well, and a week later when the blood test results came back, we found out that we had very low risk of the three syndromes, so at least in my head I thought “at the moment the baby is healthy”. We also found out that it is a little boy, a much longed for brother for Dylan.

The fourth scan was on Monday last week – making me 12 weeks plus 6 days, I know some people would say “oh I am 12 weeks”… through out this pregnancy I will always add the days, as each day the baby lives is an extra tiny ray of hope that he will survive. It was lovely to see him kicking away, sucking his thumb, and normally with this you would go and shout from the roof tops that you are expecting a little bundle of joy. I don’t feel joy, I just feel fear. Every day I go to the toilet and expect to see blood, I don’t think that will change the entire pregnancy. After all, by this gestation Isabella had been born.

One milestone will be tomorrow, when I hit fourteen weeks – this means if anything did go wrong, I would be on the maternity ward, not on Compton ward. I love Wendy – she has been fantastic through all of this – and her team on Compton are all very caring, but being on the maternity ward is just slightly more reassuring. Another major milestone in my head will be once we get to 17 weeks, as that will be further along than Max. Then a 20 week scan will be another milestone, 24 week mark when baby COULD survive if born is another milestone. I need to have these mini successes all the way along, otherwise I think my head will implode with paranoia about another loss.

It’s odd to say I don’t want congratulations messages, I don’t think I will want to celebrate anything until he is actually here. All I want is people to keep their fingers and toes crossed for us please that we get our Rainbow baby x

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“What’s in a name?”….

“What’s in a name?” Juliet asks… sadly I am not talking about star crossed lovers. It’s now been a week since my last and final appointment at the hospital trying to find out answers. I was silly (as pointed out by my CBT counsellor) as I kept focusing on certain dates – the post mortem results date, then the hysteroscopy date, then the 3D scan date. Hoping that each of them would give us the final piece of the puzzle.

As you know the ALICE appointment back in December didn’t yield any answers. So on Monday 14^th I had a hysteroscopy, and despite the promise of a “special” chair (thanks Lou and Riggy!), being turned upside down, some special liquid and a camera inserted to look at my uterus (twice so that my consultant could see after the first specialist had looked) – all they could confirm was that there was a slight tunnel. This could mean one of two things they explained (I must say my consultant is lovely and always explains medical speak to me in normal terms), either I have a true bicornate uterus (like a heart shape with a big dip down the middle) or a uterine septum – basically a bit that hangs down.

The former they could do nothing about, the latter they could operate one, under keyhole surgery and then I would have to have a coil in place for three months so that my uterus wouldn’t collapse. I was hoping for the septum, as this COULD mean that the placenta(s) or babies had both attached here, and it would never have had enough blood flow to it. Very odd thing to hope for an abnormality like that, and actually want to NEED surgery to fix it, but it was better than the other option which could not be operated on and never fixed. Now, I say I wanted it fixed, is not because of wanting more children, simply and perhaps too to honest for some, I just wanted my body rid of something that potentially killed two of my previous babies.

Anyway, the lovely consultant pushed things through and got me a 3D scan on the Thursday, as this would confirm either way, with a transvaginal camera, what the exact structure was. So again I went away counting down the hours, thinking THIS IS IT! This scan will show the septum, I will have my answers, I will get it cut off and move on. It didn’t. As soon as the 3D image popped up the specialist said “No septum there, no need for surgery”. I burst into uncontrollable tears. Where had my answers gone? Where had my dream of riding my body of evil gone? He did say my uterus isn’t bicornate, it’s an arcuate uterus – the one LEAST associated with problems. So what’s it a name? Actually a LOT for me, it’s not a “septum”, it’s not even “bicornate”… just plain old “arcurate”…

So, it seems that Dylan was our little miracle, he survived my odd shape uterus, and is here every day being the light of my life. When Dylan is older, and asks why he doesn’t have a sibling, I will use a phrase a wonderful courageous colleague of mine used with her child, “my body was made just for you”.

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A Tribute to my Tribe…..

This year has been shit for me. That’s a fact, no one can argue with me on that. Losing one baby is tough, but losing two in such a short space of time is just effing unfair. My CBT counsellor said to me she didn’t want me to pin all hopes at the clock striking midnight on NYE and me feeling heaps better, because it’s no longer 2018 – the year I lost two beautiful babies, she said all I would think instead is “last year I lost…”. It’s a good point, I don’t know why I was kidding myself I would feel much better just because of a digit change in year.

I’ve been reflecting a lot on what I should be grateful for. And very near the top of the list is the group of amazing women I am lucky enough to call my best girl friends – which many women are now starting to refer to as their tribe.

My particular tribe are some of the strongest women I have ever encountered, and I want to talk about why they are so strong, many of them having faced true trauma. Most of them I met at college – but one I have had the fortune to be in my life since the day I was born. My sister and best friend. She is my rock, and has been through so much. She sadly suffered an ectopic pregnancy and lost one of her tubes shortly before Dylan was born. It must have been horrendous to see me heavily pregnant (I know how I feel seeing pregnant women now) – but she never stopped wanting to be near me, and was there in the hospital day two to meet Dylan. She now has a wonderful son and I know him and Dylan will grow up as close as brothers.

One of my tribe has battled cancer – and WON! She amazed me, and still does, with her positivity. She wrote blogs throughout her fight – https://bootybeastgreenwood.blogspot.com – which is what inspired me to blog about how I have felt these last few months. Her blogs are so powerful, so raw – I cry almost every time I read one – and if not sad tears, its happy tears that she tackled The Big C head on and bloody smashed it.

We both agree that writing about it is good for the soul, and also important so that people don’t feel alone. A few lovely female friends and colleagues who have sadly lost babies have messaged me and said that my blog has helped them – which truly means the world to me.

Another member of my tribe has had a recent cancer scare – and again tackled it, didn’t let her bring it down, and continued to be an amazing mum, a student and superstar at work (as well as having a hot new boyfriend) – I am in awe of her.

One final tribe member I often think about when trying to gather my strength, and remember my blessings, proved how strong she was several years ago. Her first son was born extremely prematurely, spending the first 100 days of his life in hospital. This must have been so harrowing, to bring a living baby into the world, but not instantly be able to hug him. My heart ached for her when it happened, and now I am a mum I am so amazed by how strong she was, how she kept positive and how she made sure her little man had the best care. And what I wonderful chap he has become, always so lovely to Dylan when we visit.

Here’s a few of my tribe…so fantastic that I have them on my wall to see everyday, and remind myself how lucky I am.

I do not necessarily count myself as a feminist – in fact love a door being held open for me (well actually, wouldn’t mind if the door opener was male or female!) – but I do believe women are stronger together. Stronger caring for each other, and not slating each other. So my advice to you is this:

See your tribe – however far apart you are, make it work, book catch ups in – there is no time like the present!
Support your tribe – sometimes one of your tribe might do something a bit silly, or maybe they are trying to achieve something – whichever it is, make sure you are there for them at the end of the phone and know that you have their back
Celebrate your tribe – when they have successes, don’t be envious, but give them a high-five (virtual if need be)

If you don’t have a tribe – find one! A tribe can start with two, so message me and we will go for coffee or wine, or both!!

That’s me over and out for 2018, will blog again in 2019 after I have had a lovely test involving a camera up my foo on the 14^th January to hopefully give us some more coherent answers. Until then, look after yourselves, and your tribe!!!

Times Flies…

Time flies when… your waiting TEN weeks for post mortem results. I’ve now been back at work for a few weeks – albeit a phased return, so a couple of days then first week, with this week meaning to be my first full four day week. However, Monday was results day, so I decided to book a days holiday to “relax” before heading to the hospital, which basically consisted of going to the gym and having a bath!

Due to my neurotic nature I left far too earlier and arrived with over an hour to spare. Stupidly I sat in the hospital Costa, only to see at least five couples walking past happily with their bright yellow maternity folders, smiling as they come out of their scans. Who can blame them, it is a wonderful feeling – that I am lucky to know. But it still stings, I should be coming to a 22 week scan.. not to hear theories around why I have lost another baby this year.

My consultant is excellent, she’s very caring and very thorough. But unfortunately, as predicted, she can only give me theories as to why we lost Isabella in the exact same circumstances that we lost Max (although it was four weeks early in the pregnancy). The blood cultures from when I was first admitted showed nothing, neither did the vaginal swabs, or any of the bloods taken after she was born. The scans were normal. The post mortem was normal. I try to explain to people it would be so so much easier if we could just be told, you have this problem with your DNA, or your blood doesn’t clot, something that would explain it, and 100% rule out any future pregnancies – as if we knew they would all end up the same way, we would never risk it. Now I will always think, what if we tried just one more time…

Her main theory is that due to me heart shaped uterus, the placenta both times attached in an awkward place, and as it grew separated from the side of my womb – which caused the heavy bleeding. As such, she wants to do a camera test to look inside, and see if I might need keyhole surgery to repair things. Again, I am left thinking PLEASE find that it was something to do with the structure of my uterus, as that would at least give us answers. But equally, it leaves me feeling, was my womb damaged during Dylan’s traumatic birth (he was “back to back”, had to be pulled out with forceps, but then the umbilical cord snapped and my placenta had to be manually removed) OR was he a miracle? For some reason, did my placenta with Dylan form in a place that my odd shaped uterus could handle? I am going with the latter… Dylan is my little miracle, he is amazing and I love him more than I ever thought it was possible to love another living thing.

Now it’s another waiting game, waiting for the all-important camera test, then perhaps waiting for surgery and waiting to hear if we are just going to be told that they don’t know why we have lost two beautiful souls.

Finally, I wore my baby loss awareness T-Shirt with pride as I went to hear the results, my love for Isabella and Max will always be #everlasting.

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I feel guilty when I laugh…

So… the annual #waveoflight is on the 15th October at 7pm, as part of Baby Loss Awareness week (#BLAW2018). Any other year and this united remembrance of lost babies would have passed me by. Little did I know when I got a positive pregnancy test in January, that I too would be lighting a candle this year, remembering not ONE but TWO of my babies – one boy and one girl – that were born sleeping this year, only 5 months apart.

This isn’t going to be a pity me post, but it’s my story, and I want to tell it. It also won’t be the “best practice” length of 500 words… no one can describe losing two babies in just 500 words. I quite understand if no one reads to the end, in fact I highly doubt people will, but it has been a cathartic exercise for me, so perhaps just bear with.

So here is how it happened…in April we were delighted to be pregnant again, so pleased to be giving our lovely boy a sibling. We had the harmony tests done at 10 weeks, and all the syndrome tests came back as 1 in 10,000 (it’s a private test that is more accurate than the NHS, but we thought it was worth the money to make sure we knew early on that everything was ok, having had quite a troubled first pregnancy) – and we were also told we were having a boy – as they can test the DNA in my blood. Our 12 week scan went well, and we told all our friends and family. We were due to have a 16.5 week scan on Monday 16th April (the Drs wanted to check our sons kidneys, as at 20 weeks when I was pregnant with my first son they discovered he had a problem with his kidneys). Unfortunately, a week before this I became ill and started bleeding. Initially I got sent to Basingstoke hospital, had a few checks, but was sent home, the presumption being it was just a bit of spotting. Sadly I continued to bleed all week, and after my midwives advice drove myself to RSCH A&E on the Thursday. My bloods showed I was fighting an infection, but again bedside scans and checks said everything was ok with our baby. My birthday was on the Saturday, and I woke up with horrendous bleeding, thinking then that our boy was still leaving us – and was just taking time to go. Again checks were done, and I was sent home so I could go for a birthday meal with my husband and son, with the view to coming back for a detailed scan on the Monday.

I went home feeling hopeful, I was feeling well enough apart from the bleeding, and the hospital were confident that the antibiotics were working. However, the following morning my waters broke. We naively went to the hospital not realising this meant the pregnancy was all but over. I was taken into a small side room, to have a bedside scan, again believing it would be ok, my husband was parking car and getting me a drink. When they scanned all my waters had gone, but the babies heartbeat was still beating – you could see it and hear it. My husband came in the room, and I will never forget the look on his face when they broke the news, to this day it’s etched into my memory. They then told me that I would be taken through to the a special “delivery suite” called the Forget-Me-Not room – I couldn’t comprehend this, I had never realised that I would now have to give birth to my son, I thought there would just be some sort of operation. At one point they even said he might be born alive for a few seconds, this was terrifying, but for some stupid reason gave me hope.

It was not that simple though…as his heart was still beating, we had to wait for it to stop before they were able to induce me. They said in VERY rare cases waters where only a little water had been lost, it can build up again, but I had all of my waters, so there really was no hope. We then had to wait an agonising 10 hours for his heart to stop beating, which included a scan and use of a doppler, and being told if my infection levels continued to rise, we might have to abort the pregnancy. At 4pm it started raining heavily, and I feel strongly that’s when he left us. It wasn’t until around 9:30pm that a Dr came to scan me, and we saw no heart beating on the scan. We then had to wait again for a second Dr to confirm this – cruelly the Dr was the same one that had helped me deliver my son two years previously.

Then the induction started, one pill every four hours. They told me to sleep in between, but I just lay in the dark room, with my husband beside me, trying to absorb what was happening. Three lots of pills later, at 9am the following morning, 24 hours after my waters broke, the contractions started. With the help of gas and air, Max was born at 10am, weighing 113 grams. The midwife who handled it all, Eve, was phenomenal – I don’t know how someone in that position copes so well. We saw him to say goodbye, and had him blessed by a priest. We decided against an autopsy, just feeling he was too little and had been through too much to be sent off and tested. I had many blood tests done, but they never provided any answers.

To say we were devastated doesn’t even come close. There are no words to describe how you feel. I had started to show, but felt so empty and such a failure. I couldn’t believe we then had to plan our babies funeral. Three weeks later we were at Guildford crematorium, we had both chosen a song and a poem, and attended on our own, it was a grieve we wanted to deal with in private. We spread his ashes somewhere special to us, and I added to the memory box the hospital gave us (which included a matching teddy and hat that he had in the coffin with him), with the various scan photos and the funeral order of service. In Max’s honour I completed the Couch to 5k Challenge in the summer, and my wonderfully generous friends and family donated a total of £680 for the SANDS charity – who had funded the suite where I had given birth. It was good to focus on this at the time, but in hindsight I think I should have focussed more on how I felt about losing him.

We both only took about a week off work – looking back now that was far too short. We just tried to keep ourselves busy and await the ALICE bereavement appointment at the hospital, which might have given us answers. It didn’t, more tests and scans, and still nothing. It was “just one of those things”.. and “no reason why we shouldn’t try again”.

In July we had a family holiday and decided to try again, I really wanted to be pregnant by the time the baby I had lost was due. To my amazement we got pregnant again straight away, baby was due on the 4th April – so 11 days before the year anniversary of losing our son. I kept telling myself this time would be different, but didn’t enjoy a single day of the pregnancy, continuously paranoid. I was making sure I was keep healthy, no caffeine, plenty of exercise, cutting out all danger foods etc. I had 7 week scan, and all was well – baby was in the right place and had a heart beat. Again we had the harmony test, again all the results were fine, and we were over the moon to be having a girl.

On Thursday 20th September we had a successful 12 week scan, then at 8:30am the following morning I started bleeding. In what felt like de-ja-vu, I drove myself to A&E and sat sobbing on my own until someone came to see me. Tests were then done again, infection levels were up, but bedside scan showed our baby girl was fine. I asked to stay the night, just in case, and the bleeding suddenly increased at about 3am. Over the following days the bleeding continued and infection levels rose. I wasn’t in pain and had no temperature etc, so various Drs told me to keep positive. Then on the Monday morning I called my husband telling him to come straight to the ward, as I was having contractions. However, they stopped and we prayed it was a false alarm. We had a detailed scan and saw our baby girl wriggling around – they told us this was great, and I hoped it was, but still felt that we were losing her, and it was a simply a matter of time. I was just feeling the same way I was when we lost Max.

My husband went home, to make sure our son was looked after, me reassuring him that I was fine, and I would see him the following day. Then at 8am the following morning my contractions started again, this time stronger and more painful. This was my third labour and I knew what was happening. A lovely lady from the bed opposite came to help me – we had grown close over the last five days, as the Drs were on their rounds and I was waiting to be seen. The contractions quickly got stronger and were every two minutes. I knew there was no point calling my husband to join me, my beautiful baby girl was coming. The Drs arrived and told me to “hop up on the bed” so they could check what was happening. I shouted that I was giving birth, but I know by the look on their faces they didn’t believe me – it was just by chance they were there – as two minutes later I gave birth to my sleeping little girl that I had hoped for and dreamed of. She arrived two days before the son we lost in April was due.

There was then chaos – this had never happened on this ward (hospital policy put me on a ward that was gynaecology and gastro, as I was too early in the pregnancy to go to the maternity ward – the hospital had recently lost its dedicated gynae ward ), they didn’t have the right equipment, or drugs, even the nurses had to use their phone lights to help as I was examined down below. Luckily, there was an amazing nurse called Laura, who had endured a miscarriage, and held my hand through out, she was my absolute rock. I never thought I would give birth behind a curtain, with five other sick women listening to my screams, whilst they recovered from various illnesses. A form was given to me two minutes after giving birth, signing that I would organised my own funeral and I wanted an autopsy. I made one of the Drs call my husband, then my sister, and tell them what had happened. All I wanted was my husband to come and hold me.

We were moved to a private room, my little girl still lying on the bed, whilst they waited for me to pass the placenta. My husband arrived in lightning speed, and I explained to him what happened. Again, we were both beyond devastated, again I felt empty, and again I felt like my world had fallen apart. For the second time in five months we met a sleeping baby, our Isabella, and had her blessed by a priest. She was so little, our beautiful girl that would have been a wonderful sister for my son.

This time I had a general anaesthetic, for what is termed a D&C, to make sure I didn’t become iller. This was the first time I had a general, and woke up thinking I had dreamt the whole nightmare, I couldn’t – and still can’t – comprehend that we have lost two beautiful souls this year. We are yet again awaiting results and planning a cremation. This time I need some more time to heal – physically, emotionally and mentally, luckily my boss has been amazing, very supportive and told me to take all the time I need. And I have no idea what the future holds. I long for a sibling for our boy, I know how much love he – and us – have to give, but know this is now a very very unlikely. I don’t understand how people endure multiple miscarriages, one woman in a forum I now belong to having lost 16 little angels before she had a healthy baby.

On the 31st October, after a request from the ward Matron, I am going to have a meeting with the divisional head of nursing, to discuss what they should include on the ward to make this horrific experience even remotely bearable for other parents – setting up a special room, like they have in the delivery suite. I know this was effect me, especially going back to the ward where it all happened, but if there is anything positive I can get from my experience, and help other parents to be, then that is something I want to deal with. I must say the staff were amazing both times, so much care and did all they could. However, the hospital policy on where to put first trimester mums, and the care they receive, needs to be reviewed from further up the hospital chains I really hope I can effect some change.

Today is also #worldmentalhealthday, and I have now had my first ever counselling session, to try and wrap my head and heart around what I am feeling, an another reason I wanted to publish this blog this poignant week. I will see how this counselling goes, and maybe focus on it in my next blog.

Two weeks on, I still feel guilty when I laugh, or when I forgot what has happened this year – I really can’t wait for 2018 to be over. There will forever be two of my puzzle pieces missing, but Max and Isabella will live in my heart and mind until they day I die. I try to remain positive and happy for friends who are expecting, but each time a new one pregnancy is announced or a new baby is born, it stabs at my fractured heart a little. I will always feel that we aren’t complete as a family. I will always never be able to stay long in the spare room that was meant to be a nursery this year. I will always feel that I have let my husband down, losing two of his beautiful children.

I would like to finish by saying without the support of my husband, family and certain friends (you know who you are!), this would have been so much harder, I am so grateful to have them around me.

Finally, if you see on a friends Facebook a picture of a little light burning on the 15th October, send them a virtual hug, their pain is indescribable, and will sadly last forever.