It appeared that our time in Sri Lanka had gifted us another rainbow. Everything pointed to a fairytale ending. We had lost our little boy at one day old, we had suffered a further miscarriage, we had eloped and married on a beach to celebrate our sons ten month mark, we came home pregnant and our happy ending was in touching distance. What a story. Third pregnancy, third time lucky.
From the very beginning it was a delicate pregnancy, but a scan at five weeks showed us a beautiful little blob growing happily in Winter’s old home. We declined a picture, I was too afraid of becoming attached to the idea of having another baby, something I regret now. My doctor advised me to take time off work and rest, I was very anxious and experiencing some fragile symptoms. In the beginning the days were long and terrifying. I put my grief for Winter on hold, I couldn’t think about how that pregnancy ended and I was too scared to even cry. I didn’t dare move and I hardly dare think about the tiny life inside me. I felt haunted by our previous miscarriage and desperate to pass the 12 weeks mark, googling any twinge or symptom. I lay as still as a stone and scoured the online forums for positive pregnancy stories. I constantly imagined my growing happiness being stolen from me again, every minute was torture.
I tested every single morning and lined up my strong results in Winters room for confidence. I was delighted when the sickness started, every forum and online chat room confirmed that this was a really good sign, so I threw up smiling. Slowly we began to have faith. We nicknamed our blob ‘Baby Coconut’ after the tiny coconut we found on the beach in Sri Lanka and brought home with us. We opened a fortune cookie that proclaimed we would have a daughter. Talk of the future crept into conversation, Christmas would be so happy this year, first kicks would arrive around Dean’s birthday. I tentatively downloaded the pregnancy app to track our progress. I peeked at my little bulging belly and started to feel excited. I dreamt of our announcement. Our hope grew each day.
I miscarried at 6/7 weeks during the night. I physically howled in sadness of the pain of yet another loss. The scan we had booked the next day to check baby’s growth instead confirmed we had lost yet another baby. I deleted the pregnancy app and boxed up my positive tests. Over.
I don’t really know why I have miscarried twice in a row after a healthy full term pregnancy that also ended in loss. I don’t really know why I can’t ever keep any of my babies. The hospital offered to investigate if I miscarry a third time, a thought that feels entirely unbearable. I feel absolutely out of energy, defeated. I feel very sad about it all. Did you know that the chances of miscarrying twice in a row is less than 2%? And I can’t even find a statistic to tell me what the chances are of a baby stopping breathing in the delivery room following a healthy pregnancy and labour. But whatever the chances, I find myself amongst both statistics. Infant loss and multiple miscarriage, all in one heart breaking year.
Once again my grief for Winter is magnified and with his first birthday fast approaching I find myself missing him more than ever, and so I am pouring myself into birthday party preparations.
I wish he had lived and none of this misery would have existed. But here we are, holding on tightly to that thin thread of hope. Can’t give up because then we will never have a living breathing baby that we get to bring home and watch grow. Maybe fourth time lucky.
We’ll get there.