A bitter pill to swallow

It’s 4am in the morning and I had been laying awake in bed with sudden overwhelming bursts of grief and tears. I’m going into hospital today to take a pill to end our pregnancy.

We had an 8 week scan yesterday and it showed our fears that the baby’s heart had stopped. We had only recently seen the heartbeat on the 6 week 1 day scan. The sonographer detected the “very strong heartbeat” even on an external ultrasound – something very rare.

Yet as we walked into the scan yesterday I had prepared my husband to expect the worst but hope for the best. I saw instantly that there was no heartbeat. I guess when you’ve had as many scans as us you can recognise the loss of the heartbeat and I say that without patronising the training required to preform ultrasounds.

I hadn’t felt pregnant and I kept saying how different I felt this time around. I told myself it was because I was used to carrying twins but to Neil and a few others very close to my heart I voiced my fears.

Of course the reassurance from them was to be expected. “Don’t worry, it’s important not to stress”, “you are bound to feel this way after your losses”. It was all said with upmost genuine intentions to comfort. I too was looking for the reassurance I think even though my body and heart was screaming at me that something felt wrong.

Neil and I wanted to believe that this was our unexpected rainbow baby. At only 13.6% chance of conceiving naturally we had yet again hit the low odds and were indeed pregnant. As hard as it was to be pregnant with the knowledge we now have we didn’t want to ever lose hope.

We shared our news early with a handful of special people as we know now that there is no safe point in a pregnancy. As I mentioned in a previous blog, maybe if we announced pregnancies early then miscarriage would be spoken about more. After all as the sonographer told us yesterday 40% of pregnancies result in loss. A statistic Neil and I know only to well.

8 weeks may medically be insignificant or non viable but to Neil and I, it had been a rollercoaster of emotions and felt like our dreams were coming true. If we could defy the odds in falling pregnant then maybe we could carry this baby full term and give birth to a living, breathing bundle of joy.

Yet knowing the harsh and heartbreaking realities we were hesitant to allow our dreams to wander too far into the future. We spoke about the due date of January 6th 2021 but it was often with “IF, the baby arrives on…”. This pregnancy was full of IFS.

Family and friends would of course understand our “IFS” but the reassurance would flow anyway. If I mentioned the lack of signs of pregnancy then they would kindly point out the ones I was showing.

Unfortunately their reassurance was lost on me. We knew that if I took a pregnancy test it would show I was pregnant whether the baby’s heart was beating or not. We knew that the hcg hormone would still be in my body and therefore I could be getting headaches, spots and a slightly heightened sense of smell. We knew that we didn’t have to bleed to have lost this baby.

Yet, hearing those words…”I’m sorry there is no heartbeat” is no easier at 8 weeks as it was at nearly 17 weeks with Kora and Ava. It was no easier in January this year when we saw the heartbeat of our other twin baby only to know that it was going to be removed.

As I sit here, alone in tears writing this I wonder how much more Neil and I can take. We are not ready to give up on being biological parents together but the broken hearts and the loss does not get any easier.

This has probably been the toughest time to face a loss. There has been no comforting hugs or embraces from family or friends outside the household because of Covid19 and now I face going into hospital on my own. Neil is not allowed in with me when I have another scan and get the pill to swallow to end our pregnancy. I have never had to walk into the hospital without him by my side. We have always done this together.

I can not imagine how hard it is going to be on Neil to sit in the car on his own knowing where I am and what I’m doing. Pregnancy loss is already so hard for him when the sorry’s and affection are automatically showered over the woman carrying. This virus really does have such a cruel impact.

I want to say I’m sorry to any friends or family I haven’t told yet our baby’s heart is no longer beating. I just can’t face anymore “I’m sorry” or “I don’t know what to say” no matter how well intended they are or how much love is oozing through that phone. I don’t want to hear the accidental hurtful or thoughtless remarks that are said in haste. I don’t have the strength or courage to understand how difficult it is for you to say the right thing. I don’t have the energy to pacify you when you stubble through your well wishes. Please give us time to piece our shattered hearts back together.

We know how hard this is for some of our family and friends but right now I or maybe we need the safety of our bubble. We need to fight the bitterness and find the strength to carry on to face another day. My body needs time to lose the baby and repair. I need to find the strength to put that pill in my mouth again and of course the irony of this bitter pill to swallow is not lost on me.