Written 02.02.21
You all know I like to write. And some people have told me they like to read my musings. And it helps them. If not, please ignore! This is not meant to come across preachy and if it does, slap me (oh no, I forgot - you can’t touch me because of Covid!)
To our very nearest and dearest, this is for you.
Today I am pregnant. Yesterday was our 12 week scan. It felt surreal and amazing to see our second baby. The love we already feel is so strong.
We are happy and hopeful. But excited? No.
After Stillbirth there are only two options. Try again or don’t try again. The fear of being pregnant is immense. But the only other alternative is having no chance of us bringing our second biological child home.
I really am not complaining. I feel so Iucky to have fallen pregnant again. I am fortunate I can conceive. As Yaeli’s heavenly birthday approaches, I credit her with being our guardian angel, bringing us her sibling. But it’s petrifying.
For every woman, the first trimester is a little bit scary. We all know the statistics right? But with Yaeli, I was mostly ok in those first few weeks. I had a bit of anxiety when we holidayed in Portugal, but it was pretty minor. And after Yaeli died, I thought, it’s got to be plain sailing. We’d had our bad luck.
But after an early miscarriage last summer, getting to 12 weeks has been made even more challenging. An early scan at 7 weeks. Then a bit of spotting around 8 weeks saw us rushing into A&E – and again to the early pregnancy unit at 9 weeks.
I couldn’t believe our baby was still alive yesterday. And all appears well : )
We’ve chosen to be under the care of UCLH rather than Barnet (who were are taking legal action against) and I have a specialist consultant looking after me. We are hoping this time we do everything we can to help the placenta function better (daily heparin injections – I look like a pin cushion - and daily aspirin) and we hope that nothing will be missed this time.
The sonographer yesterday, she really understood. She has actually been me. When we heard and recorded the heartbeat, wow I cried. I was overwhelmed with love and it reminded me of hearing Yaeli’s heart beat on her due date.
Yet the next day she had died. (So today, I am once again fearful).
The sonographer said, I know. I get it. Until you hold your live baby in your arms you will never be rid of anxiety. Every scan will be difficult.
Most of you will know that Elle Wright’s book on her pregnancy loss really resonated with me. Now that she has baby at home, she recently posted on Instagram. And again it really resonated. The following four paragraphs are hers. She said….
It’ll be fine…
I have a good feeling…
Try to enjoy it….
Just think positively…
Lightning doesn’t strike twice…
I think you should try to relax…
I can’t wait for your happy ending…
It will be different this time… I don’t know why you are worrying, it won’t happen again…
Now I’m through it, I feel like I am finally in a clearer headspace to say this (not in an effort to criticise, but hopefully to educate).
Saying any of these things to someone who is experiencing pregnancy after loss and has a heightened sense of anxiety or PTSD, is a bit like telling someone who has depression to ‘cheer up’. It aims to invalidate their perfectly rational and valid emotions, and only adds to the burden of guilt that they are already feeling for not ‘enjoying every moment’.
Pregnancy can be hard enough (especially during a pandemic) without having to deal with these complex emotions and grief alongside. Try to understand that if someone is genuinely struggling, that there is no quick fix to make them ‘feel better about it’.
Your words won’t be an instant soothing balm that makes their trauma magiacally disappear with one remark often, this kind of positivity will only serve to make them feel worse.
And it’s not just people’s reactions that can be difficult.
Pregnancy after loss feels lonely. It feels alien. Because society expects you will bring your baby home. But when your experience doesn’t match that, other people’s excitement and the whole experience feels alien.
I don’t quite fit in. I’m not a first time mum. But I also haven’t experienced parenting at home. I’ve already fleetingly wondered what I am supposed to do later on in order to connect with other mothers in our local area before, all being well, this baby is born healthy? I want to make some new friends. Yet the thought of repeating parenting classes that educate about the process of labour … Not only would the memories be challenging, but I’ve also been there and done that. Other people’s questions may also seem trivial (rude I know!) A repeat of learning about feeding and sleeping would be useful, but I know I would be sat there thinking ‘don’t count your chickens’ just yet people. I’d be the girl whose experience they feared if they knew.
My grief means the sound of new born babies crying is still unbearable. When I had to sit in the hospital waiting room for 2.5 hours for a diabetes test (negative at present) I had TV screens blaring at me that ‘Mary didn’t get to have the birth she wanted; she had to have a c-section’. I’m putting my fingers over my ears, thinking ‘oh poor Mary, who got to take her baby home’. If only my only lament had been I didn’t get to have the birth I wanted. (Then I reprimand myself for this bitterness). I’m not ready to have to sit and listen to that same TV talking about how to breastfeed.
Everything about pregnancy is meant to be exciting. You’re meant to enjoy it aren’t you. But as my counsellor said to me, why would I enjoy it? It’s a means to an end - that no one can be 100% certain will occur.
I will try to enjoy moments, like seeing our baby on screen bouncing around yesterday and hopefully feeling the kicks soon. It’s so magical.
But it’s hard. Unbelievably difficult, and sometimes lonely. Being pregnant is just a means to the end for me – an end Ben and I want more than anything. (And even if we get our baby home, I already know it may bring a whole new host of emotional issues on top of the usual ones).
And like grief, there is nothing anyone can say to make this easier.
Let’s be honest, no one can do right can they? - stuck between a rock and a hard place springs to mind. Now I am past the 12 week scan I am just about ok with ‘congratulations’. But if people use the cliché’s above, it feels dismissive. And if people were negative and said to me ‘well, we don’t know if you’ll get to bring your baby home do we?’ I’d be mortified. So I understand no one can get it right can they.
So, don’t be afraid of what to say to me. If it doesn’t quite hit the right note that’s ok. It’s just difficult.
Finally, this time around, we really want to keep it quiet. To the very inner circle of family and friends, especially for now - those of you who we know would support us 1000 times over if it all went wrong again. So please keep it to yourselves.
I think I’m freaking out about lots of people knowing because it makes the process real. And what if it goes wrong again? I will feel I’ve let people down (yes, I know that makes no sense!)
We know the wider circle of family and friends of friends would be pleased for us but it’s hard to deal with other people’s reactions - and there’s only so many times you can answer the same questions - the how many weeks are you? What’s your due date? (FYI it will be sometimes around end July for inducement, all being well – no date will be announced).
We love you. Thank you for being there for us to speak, to cry, to do whatever we need.
We are here for you too, 100%.
Mummy to an Angel and a belly bump baby xxx
