I wasn’t going to post this – I wrote it last night in a flood of tears whilst failing to keep up a positive attitude.
Turns out that I was right to have a good cry.
This morning I went to the GP, who had already booked me into the the early pregnancy clinic at the hospital. I drove over there, walked past the day unit where I’d spent days when I was pregnant with Littler, and did the usual urine test and filled out a mountain of forms. I then waited alongside a whole bunch of happily pregnant ladies discussing baby names and flicking through their pregnancy diaries to have a scan.
I’d forgotten that at NHS scans they don’t show you anything or tell you anything. But much later, after a very good examination of everything down there I was sent back to the waiting room. I opted for a howl in the loos and 10 minutes trying to get myself back under control.
Another 15 minutes later I was called back to the clinic. From the pile of paper on the desk it was obvious what the answer was.
There is no longer any viable baby in my womb.
Unfortunately I still have enough hormones to register as pregnant for pregnancy tests so I’ve had a blood test and will be having another on Saturday to check that the levels are falling and for them to investigate a bit further if they aren’t.
So there we have it.
Thanks so much for all your lovely positive words – I can’t really express what they have meant to me but you are all so kind, caring and its made a real difference to me knowing that there were people who were wishing me well throughout this. I felt a lot less alone than I wouldn’t have done if you lot weren’t with me. I’m off shortly to see Bigger’s first open ballet class where I will try very hard not to embarrass her by crying and then I’m off to my best friend’s birthday party where I shall try very hard not to drink too much and get emotional.
I’m not sure I’d suggest reading the piece below if you are feeling at all emotional – I needed to write it and wanted to publish it but you don’t have to read it.
Yes I know that this goes back to the whole head / heart thing that I blogged about yesterday, but you can’t discount the heart
This baby is real to me.
This baby was much wanted.
This baby was tried for with everything we had – charting, acupuncture, ovulation tests. We wanted this baby so much we made every effort to conceive.
We have known about this baby for nearly a month.
Long enough to start to dream, to imagine, to build the possibilities of a life.
Long enough to start to discuss the logistics of maternity leave and my lack of maternity pay.
Long enough to think about cars and bedrooms.
Long enough to dream of names and family dynamics.
Because whilst technically a baby at 8 weeks is little more than a rapidly beating heart in a minute body, to us, that baby is so much more.
And that baby is real to us and held as a little glimmering sparkle of hope in the depths of our souls.
On Saturday night, Mr asked me if we should, if we could, share our news with his mother. He’d been out and looked at cars suitable for a family of 5 whilst I had collapsed for an afternoon snooze. I hadn’t realised until then that this was something that he wanted and was dreaming about like I was.
And I had to say that my symptoms had changed, that I felt a bit crampy and that we should probably hold off.
Perhaps if I hadn’t even thought that, perhaps if I had stayed positive, perhaps if we had made this baby real by sharing we wouldn’t be here right now.
But what I have realised, from the depths of my selfish misery, is that this baby isn’t just real to me.
Yes my husband may be better at putting emotions in a box and not wallowing, but for a few hours he also had plans and dreams and I must not forget that.
Why when things don’t go right is the hardest thing to show that vulnerability and to risk being hurt further? Why is pulling on your thick skin and defences the only thing that seems possible?
Simply, I guess, why?