Diary of a miscarriage.

My husband and I had discussed having another baby and now that our son was a little over 14 months, I was finally ready to take the plunge. I hadn’t had a particularly bad pregnancy or birth (they’re another story) but having reclaimed my body, I was finally ready for it to be ‘invaded’ again to grow another living human being. (Also the fact that at 34 and thinking I’d like 3 children, time is ticking to have them all before I feel too old to carry a third).

We hadn’t officially started trying, just a few random shag fests to get the ball rolling. I know how my body responds when pregnant and it was after a week or so that my smell receptors were working as well as a dog on the hunt for truffles. I could smell everything (both good and bad) to the extreme. The other lovely clue that Mother Nature had left for me, was blessing me with the kind of skin only a prepubescent teen can relate to. Spots started appearing on my forehead and my bacne was at a 10.

I texted my husband at lunchtime and he excitedly called me to ask if I’d taken a test. I said no, because surely it couldn’t have happened that quickly. He told me that of course it could and he’d bring home a test when he returned home in the evening.

Fast-forward a week (after the first test came up negative due to my inability to wait long enough for the second line to appear), throw in a trip to the doctor for a blood test and yep, preggers.

It’s funny because my friends had told me that the second time round; you forget you’re pregnant. With running after baby no. 1 you don’t have time to feel tired let alone lovingly rub your belly every few minutes thinking of the baby growing inside you. Life just carries on and for me, not a lover of being pregnant, I just wanted the 9 months to kick on so we could get back to life with a newborn baby.

I rang the obsterician early, as soon as my pregnancy was confirmed. I thought with glee that I knew the drill this time and I wasn’t going to miss out on having the same Dr. I confidently thought, I know what needs to be done, I’m old hat at this. The clinic sent me papers a few days later, which I filled out in preparation for my visit. I remember seeing the question, “How many pregnancies have you had (including this one and any not carried to term?) and feeling a sense of, “Oh that’s sad that people would have to answer that”, then with confidence writing down the number 2 because I had successfully fallen the first time and now again this time.

The day of the ultrasound arrived. My husband and I joked that this time the visit to the ultrasound clinic was not really that exciting, all standard procedure because we knew what to expect, or so we thought.

With toddler #1 in tow, we drove to the clinic in high spirits.

We sat patiently, waiting for our name to be called in the waiting room while the little one caused a ruckus running from chair to chair.

I entered the room and responded straight away to the standard drill.

Wear this gown and drop your pants.

My eyes were firmly fixed on the screen as the warm jelly was squirted onto my belly and the wand rolled over it. I was eight weeks along.

The ultrasound technician got to work, taking all the standard shots of the uterus and ovaries. My eyes scanned the screen searching for the little black dot which was our baby.

I asked puzzled, “Have you gone over the baby yet?”

She doesn’t respond immediately.

“I’m just taking photos of your ovaries first and uterus. What number pregnancy is this?”

“My second.”

My eyes dart over to my son and husband who are standing next to me.

I feel unsure as I hear the words.

“Are you okay if we do an internal examination? I can’t seem to see the baby.”

I confidently respond that she can go ahead, but underneath my confidence is a feeling of dread.

Exam done.

“I’m sorry, this is a failed pregnancy. There is a sac and placenta but no heartbeat.”

Confused and upset, we leave the room with a piece of paper stamped with 'UNRESPONSIVE'.

The hardest part is telling our parents who knew we were pregnant. Their voices filled with excitement, asking, “How was the scan?” They were not expecting to hear the words, “Well actually, we made a mistake. There’s no baby.”

It took some time but having a son already, made a big difference for us. He didn't allow us to feel grief, as he was oblivious to it. He was so happy, he continued to run and spin and shout his demands. We felt blessed to have him.

I made an appointment with the doctor and was told that it would be best to pass the miscarriage naturally. He said it would be the safest option and that my body would know what to do. I have two blood tests over a week. My pregnancy hormone levels were dropping, but nothing happened. I am told to wait 10 days.

Seven days in (three weeks since the ultrasound), I started to bleed. Just a little, like a light period. The doctor told me it would be heavier than a period but as mine is usually very light, I wear a thick maternity pad and wait for it to be over. I go in Tuesday and am examined. “Your cervix is very open, it means your body is doing its job.”

After four days of light bleeding I go to the bathroom and notice a few clots in my pants. I think, “oh this is what I was waiting for.” I change my pad and head out to meet my parents for lunch.

We arrive at the restaurant and order. I sneeze and that’s when I feel it.

A gush from ‘down there’.

It isn’t wee and I think, “oh no.”

The food arrives and I think, “okay, stay calm. We can eat and leave.” No big deal.

Except it is a big deal. As I eat, I can feel blood flowing out of me. I feel unsure. I don’t want to make a scene and explain the situation to my parents but I don’t think I have a choice. As we finish up, I bend over from my seat to wipe up the mess my son has made from his high chair and glance down to look at my seat which is hovering a centimeter from my stool. The chair is covered in a sticky red mess and my jeans are soaked.

I speak in hushed tones to my parents with urgency. I explain the situation and my dad takes control. He takes off his jumper and I wrap it around my waist. He goes to pay while my mum shields me with her body as I wipe the seat. I say thanks in my head that the seat is wooden and I have a packet of baby wipes with me. I walk like John Wayne to the car and get home as fast as I can.

I jump into the shower and my body expels the blood without my control. Blood, tissue and clots wash down the drain as I let the water run over me. It comes out quite fast and I feel a wave of emotions. I don’t cry but watch in amazement as my body does what, as the doctor said, it needs to do.

I exit the shower and with a pad firmly in place spend the rest of the afternoon at home. By early evening the cramps have started and I am still bleeding, but without the force I felt earlier in the day. I call my husband and he comes home to help me of the demands of my son and a packet of pain relief. I take two tablets and they kick into effect. Still bleeding, I head to bed to get some sleep and forget the day.

The next day I wake and already the bleeding is much less, now it is like the period I was expecting. I had made the decision to stay home but need to head to the shops for formula for my son. I take a chance and while there I cough. I feel something expel itself from me and I think, “Surely not, not another wave of blood?” I hurry to the public toilet and find with some curiosity and amazement, a palm size lump that looks like a small liver. I pick it up using toilet paper and it stays perfectly formed in my hand. I guess it’s the placenta that was growing to feed my unborn child. It seems wrong to flush it away but I have no choice and like the idea of having the fourth member of our family, it disappears in an instant with the push of the button.

And with that, it's done.