Pregnant For A Year And A Half| MummyMamaMum

When it comes up, I often laugh and light-heartedly declare “Yeah, I was basically pregnant for like a year-and-a-half!” like it’s no big thing.

But the more time goes by, the more I realise that it is a big thing. It was big thing to me then, and it is a big thing to me now. And it might be a big thing to you too, whether it be right now, some time ago, or in the future.

Obviously, I was not pregnant for a year-and-a-half, but I did have multiple miscarriages in quick succession, and an ectopic pregnancy followed by a pregnancy which reached full term. I have played down the miscarriages, and even the ectopic, like they weren’t a huge deal because I was only a few weeks pregnant with each one. In fact, I didn’t get further than 8 weeks with any of the five pregnancies before Amelia.

I first fell pregnant in November 2012. Mr C and I had only been living together for a month at this point, and needless to say we were a tad shocked. I had always said that I would adopt rather than have my own children (something I would still love to do in the future), and it wasn’t until falling pregnant and discussing it together that I realised that having a baby with the man I loved was exactly what I wanted. Immediately we let all of our friends and family know, only for me to wake in pure agony a few short weeks later and find that I was miscarrying. A scan at the EPAu (Early Pregnancy Assessment unit) confirmed this, and we were left with the ordeal of letting everyone know. I was told that I would need a minor surgical procedure to help to remove the last of the pregnancy, and I was also told some of the risks of this procedure. One of these risks was that they would not get all of it, and I would experience a second ‘miscarriage’ of sorts in a week or two. Which I did.

preg-test

By now, the idea of having a baby didn’t seem so scary, and falling pregnant once had opened up this kind of bubbling well of broodiness in me that turned me into a machine intent only on baby making. As a result, I fell pregnant again in January 2013, and miscarried again just a few weeks later. This time, we had only told family. It didn’t feel like ‘only’ when we had to tell them the bad news though.

I was pregnant again in February/March 2013 – in fact I had a feeling and took a test the day before we were due to fly out for our first holiday abroad together! I took all the necessary precautions, certainly didn’t touch a drop of alcohol, and this time we didn’t tell anyone. We didn’t have a chance to. We flew out to Salou on Sunday evening, and I spent the whole of Wednesday in our hotel room in agony. I remember telling Mr C that I knew I was miscarrying, and the only way he could deal with it was to tell himself that I wasn’t, that I didn’t know for sure, that I had given up on our baby before it even had a chance. But I was, and I knew it, and I wasn’t angry with him for thinking that way. Neither of us knew how to cope.

In April I was pregnant again. I was so unsure of myself this time, that I think I must have peed on about 20 little white sticks over the course of 2 weeks. Each time I was sure that the line wasn’t as clear as last time, or questioned whether the test was accurate enough. I refused to let myself get excited. That is, until a few weeks passed by pain free, and I started to allow myself to believe that everything just might be ok. So when I woke up in the middle of the night screaming and writhing in pain, and Mr C jumped up and demanded we go to the hospital, my response through sobs was “No, I don’t want to. They’ll only tell me it’s another miscarriage.” By 7am, the pain had subsided enough for me to get up and get dressed, but I was confused because the bleeding hadn’t started, so I let Mr C persuade me to go to the hospital. I think we were both hoping that the pain was something else, something fixable. But when we arrived, I knew something wasn’t right, as once I had been scanned I was sent for a second scan with a consultant immediately. She looked at me, with a look of sheer horror on her face.

“I don’t actually know how you’re standing up and walking around. I’m afraid we need to get you into surgery now.”

She then explained that the baby was growing inside my right Fallopian tube, and that I had around 6-12 hours before the tube would rupture and probably kill me. I was taken to surgery and the tube was removed. The surgeon estimated from the size of my baby that it was around 8-10 weeks old. The doctor who came round to see me when I was brought back to the ward explained that losing a Fallopian tube could mean that falling pregnant would be harder. When your ovaries release an egg, there is no pattern as to which tube that egg travels down to get to the womb, so there was nothing to say that my eggs wouldn’t try the Fallopian tube that wasn’t there anymore for 6 months in a row or longer. They also wanted to do some further exploration to check the health of my left tube.

 

8-weeks
A baby at 8 weeks – photo courtesy of BabyCentre

 

But they didn’t have time, because in June that year, I fell pregnant for the 6th time. I had been advised to go straight to EPAu if I found out I was pregnant because the risk of having an ectopic pregnancy is increased if you’ve already had one, so I did. I knew my dates like the back of my hand, and knew that I could only be about 5 weeks pregnant. So when the midwife said to me;

“I’m sorry, we can’t see a heartbeat. I’m going to give you these pills, one now to take and one to take tomorrow at home, because you haven’t started to miscarry yet. That will help the process.”

I lost it. I yelled, and I screamed, and I demanded to know how she could know there was anything wrong when the chance of seeing a heartbeat anything before 7 weeks is slim-to-none. I asked for my notes, and I left the hospital. I did not take her miscarriage inducing stupid pills either. Part of me wondered if I had lost the plot altogether, was I in total denial, and just couldn’t face losing another baby? But part of me just knew this time. I called another hospital, further away from us but close enough that I could get there, and explained the situation. They said they could fit me in in 10 days, and that I should probably leave it until I was 7 weeks anyway, and booked me in for an early scan.

Within seconds of looking at her monitor, the sonographer grinned at me and said;

“All fine. One healthy baby in there, heartbeat ticking away.”

When I look back on the 5 pregnancies prior to Amelia, I tell myself that they were not babies. I did not lose babies because they were not yet babies, just tiny little bean shaped embryos. But actually, they were babies. Whether in form or not, to me and to Mr C, and to our family and friends, they were all babies. They had hearts and brains, eyes, eyelids and the beginnings of tiny fingers. They were babies that we had pictured in our minds, babies that we had planned names for, babies that we had wondered “will it look like me or you?!” And I will always hold a special place in my heart for those babies of mine that just didn’t make it out here to meet me and their Dad.

 

16 Replies to “Pregnant For A Year And A Half| MummyMamaMum”

  1. I read this with tears in my eyes. You have been through so much, and I’m so relieved that you didn’t take those pills and listened to your gut instinct. Thanks so much for linking up at #fortheloveofBLOG. Claire x

    1. That’s really lovely of you to say, thank you. Honestly, I don’t feel hard done by about any of it because I know so many go through so much worse. But I am thankful for that all important mother’s instinct which I firmly believe ensured Amelia’s life. Thanks so much for your lovely comment. xx

  2. I read this crying, the strength you must have to go through this, my heart goes out to you and your husband. I miscarried once but I had no idea I was pregnant, so was not expecting anything, was not hopeful and excited, the what ifs tear at my heart but I am glad I didn’t know. Thank god you didn’t listen to that woman. Thank you for linking to #stayclassymama xx

    1. Thank you for your lovely comment. I honestly feel like so many women and men deal with miscarriages and far worse, and we are just so bloody lucky to have two fairly awesome kids at the end of it all. There are so many people who would give all four limbs for just one, so more than anything I just feel lucky xxx

  3. Oh my, you’ve been through so much. You poor thing. And thank goodness you didn’t take that pill and you followed your gut. Those embryos were indeed babies no matter their age and they are certainly with you in spirit even though they couldn’t be with you in person. Thank-you for sharing your story xx #fortheloveofBLOG
    Angela Watling recently posted…Reasons I am grateful #2My Profile

    1. I think so many women go through so many things, and for every miscarriage I had there are a thousand more, not to mention all of the other ways that mums and dads experience loss, so I don’t feel hard done by. But I do feel very lucky that I was brace enough to trust my instinct, and that is probably the reason that I let my instinct guide me through all of my parenting. Thanks so much for your lovely comment xx

  4. This is a wonderful post. Tragic and joyful all at once. The term miracle baby usually means those that have battled being born prematurely, but given what happened to you, Amelia is your miracle baby. All that you went through, there are just no words, but thank you for writing this post. Miscarriages are hard to talk and write about, but more people should. You will help give hope to so many with this story. #fortheloveofBLOG

    1. That’s such a lovely comment, and that’s exactly how I think of her. I agree that I’d like to see more people talk about not just miscarriage, but everything else too. So many people are coping with loss in one way or another and it can be hard to imagine anyone else in the same situation. Thank you so much for your lovely comment. Xx

  5. I’m so sorry for your losses, I can relate to this absolutely. We lost fifteen babies to miscarriage, between 8-13 weeks each time and our second son was stillborn at full term. I often joke that I have spent most of my adult life pregnant and yet as you say, it’s not a joke, this is our life. I now have four healthy children (three of which I had in two years!!) and I am so grateful for that, but there should always have been five children, and fifteen little babies that live in my heart. #fortheloveofBLOG

    1. Oh wow, your comment made me tear up a little bit. I cannot even begin to imagine what you have been through, and I think it speaks volume for your strength that you can talk about it and have gone on to have a beautiful family too!! Just wow. Xxx

  6. I don’t think you ever truly get over miscarrying you just learn to live with it. Each time thinking that the likelihood of having a baby gets further away. Thank goodness you listened to your heart and didn’t take those pills! #TuesdayTreasures

  7. Oh hun, I feel for you in so many ways. I often laugh (on the outside, not on the inside) about being pregnant for nearly 2 years too, with 3 miscarriages and now a pregnancy that is at 29 weeks. I frequently joke about having the longest first trimester ever, but deep down inside there will always be little scars, made by little babies that we didn’t get to meet. Sending hugs to you, Mr C and Amelia and your little angels x

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