I found the first few weeks of pregnancy difficult. I felt sick all the time and threw up several times a day, particularly in the morning. I felt terrible and completely lost my appetite. I’ve never been pregnant before so I don’t know, but I wonder whether the 12 weeks of pessaries had something to do with it? Hormones going haywire. I also started to lose my hair. A 50 pence size chunk fell out at the back. Again, this is a possible side effect of the pessaries, but I’ve also got form here. Whenever I experience a stressful time, my body responds by getting alopecia. I’ve had it three times before.
But I would have put up with anything! In the great scheme of things, it was nothing. I could hide the bald patch and just accepted, for the foreseeable, that I would look and feel pretty rough. I forced myself to chomp ginger biscuits and drink lots of ginger tea. I always had a dry oatcake or a handful of nuts on the go to fight nausea. Thank god, I didn’t have morning sickness as badly as some people I know who have been completely incapacitated. It wasn’t a barrel of laughs but it was a very small price to pay for our baby. A good pick-me-up after a bout of sickness was to remind myself that at last I was pregnant, and hug that happy secret to myself.
At seven weeks, we went in for an early scan to check everything was okay. And it was. Unbelievably lovely to be going to the hospital for some good news for a change. We had our first ultrasound and saw our baby the size of a blueberry. Our first special glimpse of a tiny heartbeat pulsing away inside me.
And that was it. Big tick. Job done. We were officially released from the Ocean Suite and handed over to antenatal care.
When we started IUI, I bit the bullet and told my boss at work what was happening as I knew I’d be skipping out for hospital appointments. We also told our parents. After so long keeping it to ourselves, we found it really hard, me especially, but it had to be done. I cried when I told my Mum. I think I felt that by sharing our secret we were admitting out loud that we were a disappointment. But I had to get over it and, of course, everyone was great. Really supportive and positive. We should have done it ages ago.
We also told our parents the happy news at seven weeks, after the first scan. I was worried it was too early, not out of the danger zone yet. But as T pointed out, we took the decision to let them in six months ago, but asked them not to keep asking us how it was all going as it would add to the pressure and make it harder to handle. We would let them know when there was something to tell. They must have been waiting and wondering, dying to find out what was happening but respecting our wishes to give us our space and privacy.
At three months, everything was looking rosy. My sickness tailed off (pretty much exactly after I took my last pessary, I wasn’t sad to see the back of those) and we went in for the 12-week scan. This is the first in depth look at your growing baby and assesses the early development in the womb.
I remember it vividly. Of all our experiences, this is the one that has stayed with me the most. It was picture perfect. Just as you see it on the movies, jelly on the belly, beautiful baby wriggling inside me. Two arms, two legs. Strong heartbeat. The nurse getting our details, putting in measurements and stats. All looking happy and healthy. T sitting next to me, both of us smiling and laughing, loving the moment.
Then, the nurse went quiet and pressed, I kid you not, a red alarm button on the wall. It all stopped abruptly. A phone call was made that really put the wind up us. We were taken into a separate room, sat down, and somebody new appeared (the bad news breaker). We were told that our baby was at high risk of Downs Syndrome. We had three options and this is how they laid them out to us. 1) Have an abortion. 2) Do nothing. 3) Have a test to find out the DNA, this would be either amniocentesis or Chorionic villus sampling (CVS), but the tests come with the risk of a miscarriage.
It felt brutal, and it hit me really hard. It was the way they told us more than anything. Red alarm. Hustled into the bad news chamber. Abortion was the first thing they said to us. Looking back, it seemed to designed to maximise upset and panic, not reassure us. I guess they have to be careful not to give false hope, but to two people, who had already been through a lot to get to this point, we found the bedside manner somewhat wanting.
For the first time, after all the tests and treatments I had been through, I was in too much of a mess to go back to work. I remember just crying, sitting crying and crying in my car. Unable to pull myself together and go into the house. Life was brought into a sharp reality. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. It felt too cruel and just for a bit I let rip with the self pity.
But I did sort myself out and later on that day we phoned the hospital and booked in for CVS. We were both on the same page. After everything, we couldn’t not know. We needed to find out the facts.