When I did a pregnancy test back in April 2017, I knew my life would change but little did I realise the turn it would take.
My periods hadn’t been regular for years, so we didn’t know how far along I was, so a dating scan was arranged within 2 weeks of finding out the exciting news that I was expecting a much longed for child.
Those two weeks I was like a bottle of champagne, bubbling with excitement, not knowing who to tell, as everyone tells you not to share the news until you are at 12 weeks, so I enjoyed my drive to work, taking the time to talk to my bump. As chance would have it, one of the girls I worked with shared that she was pregnant so had an exciting week talking about our experiences.
My scan was in the morning, and I had a strong feeling that I wouldn’t want to go back to work afterwards, I felt awkward telling my work the real reason I wanted the time off, as I didn’t trust them not to treat me differently for being pregnant – so I made up an excuse to have the day off.
My sixth sense was right, but for all the wrong reasons. The time for my scan arrived, and the scanning lady seem to be taking a long time to find anything, and the scan was silent… I had no idea what to make of it, until she said the fateful words of “I’m so sorry I can’t find a heartbeat” – I didn’t really understand what she meant. She got a second opinion, and then the bombshells started to hit – I was 18wks pregnant, my child was dead and I needed to give birth to her in hospital.
I was in shock, thankfully my partner was there with me so we could be in shock together – my pragmatic project manager nature took over – what needed to be done and by when. I set to planning what was needed, the doctor advised that some people took a week off work, so that was my expectation.
I went to work the next day, called my mum whilst driving to work to tell her the news; told my boss I would need a week off work and told him why – I then went to a client meeting and started writing handover notes, thinking that I would be back within the week… how wrong I was.
I went into hospital on the Saturday like a lamb to the slaughter, a naive girl with no clue what it all entailed. The pain was like nothing I could have expected and had no training on breathing techniques – the nurses were amazing and I am grateful that we had our own room and my partner could be with me, although I know it was very difficult for him to watch my pain, as there was nothing he could do to help. The nurses said most people gave birth within 12 hours, my labour continued for 36hrs, and very nearly had to go into surgery to recover the placenta. But then she was born my beautiful Seren. She was a little under-baked but there she was – the nurses had presented her lovingly for us with a knitted blanket from volunteers part of the Simba Charity, which also included a member box, for which I was also so grateful. Our hearts were breaking holding our precious baby girl, who we would never hear cry, see smile or watch grow up. It felt so surreal.
I was eventually released Monday lunch time and walking away from our daughter was so difficult, walking past other pregnant mums wishing I was them, wishing I was still pregnant and able to start preparing a nursery.
Any thought of returning to work went straight out my head. I broke down, unable to do anything except cry and really scrub the house to keep my head and heart busy, as the smallest thing would set me off crying.
My work didn’t understand that I wasn’t ready to leave the house, let alone go back to work, and sit right in the middle of the office – it was all too much. I knew I needed the support of my family and friends, but struggled to know how to reach out. I started by reaching out to a couple of friends who had mentioned over the years that they had experienced miscarriages and a very dear friend of mine had a similar experience although her boy had lived for a couple of minutes after birth. I would have been even more lost without them.
We decided to arrange our own funeral for Seren, which meant talking to a funeral director, picking up Seren from the hospital 3wks later, leaving her again at the directors knowing the next time I would be with her, she would be in a cask – broke my heart all over again.
We held her funeral on 8th June, a month and a day after her birth. It was a small affair with just our parents – I found out afterwards that more family and friends would have been there for us if we had asked. I am eternally grateful for those friends who just sent the odd text to just say they were thinking of us, and on her birthday this year a handful remembered her birthday.
We leaned on the charities Simba, Sands and The Miscarriage Association and decided we wanted to give something back, so we raised money for these charities in Seren’s memory – we wanted Snowdon, and I drank only cold water for a month.
It felt important to do something in her name, I am grateful that I am able to talk about my daughter, just because I am a mum to an angel – doesn’t mean I’m not a mum, the firsts were very hard, but I know my Seren is now my guardian angel and by talking about my daughter, it has enabled other people to reach out to me with their own stories that they felt they couldn’t share with anyone else, as some people do get very awkward around emotive subjects.
I am waiting for my rainbow baby, sadly her brother was miscarried at 8wks in June this year, and I won’t lie when I saw the positive result I was scared that I would be in this situation again. I have re-found my spiritual beliefs which have helped me immensely – I may never get my rainbow baby, but I live in hope that I get to hold my own living baby in my arms, to nurture and love. Time will tell.
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