I wasn't sure if I'd ever write this.
As you all know, I tracked my entire pregnancy, writing each up and down, mostly whilst sat in emergency hospital wards for hours twisting my thumbs (and my emotions).
But, I got to thinking... A lot of people write their birth stories out. Many are positive, lots are negative, but they still write them. Because they are proud of what they had produced, what their body was capable of.
I am so, so proud of my baby. Of my body.
This will be TMI for some people, but most will accept it's a birth story so will expect it!
So here goes (from what I can recall three months ago).
The last time I wrote on here was my Two Week Wait for the baby to come on it's own.
I was PETRIFIED of any surgery. I spoke to lots of people who had miscarried, some naturally, some using the tablet, others pessaries and some surgery. Lots of different advice. The majority was - DO NOT let it happen naturally, opt for the surgery. I couldn't bring myself to have any surgery that wasn't necessary.
So I waited. I drank red wine (not daily!) I exercised (not as heavy as when not pregnant) I drank copious amounts of CAFFEINATED tea, ate rare steak. I wished that I like pâté just so I could add that to the rebel list!
And...
Nothing.
Every day one of my best friends rung me "how are you?" - "still no sign" "WHAT?! Nothing at all has happened yet?! How is that possible?!"
Fast forward a week. Go to my pre-arranged fertility consultant appointment. It was booked for early November back in July when I was prescribed the Clomid, to see where I was at.
He said "next time, I want you to take half a 50mg tablet because you had too many eggs the last 2 times"
Hubs replied "are you joking?! We haven't even got this one out yet!! And we're not over this loss". The consultant's response; "well don't wait around too long, just have the surgery get it over and done with, keeping it in there is raising your risk of infection".
I panic, talk it over with my mum and hubs then ring the Gynae ward the next day. They assure me waiting 2 weeks carries little to no risk of infection - my body's levels are still pregnant - my body is still nourishing and growing around our poor deceased baby.
I arrange to go in on Saturday 12th for the blood tests I need, in order to take the Misoprostol tablets.
I was so worried about taking these - the hospital I was under was now around an hours drive away as we'd recently moved home. I was told the effects of the tablets take 1-72 hours to start working. There's no guarantee they will work. There's no guarantee your body will expel EVERYTHING after taking Misoprostol. But I needed to get this baby out - it had been 3.5 weeks since Lil Bean had stopped growing and 2.5 weeks since diagnosis of loss.
Saturday 12th came, only a 3 hour wait this time for me to have some blood tests. They needed to be done 48 hours before I took the tablets. So I booked in for 9am Monday 14th November.
I was to take the Misoprostol the morning of the 14th, drive home and wait to pass baby & placenta.
I'd started to bleed on the Friday 11th, and had cramps from as soon as I finished at the gym that morning, but not enough to write home about. I mentioned it on the Saturday and got a "yea, and what?!" sort of reaction, but was secretly hoping I'd miscarry over the weekend so I didn't have to have the tablets on Monday!
Sunday night. My goodness. The contractions and pain I felt, I was convinced something must have come. The amount of blood was increasing too, especially overnight on the Sunday.
I woke hubs up, who sat there rubbing my back and topping up my hot water bottle whilst I stayed in the bathroom until I felt safe enough to go back to bed and try to sleep.
I was convinced I wouldn't need the tablet. I mentioned to the nice nurse on the ward as soon as I got there. She said she wouldn't give me the tablet until I saw a consultant, who could give me an ultrasound.
The ultrasound showed our perfect little baby all snuggled up right where he (she) had been 3 weeks previous. The consultant explained all the blood I'd lost was superficial - it was my levels dropping but my contractions hadn't brought on the actual miscarriage. I was devastated. I numbly listened, and, uncharacteristically for me - I numbly agreed when he said "you have no other option - you MUST have surgery. This baby will not be coming on its own".
I had to then have lots more vials of blood taken before the operation. So more blood tests. 5 needles and 3 members of staff later - no luck. I'm hysterical. Crying. Shaking.
I've never ever hated blood tests, I take them like I brush my teeth. But the doctor sneered at me after the 5th failed attempt "how will you cope with the surgery with such a low pain threshold??" Hubs put her right. I numbly muttered "I'm not usually bad".
I wanted to die. I honestly did not want to be on earth anymore. I wanted all this shit over.
They sent me up from the Gynae ward to the Blood test ward. They told me I should have got a note from the Gynae ward if they need me seen today. I said "I'll go get a note" they said "no, there's a long wait, they can't need it done that quick". I lost it - sobbing - bleeding - I shouted "well my fucking baby is dead, I've been here for 6 and a half hours, I've been told I need surgery I'm so scared I just want this to be over"
Within 3 minutes I was in a cubicle with a professional blood-taker sealing 8 vials of my blood. Success at last.
I wanted to die that day.
That night I was woken around 1am with the increasing need to PUSH. A huge flood of blood came out as soon as I got to the bathroom. I was contracting painfully. More blood. More blood than I'd ever seen before in my life. I stayed in the bathroom, passing what was all of a sudden so desperate to come.
I crawled to the kitchen to refill my hot water. I was sobbing, curled up on the floor and gasping.
I couldn't get the lid off my hot water bottle. I was shouting for my hubs to come get it off. Wrapped up in the foetal position on the floor with the dog licking my face, clutching a cold hot water bottle.
I was a mess.
Eventually my husband heard me after around 10-15 mins. He came running, panic stricken.
I filled him in. Then we went back to bed, to try to sleep.
At around 3am I woke and felt huge gushes. I ran to the bathroom but it was too late. I sat in there for around an hour, more and more coming. Contractions coming thick and strong. I kept saying "if that consultant hadn't said it was impossible, I'd guess our baby had come tonight". Monday 14th November (early hours of Tuesday 15th November).
My hubs was wonderful that night. As I knew he would be. He cleaned the whole bed, and the floor between the bedroom to the bathroom.
Tuesday passed, with not as much blood and controllable pain. Then Wednesday 16th was here. Surgery day. I was terrified.
I will blog the 16th November another time.
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