I have been wanting to write about my experience of pregnancy after loss since before I
gave birth to Maya. The process of writing, whether published online or just kept in a private journal, has always been therapeutic for me. It's something I've done in one form or another since I was a child and it's had an invaluable role in helping me work through my grief after the death of my son.
It's taken me this long to write about it because I don't think I would have been able to do it while pregnant. There was too much to deal with emotionally, I needed the distance and perspective to be able to finally work through it.
If you haven't read the posts I've written about pregnancy loss you may want to do so before continuing to read this as it will give all of the context for the rest of this post (here are posts
one,
two and
three). However, I understand it might be too painful for anyone who has experienced pregnancy loss themselves to read my story. To give a brief content warning my posts about pregnancy loss are quite raw and personal and it might be too much for anyone who has experienced it recently. I'd also proceed with caution if you're currently TTC or pregnant as it could be triggering and I wouldn't want to upset anyone. Keep in mind this is one person's experience and everyone is so different, it probably won't be the same as yours. I wanted to write this so that it may help someone feel less alone. Because grieving a baby, trying to conceive and pregnancy after loss can be the most isolating and lonely times in a person's life.
This day last year I found out I was pregnant. It was a Sunday morning and we were a week into the post Christmas lockdown. My period had been due on Christmas Eve and in the ten days since then I had already taken two pregnancy tests which were both negative. I was sure I wasn't pregnant, there's no way we'd be that lucky to conceive after just two months of trying. I was convinced it wouldn't happen. I just didn't think it was meant for us. I had been talking about it with my sister and a couple of my friends in work. I'd gotten what felt like period cramps a few days after Christmas and assumed it was just late. Then when the two tests I took were negative I had resigned myself to the fact it didn't happen this month. We'd be starting from scratch again in January.
The previous evening my boobs were sore but not in the usual PMS way, they were sore in the way they had been right before I found out I was pregnant with Milo. I decided to wait until the morning to take another test but I didn't want to tell Simon and get his hopes up. So when he went out to get us coffees that morning I quickly took the test. It actually wasn't even a proper test, it was the pregnancy test strips from the Euro shop. I put it face down on some tissue on the bathroom windowsill because I couldn't bare to look and feel that sinking stomach feeling of disappointment again. But I knew I had to. I had to get it over with before Simon came home so that he didn't feel the same disappointment of waiting for a negative test again.
I turned over the strip and there it was. The second line, slightly more faint than the first one. I'm pretty sure I blinked slowly with a furrowed brow in that almost cartoon like way in complete disbelief assuming when I opened my eyes again the line would be gone. It was an illusion, a trick of the mind, it couldn't be real. But it was. There were two lines. I burst into tears. I didn't believe it but what other explanation was there. I realised I needed to take an actual test. Luckily I still had one, again some inexpensive generic brand, but I had to be sure. I took the second test, but this time I watched as the second line started to appear. I held on to both tests and wandered back and forth around my apartment, between the living room, through the hall past the bathroom into the bedroom and kept doing the same thing again and again all while crying my eyes out. I was genuinely shocked. When Simon came home I showed him the tests in disbelief. He was over the moon but I sent him straight out to buy a proper pregnancy test, one of the ones that tells you approximately how far along you are. I took a third test and that's when it finally hit me. I saw the words "pregnant 3+" on the little window. I couldn't believe it, I was pregnant again.
I'm sure a large majority of people who have experienced pregnancy loss will consider the possibility of trying to conceive again at some point after their loss. Obviously this is completely dependent on the person/people and their circumstances. But if the pregnancy was welcome and wanted, it seems logical that this discussion would be inevitable.
Just after Milo died I couldn't even think about the idea of being pregnant again. It was the furthest thing from my mind because at that point I was just surviving. I was going day by day on autopilot and I didn't want to think about anything let alone becoming pregnant again. I distinctly remember a conversation we had in the weeks after his death and I told Simon I was never going to do that again. I couldn't go through it a second time, all of that hope completely lost. I put it out of my mind and kept going. Every person who experiences pregnancy loss has a different perspective and a different set of circumstances. I don't know how different it is depending on whether you had been trying to conceive for years or if you had gone through IVF or had become pregnant first try or accidentally. We may not have planned to be pregnant with Milo but it happened and we adjusted and we wanted him so much and we were torn into pieces when we lost him. I can imagine depending on your circumstances it can add differing levels to the desire to try to conceive again after loss.
I was talking about this recently with a friend, there is such a strange feeling when you meet your baby for the first time and they're dead. You feel this unbelievable love and sorrow at the exact same time. It's the most confusing feeling. You don't get that moment of your baby being placed on your chest and the pure joy. Your heart is broken but that love of seeing your baby for the first time is still there. Only you have nowhere to put that love. You have to hand your baby back to a midwife and make funeral arrangements instead of getting to go to the post natal ward and excitedly call your family and take photos and change nappies and wonder who they look like.
That unconditional love mixed with grief is almost too much to take. It feels like struggling to breathe during a panic attack but all on the inside, in your head. I wanted so desperately for him to still be alive and inside my uterus, growing and kicking and waiting for me. I didn't know what to do with this love. Who could I give it to?
I kept telling myself there's no way I could do it again. I wasn't strong enough and I wouldn't be strong enough if it happened again. I remember someone said to me "at least you know you can get pregnant" and I was so angry. Getting pregnant means nothing because he's gone. I didn't stay pregnant. My body failed me. It failed my son. It didn't do the one thing it was supposed to do (I now know this is not a healthy way to think but it doesn't stop you feeling that way). Just because I got pregnant once, doesn't mean I will again and even if I did, there's no guarantee the same thing won't happen. I could get pregnant twenty times and never get to bring home a baby. At that point we had no answers as to what had happened so we couldn't even start thinking about becoming pregnant again.
I had all of this love inside me that was meant for Milo and I couldn't do anything with it. As the weeks went by we talked more and more about the idea of having another baby. I'm the kind of person that has to examine every single eventuality before making a big decision. Sadly I have a tendency to focus on the worst possible outcome believing that is the only possibility. I was so scared that something bad would happen when I was pregnant with Milo, so when the worst thing actually happened it felt like I had brought it on myself. The rational part of my brain (as small as it is) knows that's not true but you tell yourself these things as a form of self-punishment.
The worst thing had happened and we were getting through it one day at a time. We had two choices, get through it or don't. But asking myself if I could do it again. Would it be worth the risk? That's what love is. Opening yourself up to love and being loved is opening yourself up to heartbreak and hurt. You just have up ask yourself, is it worth it? I told Simon that getting to meet our son and feeling that unconditional love made it all worth it. He brought so much love into our lives that I couldn't imagine it any other way. He existed for a reason.
Once we got past the post mortem results it felt like a step closer to maybe starting to think about the possibility. The doctor told us there was no reason we couldn't go on to have a perfectly healthy pregnancy if we decided to try again. And then she said "don't wait" which I thought was a bit unprofessional. I took it to mean don't wait because you're not getting any younger. At that point I was a couple of months away from turning 34 and obviously that's something I had to consider too. If we did decide to start trying to conceive how long do you try for before you give up? It felt like there was too much against us and I didn't know if I could handle it.
I was also advised to get the rubella vaccine as the blood results from my booking scan had revealed that my immunity had worn off over the years since I had the MMR vaccine and rubella can be dangerous if contracted during pregnancy, so I booked that as well as a smear test just to make sure I had a clean bill of health.
By that time it had been six months since Milo died and we had talked about having another baby so many times. We talked about every possibility, every fear, every outcome good and bad. I think we both figured it was now or never and it would be worth the risk no matter what happened.
No one talks about how difficult it is seeing other people announce they are pregnant when you've just lost your baby or you're trying to conceive. I've spoken to many women about this privately and it's one thing that really gives you that lump in your throat. After I lost Milo it felt as if every single woman I knew was announcing she was pregnant. It's something you don't know how to navigate. There were actually two people on my small team in work that were pregnant months after we lost Milo and that was incredibly difficult to deal with every day. I was so happy for them because anyone who has a healthy pregnancy is a sign of hope when you've lost your baby. But you do feel guilty for feeling sad that it's not you. I couldn't help finding it difficult being around all the baby talk and remembering when it was me and wondering if I'd ever get that again. I had to try and distance myself from those conversations as a form of self- preservation. You do what you have to, you can be happy for other people and sad for yourself at the same time. I had friends announce their pregnancies online before telling me. It was hard to see that but I understand they probably felt awkward and didn't know how to tell me. I had people I didn't know that well message me to tell me they were pregnant before they posted an announcement on social media and I appreciated that kindness so much. It's such a hard thing to deal with and you're never going to please everyone. I lost my baby but I was always so happy to see other people have healthy pregnancies. I didn't want anyone to have to go through what I did. I remember crying with happiness at hearing some pregnancy announcements and crying with sadness for myself at others, it just depended on my head space at the time. Sometimes you just can't help your gut reaction and that's okay. It's incredibly complicated to deal with so many feelings at once.
As I mentioned earlier, we had only been trying for two months when we became pregnant again. It was a huge shock because I assumed it would take much much longer if it happened at all. I completely understand how lucky we are that it happened so fast. I know everyone is different and for the most part it doesn't happen that fast. We were so lucky and I will never ever take that for granted. Over the past almost two years I've spoken to so many women about pregnancy and loss and fertility and what I've learned is that no two stories are the same. Everyone has such a different experience. I know people who have been through multiple losses, IVF, years of TTC, adoption, infertility, surrogacy. It's one of the most sensitive and emotional topics you can talk about but I do think it's so important to talk about it if you can.
Fast forward to the day we found out in January 2021 again. When you're pregnant after loss the 12 week rule seems ridiculous. Obviously with us it didn't matter that we waited to tell people the first time because ours was a late miscarriage at just under 19 weeks. I know that statistically the first 12 weeks are the most high risk in terms of the possibility of having a miscarriage but we figured it didn't make a difference this time. We didn't want to hide it from our families because we knew it would be very difficult and we wanted the support even if it meant opening up our families to the possibility of more hurt and grief. So that afternoon we video called both out families and told them. We figured why wait when we didn't know when we'd get to see them again as we were in a lockdown. They were all so happy for us as they knew how much we wanted it. We did feel guilty for telling them so early but we figured if anything bad happened again they would find out anyway and it wouldn't hurt any less. Having their support was essential to us and helped to ease the anxiety.
The day after we found out I rang the doctor and made an appointment for the following day to have the pregnancy confirmed. The doctor booked me in for an early reassurance scan at 7 weeks, which was January 15th. Thankfully we only had to wait ten days but anyone who has been through it knows that waiting time between appointments is torturous. Because of the restrictions in the maternity hospitals I had to attend the scan on my own which only added to my anxiety. I felt sick thinking about having to walk through the doors of the hospital on my own again knowing the last time I had been in that part of the hospital was the morning Milo died.
It didn't help that I had to wait about 45 minutes in the waiting area before my scan with a full bladder and a stomach that was doing somersaults. I went into the room and there was a female doctor and a male midwife. They tried to do an ultrasound but because it was so early they ended up having to do an internal one which is not pleasant. I saw the heartbeat but we couldn't hear it yet. Everything seemed fine. I could finally take a short breath. As I was getting dressed behind the curtain the doctor started talking about my BMI before I even had my knickers on. She said "oh don't worry I have a bit of a tummy too'. My weight had gone up a bit since I was last weighed at my booking scan in February 2020. I had been grieving and going through a global pandemic so I wasn't surprised that it had gone up slightly but it brought me closer to a borderline BMI. She said she would send me across the hallway to speak to a midwife about doing a nutrition class and book a gestational diabetes test.
I had a lump in my throat and felt nauseous. This doctor hadn't even read my chart before I entered the room. I assumed most women going for an early reassurance scan have a reason to do so. I assumed the doctor would at least glance at my medical history. But instead of asking how I'm doing or if I need to speak to a mental health midwife she is focused on a number. She's focused on an outdated way of measuring health that was designed for men with very different bodies to women. She didn't care about how terrified I was. She made a passing comment about my "tummy" trying to compare it to hers (she was probably around the same size as me). Before I even had my underwear on when I was in one of the most vulnerable situations I had ever been in in my life shaking and terrified of getting bad news on my own and having to call Simon to tell him.
I was honestly so disgusted but I was also so taken back that I couldn't get any words out of my mouth. I went in a room with another midwife and I'm pretty sure I just nodded my head unable to think properly. I wasn't even over the number, I was borderline. I had a clear bill of health from my GP, my bloods were all completely fine, cholesterol, iron, everything. But all they saw was a number and suddenly I was unhealthy. I agreed to do the nutrition class as I figured it couldn't hurt to be more informed. And when I did the test for gestational diabetes later in my pregnancy, all was absolutely fine. If I could go back in time I would have called her out, I wouldn't have done the gestational diabetes because there was no need, I had none of the symptoms of it. I wasn't concerned about my health and my bloods at the booking scan were all good. She also put me on a higher dose of folic acid. I figured I might as well take it because I didn't want to take any chances.
The funny thing about having a nutrition class in the first trimester is I was lucky to have eaten one full meal each day because I was so nauseous until about week 15. I could only really stomach very bland food and I barely ate dinner because I had so many food aversions. I had to make myself eat because I felt so unwell. All the while going to work every single day, on my feet, exhausted with first trimester fatigue, in the height of a global pandemic lockdown while my partner was out of work due to restrictions, I had no in person support from my family or friends and my partner wasn't allowed to attend any of my appointments. I was so upset that what should have been such a happy day, seeing my baby's heartbeat for the first time was overshadowed by a doctor with an outdated viewpoint on overall health, who was judging me based on one aspect of my appearance and completely disregarding my mental health. If I could give you any advice, never let a doctor or healthcare worker make you feel like that. Call them out because it's not good for anyone and it really affected my mental health for about a month afterwards. My sister who trained to be a midwife explained what BMI actually is and that it's in no way a truly accurate representation of a person's health. There are so many other things to take into account.
All of that being said I felt so unbelievably lucky to be in the position I was in. I had dreamed of it, hoped for it and I truly didn't think it would happen. My dream had come true, but it would be a long road ahead. It was the beginning of nine long months of holding my breath. Because that's what pregnancy after loss is. It's holding your breath, clenching your jaw and fists. Waiting, seemingly endless waiting. Waiting for each day to end so you can say that's another day that something bad didn't happen. Waiting for the next appointment or scan to see if everything is okay, hoping to see the tiny heart of your baby beating away. Waiting for each week to pass knowing your baby is that little bit bigger and stronger.
I didn't breathe a sigh of relief when I reached 12 weeks because I knew that anything could happen at any moment. Instead I took each day as it came. I only looked ahead to the next appointment, no further, because that's all I could handle. At 10 weeks I went for an appointment to get bloods done for an NIPT test (or Harmony test). It's where the baby's DNA is extracted from your blood to check for chromosomal conditions and you can also find out the baby's gender early too. It's not for everyone and I'm sure some people find it strange but we wanted to have as much information as possible no matter what the outcome of the test. I had so little control that I wanted to do this one thing that I knew would either give me some small piece of mind or prepare me if there was something that came up.
Unfortunately it took three blood draws to get a result which sometimes can happen if there's not enough DNA in the mother's blood. Of course that sent me spiraling too but I was assured it was normal. The silver lining was that I got three extra scans at week 10, 12 and 14 which meant I got to see the baby more and feel the relief of seeing she was okay. The doctor who did the scan also reassured me that from what she could see everything looked fine so that was a relief too. During week 15 we got the phone call to say the results were low risk and to tell us the gender was female.
I was at work when I got the call and so I rang Simon to tell him because I couldn't wait. I burst into tears knowing that we were low risk which was one less thing to worry about. To top it off, knowing that we were going to be having a daughter was incredibly exciting. That's when it all sank in and became really real. I've already told the story in an Instagram post but the Sunday before we found out was Mother's day and that night I had had a dream that we had a daughter, she was a toddler sitting in bed beside me and I told her the name I had chosen for her and she said she liked it so when we got the news two days later that was it. The name had been chosen too, Maya Elizabeth. That week was also Milo's one year anniversary and part of me was so happy that the Harmony test results were delayed because it meant that week had so much joy amongst the grief.
We were in a lockdown until April/May so I spent the first 5 months of my pregnancy just Simon and I. I was still going to work every day and seeing my colleagues (and friends) and I think that helped so much too. I can imagine that if I had been working from home it would have been more difficult to keep my mind off the constant worry. The down side to being in work was the worry about getting covid, especially when you can't control what people do when they're not in work and how it might effect you and your baby. I was so worried about getting covid and that it might put the baby at risk but I had to remember that the cases were low because of the lockdown and I was being very careful in work wearing a proper mask and washing my hands constantly.
It was also tough that I was able to see my colleagues every day but I hadn't yet seen my family or friends and gotten to celebrate in person. I still had to go to every appointment on my own except the 20 week scan. Simon walked me to each appointment and collected me too so that I had some kind of emotional support. We actually booked a private scan for 18 weeks and 6 days because that's when we lost Milo and we wanted something to look forward to as I knew it would be a weird day and getting past that felt like a big milestone for us. I thought getting to 19 weeks would make everything seem better but it just felt like there was so much more at stake. It was particularly strange to know exactly what size she was and that we had held Milo at that size and he was so fully formed but just too tiny.
We got to 19 weeks and then had the anatomy scan at 21 weeks. 24 weeks was a huge milestone as the baby is viable at that stage. Every week after that just felt like a bonus. We also booked a 3D scan for 28 weeks and that was incredible. I was so emotional leaving the clinic having seen her more clearly than we ever had before. It was around this stage that I started to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
When you're pregnant after losing a baby you can't take anything for granted. You don't get the joy of telling people for the first time or a pregnancy announcement or shopping for clothes or a baby shower or choosing names. Everything is done with such trepidation. I bought some clothes after the booking scan at 13 weeks and I immediately felt guilty, like I'd done something stupid and jinxed myself. I thought who can I give this to if the baby dies, no one will want it.
We went shopping for the buggy when I was almost 24 weeks and I kept think about having to phone the shop and cancel our order and how hard that would be. As if we were tempting fate. There comes a point when you have to just go for it but that involves looking into the future more than I was comfortable with. So we took it one step at a time. Making an appointment to go shopping for the pram was a huge step. But it felt good to let that hope in little by little. Things we didn't get to do for Milo, everything was tinged with sadness thinking about what should have been. No one tells you how difficult and confusing it is to be grieving for one baby as you're growing another and the complicated feelings of guilt combined with pregnancy hormones. It's such a struggle at times. You have to try to lean into the hope and the joy and realise that it's okay if they coincide with sorrow and grief. You don't have to choose. It gives you a deeper appreciation for the little things and that in itself is a huge blessing, not everyone has that in their life.
There's so much more I could write about pregnancy after loss. Feeling movements for the first time and how relieved you are every time you feel the baby move. Obsessively noting when you last felt them as you get closer to the end. Having to be dropped off at the emergency department alone in the middle of the night with a bleed (which turned out to be nothing). The emotions of getting everything ready and praying you get to bring your baby home safely. The anxiety about birth and wanting to reclaim the power that a traumatic birth has held over you. I did some Hypnobirthing to deal with all of those feelings and it helped so much. If you're in any way worried about birth the best advice I can give you is to learn as much as you can about birth and how everything works, the hormones, the different outcomes and decisions you may have to make. When you're in the moment you don't get to think, so knowing everything in advance is so important. Breathing, it has always helped me to ground myself and focusing on my breathing was invaluable during my pregnancy when things got overwhelming and then in birth when I didn't think I could do it anymore. I've written about Maya's birth if you haven't read it yet and want to do so.
I wanted to finish off this post with some advice that I found helped me and other women I've spoken to about it. If you know someone who has experienced pregnancy/baby loss or someone who is going through fertility issues or IVF just be supportive. It's already something that's on their mind 24/7 so you acknowledging it isn't going to make it worse for them, but showing your support and letting them know you're there for them is a huge help. If you find you're pregnant and want to tell someone in your life who has been through these things, try to not tell them in person. Send a text, give them a heads up, give them time and space and don't be offended if they can't be excited straight away. Trust that they are happy for you but may not have the mental capacity to be able to talk about pregnancy and babies with you just yet. If you know someone who is pregnant after a loss, or multiple losses, don't be afraid to acknowledge that. I had to explain again and again that this was my second pregnancy and it's hard to do but I couldn't deny Milo's existence. He is and always will be my first child and nothing can change that. It's okay to ask that person how they're doing.
If you're pregnant after loss it's going to be incredibly difficult, the innocence and pure joy has been taken away and you have a totally different experience. You don't get to have a carefree pregnancy, you overthink every decision and wonder if you're doing the right thing. So if you can, and wherever you can, try to take back that joy. Take photos, embrace the love and excitement. No matter what happens you will want those memories later on I promise you. Take videos and bump photos. You deserve that happiness.
When you're pregnant after loss everyone is so happy for you but it can feel like they have forgotten the baby you lost. I didn't forget and never will and having Maya asleep in my arms right now doesn't mean I'm okay with not having Milo here. I will always wonder what could have been, I will always tell her about her brother and keep him a part of our lives. He opened our hearts and made way for his little sister and that is the immeasurable gift he gave us.
If you're reading this and you're finding it hard, please don't hesitate to talk to someone, a mental health midwife, your GP, a friend or family member or send me a message. I still have private conversations on social media DMs about pregnancy loss and it helps me just as much as the women I chat with. Having a baby now doesn't mean I'm not grieving anymore. I will grieve for my son for the rest of my life because that's what we should have had with him. Seeing Maya growing up and getting to be her mother has made it even more apparent what we lost when Milo died.
As always, thank you for your continued support and for checking in on us. This post was so therapeutic for me to write and if it helps even one person feel less alone, it was worth it.
Emma x
