Thirteen weeks pregnant.
The first trimester of this pregnancy was easy. I felt groggy and sick most of the time, but I would suffer through all day morning sickness again and again, just to make you. Scientifically, you are not classed as a baby, had you graduated to foetus status yet? You are a baby to us, whatever your classification. You’re our baby. You, the baby inside me, had a heartbeat; you, our baby, grew, so we quietly and confidently slipped into the second trimester, happy to have made it this far. The chance of miscarriage at this point dropped considerably. Didn’t it?
13 weeks 5 days pregnant. Saturday morning, 3am. I woke up to go to the toilet and felt a strange sensation between my legs. My pyjama bottoms were soaked at the crotch. Had I peed myself? When I went to flush, the water in the toilet bowl was stained a glaring red. My head spun. Was this really happening? Was I losing our baby?
I cried out for Kate to come. She woke with a start. When I told her, showed her, what had happened as we slept, colour drained from her face and she needed to steady herself on the edge of the bath, as panic surged. She was speechless and I howled with sadness for who we’d lost.
The nature of this emotional pain is quite unimaginable until it is experienced first hand. We crumpled in on ourselves, choked by the ferocity of our emotions. We were without words. We were ruined.
Deciding to wait until the sun rose to seek medical intervention, we tried to sleep. Kate managed to drift off, but I couldn’t. I spent the small hours googling miscarriages, amniotic fluid leaks, fishing for any story that might suggest that this wasn’t the end. At 8am, we phoned the maternity triage and were advised to head to hospital. Not that there was anything they could do for us. Our baby was too small. But I could at least be checked over.
When we were finally seen by a doctor, she concluded that this was a threatened miscarriage, but since I wasn’t in any pain, there was a chance that this pregnancy would continue normally. I was to rest, avoid exercise and if the pain or bleeding increased, I should return to hospital. With that, we were sent home.
I haven’t thought about those hours for a long time and it hurts to recollect the fearful minutes and hours of that time, that time when everything was unknown and everything was black. I learned that I can’t take anything for granted. Ever. Nothing is certain.