My IVF Diary 3 – 11 weeks pregnant (Part 1)

26 Mar

Week 11 – just one more week to go before our 12 week scan. Then we can finally take a breath and share our news.

The week started quietly enough with a real easing of symptoms. As this happened to the day when I was pregnant with my son, for once I am not panicking.

However, by Tuesday, everything changes when I visit the toilet after lunch and find a small amount of pink blood on the tissue. I freak. I tell myself over and over “no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening”.

I make it down the stairs and immediately phone my husband, my heart palpitating and my breath short.

My husband tells me to call the midwife and ring the private scanning company to see if either can get me seen.

I try the midwife first, but she is with another patient and the receptionist advises that I must either go to A&E or phone the gp.

I phone the gp, who fortunately agrees to speak to me on the phone before her afternoon clinic begins.

She tells me that she will ring the Early Pregnancy Unit to see if they can fit me in for an emergency scan and will call me back.

Just 5 minutes later, my phone rings and she advises that no one is answering so she has left a message to call me back.

Knowing that this could mean a longer wait than I can cope with, I phone the centre in Harley Street and they offer me an appointment with a consultant at 4pm.

I phone my husband who agrees, and is already on his way home to take me.

I tell my boss that I need to stop working and put my feet up on the sofa, paralysed with fear until my OH arrives.

When we arrive at the private centre, we sit in the waiting room silently for about 20 minutes until the consultant calls us in.

As we enter, he says “didn’t you have a scan 3 days ago?”. I nod. “Then why are you here now?”.

I burst into tears and pour out my previous miscarriage and the spotting this afternoon and he looks at me as if I am insane.

He offers to have another look on the ultrasound and I climb onto the bed sobbing.

As he places the wand over my belly, I immediately see baby, but no movement or heartbeat motion apparent. Within seconds, he locates the heartbeat and plays the loud thump to me and I take a huge breath.

He takes a look around and insists everything is normal. Baby has grown 8 mm in just 3 days, and he finds no cause for the bleeding.

He completes the scan by saying, “stop worrying, everything is fine and you are making your husband stressed for nothing”. This makes me feel stupid and ridiculed all at once.

I tear up again, make my way to the toilet and spend the next 5 minutes crying, heaving and wretching in private.

The rest of the working week goes relatively smoothly. I am permitted to work from home in case I have any further episodes of spotting or bleeding, but fortunately after the initial scare, everything seems to return to normal.

On the Friday I visit the doctors for my second attempt at a flu jab after they “lost” my previous appointment. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I have always disliked vaccinations…. Seems against my motherly instincts to willingly inflict even the mildest of pain and suffering on any of my children, even when I know it is for a bigger cause. That anxiety has only strengthened since my son contracted ITP as a result of his MMR booster jab.

However, I give myself a talking to and remind my head that the very real risk of impending flu must be more dangerous than the risk of the jab. Doctors wouldn’t fund every pregnant woman to have a jab if they thought it would cause harm, so get a grip and get on with it.

The jab itself is over swiftly and I am out of the doctors surgery as quickly as I entered, however, fairly shortly afterwards I develop a gruesome headache and stiff neck which persists until bedtime.

By Saturday I was feeling back to my ordinary self, headache banished. My wonderful hubby kindly took my son to a children’s party to allow me a few hours to myself. I lounged about the house until he returned and then dragged myself out to watch Oscar at his swimming lesson.

That evening, I made a passing comment to my husband before going to bed. “Just 1 more day until we hit 12 weeks…. Let’s hope for an uneventful day and a good scan on Monday. The pessimist in me has a terrible feeling that something awful will happen to snatch this away from us just before we get there”.

Little did I know just how true these words would be.

At 2am on Sunday morning I awoke to a feeling of wetness down below. At first I thought I had peed myself. I touched the material with my finger and it left my finger clean. Unconcerned, I lay still wondering what to do next, then I noticed that my butt felt wet too. “Weird” I thought. At this point I stood up to sort myself out and blood gushed down my legs and onto the carpet. The sofa, where I had nodded off was also covered in blood.

I screamed for my husband and stood frozen to the floor, blood continuing to run.

My husband arrived at breakneck speed still half asleep. I couldn’t speak, I simply whimpered at him helplessly. He ordered me into the kitchen so I wouldn’t damage the carpet any further and ran to grab a towel. He told me not to panic and that we were going to hospital.

My poor son, awoken by my screams was now standing by his gate rubbing his eyes looking bemused. My husband threw a coat on him, threw the towel at me and ushered us out to the car. He drove to the hospital as fast as he could, me in the front hysterical, and Oscar in the back asking a million questions about what was happening.

When we arrived at A&E, I climbed out of the car and felt another huge gush and froze to the spot wailing.

My husband ran into the reception and called for assistance. Shortly after, a paramedic emerged with a wheelchair and pushed me into the reception while my husband booked me in. I sat there crying and whimpering. The paramedic told me to calm down and stop crying as it would upset my son. I tried to hush, but the emotion was raw and could not be contained.

Within minutes, I was wheeled into a cubicle in A&E and for once, nurses surrounded me immediately, taking details, laying new sheets and pads, observing my blood pressure and reviewing my blood loss.

Since my parents were away in Somerset, my husband ran outside to phone his family and was finally able to reach someone to collect my son and take him away. All the while my little man sat beside me, playing Angry Birds, and occasionally squeezing my hand and saying “Don’t worry mummy, I’ll look after you”.

I smiled at my son, whilst fresh tears streamed down my cheeks and I lay in shock at the horror that was taking place.

Shortly after, my husband returned to take Oscar outside to be collected.

As I lay alone in the room, a nurse entered to take my blood and insert a fluid drip. She asked me to hold out my arm, but by this time, the shock had overwhelmed me and I was seized by dizziness, shaking and fatigue. It was all I could do just to keep my eyes open. Sensing my lack of consciousness, the nurse roughly grabbed my arm, hastily tied a tourniquet and slapped the back of my hand to insert the cannula.

My body felt cold, I shivered and shook all over, and I surrendered to the urge to blackout.

Moments later, my husband returned by my side, and squeezed my hand. My eyes glazed, I looked at him and could only mouth the words… “I’m so sorry, I don’t understand”.

We sat, in stunned silence, awaiting further instructions, surrounded by the restless sounds of A&E: the moaning of the drunk man opposite, the snoring of the old lady in the cubicle next to him, and the shouting of the mentally ill man next door refusing help.

So it was with some relief that the porter arrived to transfer me to the Emergency Assessment Unit just a short time later. At least then I would get some peace to collect my thoughts….. Or not. As they wheeled me into the ward, I could already hear the thunderous snoring of the patient next to me.

By now it was at least 4am, and I had been awake for hours with nothing to eat or drink. Despite being on an IV drip, I was developing quite a thirst. I asked for some water to drink, but the nurse refused, stating that I must wait until the Obstretrician has examined me and decided next steps.

Ironically, I was now bursting for a pee. The IV drip obviously hydrating me despite my current thirst. The nurse bought a bed pan into the cubicle and assisted me onto it, waiting while I emptied my bladder. Ordinarily, this would have been embarrassing, but in my shocked and painful state, I neither had the strength, nor presence of mind to care about the indignity.

Once I returned to my bed, the nurse inspected the contents of bed pan (I now realise this was to search for clots and pregnancy tissue) and scuttled off shortly thereafter.

My hubby and I waited, mute for a while longer until the obstetrician arrived. She asked me to repeat the sequence of events and then explained that she needed to examine me to see what was happening inside. After prodding my belly a few times, she conducted an agonising internal examination which left me writhing and screaming on the bed until she finally stopped. She looked at me matter of factly and said “it doesn’t look good, there is at least 20 ml of fresh blood inside and your cervix is opening, so it is very likely you are miscarrying but only a scan will be able to offer a conclusive diagnosis, I’ll book you in, but the department doesn’t open until lunchtime at the weekends”.

I wept hopelessly, stating “I don’t understand why this is happening, I saw my baby 5 days ago and it was absolutely fine”.

“I don’t know, these things happen, but don’t blame yourself, it isn’t your fault”.

“I DON’T BLAME MYSELF!” I hissed at her furiously, “I just don’t understand why this has happened to us”.

“When this is over, you can try again and you are still more likely to be successful”.

“No we can’t, this was our last IVF, I can’t afford to go through it again”.

“I’m sorry Mrs Roche. Take care, you will be taken down for a scan when they are ready for you”.

As she left, I grasped my husband’s hand and repeated “I’m so sorry” over and over. His eyes full of tears, he held me and said “stop apologising, it’s not your fault. It’s just so unfair”.

To be continued…………

Post Comment Love

6 Responses to “My IVF Diary 3 – 11 weeks pregnant (Part 1)”

  1. Debra March 28, 2014 at 10:09 am #

    Feeling for you and your husband and sending only good wishes x

  2. pigeonpairandme March 28, 2014 at 7:04 pm #

    What an awful thing to have to go through. I read this with tears in my eyes – I really feel for you.

    • ferreroroche123 March 28, 2014 at 7:41 pm #

      Thank you for your thoughts. It was the most terrifying experience at the time. But part 2 will be up next week with what happened.

  3. Victoria Welton (@VicWelton) March 28, 2014 at 11:08 pm #

    Crikey Moses gorgeous, you really have been through the mill and back. Because I sort of know, I look forward to next week’s installment but this really is one rollercoaster ride of a pregnancy. Thank you for linking to PoCoLo x

  4. PODcast (@The_Doves) April 1, 2014 at 7:31 pm #

    Oh my goodness Nicola, just been reading this with the biggest lump in my throat. I’m presuming as there’s a part two the ending is more positive. I really really hope so. Gosh what a dreadful time you’ve been having, I’m keeping everything crossed for you and I hope you’re alright. Happy to take photos whenever you like 🙂

    Your Silent Sunday photo post is lovely btw x

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