My life has been marred by hospitals, operations and medication. I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis aged 14, and had emergency colorectal surgery to remove my large bowel when I was 18. I had been so poorly for several years prior to the surgery that it’s fair to say it saved my life. I then lived with a stoma bag for two years before having a reversal, where it was replaced by an internal pouch.

If only I knew what lay ahead, I would have been kinder to myself.

Given my complex medical history, it wasn’t a surprise when we struggled to get pregnant in the early days. We began a process with the NHS and started ovulation stimulation. I found those early stages hard emotionally as I had an expectation that, once I started some sort of medical process, I would be ok. If only I knew what lay ahead, I would have been kinder to myself.

Getting more and more frustrated with how slow the NHS process was, we moved to private fertility care in September 2018. We got cracking with two rounds of ovulation simulation and one round of IUI, but neither worked. On paper, I appeared to be the “perfect” candidate for IVF as I was still young, so we moved onto that. I had my first egg collection in January 2019, and we ended up with three “Day 5 blastocysts”. They chose the best quality embryo, and I had a “fresh” transfer five days after my first egg collection.

I clearly remember the day I went for a blood test to get the pregnancy result, and the nurse calling us into the room to give us the positive news. However, it was not to be, as it resulted in a chemical pregnancy. We were devastated. I continued to push away close friends, who felt like they were reproducing at a rate of knots around me, with many now on to baby number two.

We had two further embryos from the first egg collection, so we decided to go ahead with a frozen cycle. I was feeling positive. However, both embryos failed to thaw. It felt cruel and left me very angry. We very quickly went back in for another egg collection as I remained desperate to “get it done”. This one resulted in two embryos. We slightly tweaked the protocol a little, but both embryos failed to take.

We were going to be blessed with identical twins. However, at eight weeks, the doctor couldn’t find either heartbeat. I felt empty.

We decided to go again, this time adding in additional immune therapy and planning to do PGS (pre-genetic screening). Off I went for my third egg collection, now on the highest dose of follicle-stimulating hormone I was allowed. The first egg collection resulted in only one embryo, which we decided not to genetically test as the cost was prohibitive. That resulted in another failed transfer. From the next egg collection – our fourth – we ended up with three good embryos, which were all sent off for PGS. The results came back showing we had only one normal embryo, but when we had the frozen transfer in January 2020 it worked. We were finally pregnant, and not just a chemical pregnancy. We were over the moon. Finally, after all this time, our hard work had paid off. We had an early six-week scan and there were two little embryos! We were going to be blessed with identical twins. However, at eight weeks, the doctor couldn’t find either heartbeat. I felt empty.

By now it was the start of March 2020 and Covid hit. Lockdown came at a good time for us, which I know is an unpopular thing to say, but to have time to connect as a couple without outside noise for a few months was exactly what we needed. At the same time, I reached out to a friend who recommended acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). I found a brilliant woman and we started our sessions over FaceTime. She was amazing and really allowed me to be sad and angry, and validated all my feelings. She guided me through a grieving process without me really know I was doing it. She gave me tools to understand my feelings, accept them and try to find a way of moving through. I learnt more about how to deal with adversity in my sessions with her than ever before and I’m very grateful for that.

My husband and I had several months to grieve, and we talked about how to move forward with trying to have a family. We researched adoption and lined up some open evenings. At the same time, I looked at other IVF clinics, and we decided to have an initial consultation with one doctor. She blew us away. The detail she provided and the screening she wanted for us was extensive. She really listened to the history, and requested all my test and lab results so she could tailor a treatment plan to us. We came away thinking that if it didn’t work with her then it wouldn’t work with any doctor!

We discussed a very thorough plan which would involve batch egg collections and sending all resulting embryos off for PGS, while ensuring my womb was the best environment it could be. The clinic identified that I had a hydrosalpinx on the right tube and in January 2021 I had a small procedure where that tube was sealed off. Meanwhile, we had received great news that my egg collections had resulted in four genetically normal embryos. It was the best news ever.

Taking all the medication under the sun, we transferred the embryo on 18th May, 2021. The odds appeared to be in our favour, having done everything possible. We did the pregnancy test at home. I crept behind my husband as he tentatively walked down the hallway and peeked on the bathroom shelf where I’d put the test, and a faint line had appeared. We were pregnant! And this time it was for real. We cried a lot.

We were so lucky. But this story is full of “howevers”.

The pregnancy that followed was uneventful. I had additional growth scans due to my previous bowel surgery but nothing too abnormal. I was booked in for a C-section and on 25th January, 2022, Billy came into our lives. The miracle had arrived. Every baby is precious, but Billy seems to have a capital “P”.

We enjoy Billy so much; he remains the love of our lives. Given we had three more genetically normal embryos, we decided to go for another transfer in September 2023. Using the same protocol as Billy, it worked again. We were so lucky. But this story is full of “howevers”. I suffered a miscarriage at 10 weeks, following a subchorionic haematoma.

The loss was brutal and tough on my body. My husband and I took a few months to recover and sought some couples counselling. The woman we saw was really helpful. It allowed us to discuss how we were coping as individuals, as well as a couple, and accepting those differences between us. She also helped us make the decision on whether to go again, which we did in May 2024.

The transfer worked again, and everything was going really well with the pregnancy. Every scan was normal, and I was being well looked after by the consultants and the midwife team. However, with no warning signs, there was no heartbeat at my 20-week scan. We couldn’t believe it. Surely not again.

As the miscarriage was so late this time, I was caught by specialist bereavement midwifery care and the consultants to manage the aftercare. Both were amazing. I had several tests to work out what had happened, and it wasn’t super clear, but we’ve deduced that there was a potential blood flow issue causing the placenta to not develop correctly. It’s been a very difficult few months and I have had to dig deeper than I’d ever hoped I would have to go. Billy doesn’t realise the job he has done to help us through. He’s an absolute miracle and I’m grateful every single day for him.

I am learning to accept what has happened to us over the past few years. I grieve for all the losses, with equal weight.

We have sought more external help and support. I even went on a solo wellness retreat for three days around the time of the due date. I am learning to accept what has happened to us over the past few years. I grieve for all the losses, with equal weight. I am coming to terms with our family as it is now. I won’t be doing any more IVF as it’s too much for me and for us. The counterbalance to grief can be a beautiful thing. It can bring a sense of peace and acceptance. That’s how I’m choosing to manage it, and I am living my life again.

In May of 2023 we conceived first time, not expecting anything and I discovered I was pregnant the day before our flight to our honeymoon which just couldn’t have been more textbook perfect.

I wanted to show him the positive so we went to some pharmacies….but none of them came back positive.

I told my husband on our first full day while we were on the beach but the test had run out of battery. I wanted to show him the positive so we went to some pharmacies over the next few days but none of them came back positive. A few nights later I woke up in the night in excruciating pain with lots of blood and that was that. G&T on the beach was consumed and we enjoyed the rest of our holiday while trying to process what happened.

Some time passed and it became clear we really wanted this and within 4 months, another positive.

at 9 weeks I was told the baby hadn’t grown since about 7.5 weeks

This time I was cautious of what could happen but I looked after myself, continued training at the gym and getting excited. I booked in an early scan as there was no way I could wait until 12 weeks so at 9 weeks I was told the baby hadn’t grown since about 7.5 weeks. This was as crushing as you’d expect except what followed felt almost worse.

3 weeks after finding out, and 5 since baby stopped growing, I was able to take meds at home.

My body wasn’t letting go and the NHS wanted a scan, then another scan to confirm, and then to wait before actioning anything in case it happened naturally. So, about 3 weeks after finding out, and 5 since baby stopped growing, I was able to take meds at home. These worked, which after hearing stories from others I was grateful for, but the impact this whole experience caused was colossal.

I couldn’t have done it without the TWGGEF Community

These losses plus a following year of unexplained infertility and lots of non-answers from tests, left bitter and confused tastes in our mouths but equally, opened our eyes to this new world, navigating these feelings, the healthcare system and resonating with all the unfortunate members of this girl gang.

I couldn’t have done it without you Bex & Laura and the TWGGEF Community! And will continue to need you no doubt… Thank you for everything.

Although completely shocked, we were overwhelmed with excitement. We were about to become a family of 6!

My story started on the 6th September 2024 when we found out we were pregnant. This was my third pregnancy, and we were excited to find out our family would be growing by one more.

I’d previously had two high risk pregnancy, as I had multiple blood clots in my leg and lungs in my first pregnancy, after our booking appointment we were scheduled to meet a consultant before our 12-week scan. It was at that appointment that we discovered we were expecting twins. Although completely shocked we were overwhelmed with excitement. We were about to become a family of 6!

At our 12-week scan our sonographer confirmed that our babies were growing perfectly. The sonographer said she could see a fibroid, which alarmed me as I had no previous knowledge of having any. During the scan I was in a bit of pain, which the sonographer picked up on. The discomfort was in my abdomen and in my lower back on my left. The sonographer thought it might be my kidneys so scanned that area, but everything looked ok. We left the hospital after taking some bloods for screening and I was still feeling some pain, so I had a nap for a few hours. When I woke up, I went to the toilet and was really alarmed to see I was lightly bleeding. I automatically thought the worst, but monitored the bleed for the rest of the evening and it appeared to reduce to spotting.

The next morning my stomach was really sore, and I was still bleeding on and off, so I called the midwives, and I was advised to go to A & E. Imagine my complete shock when, whilst being checked in, I was turned away because I was not yet 16 weeks. I explained that the midwife told me I should go to A & E, but I was told I was given the wrong information. I was directed to complete a referral online for the EPAU. Even though the form said I’d be contacted within 24 hours, I waited in the hospital, hopeful I’d be called in. I wasn’t. After a few hours, I took myself directly to the department, desperate to be seen. I explained that I had a scan the day before and had experienced a bleed, but I was turned away and told to return in the morning.

I felt like a number, not a human being.

All I could do was silently cry. I was stunned and confused. Did my twins not matter to them? I returned home and was called by the EPAU in response to the referral I had completed online. I was told that I could no longer come in the next morning as they would not scan me for another week. They said that if the pain and bleeding continued, I should return to A & E. There was no compassion, no concern, and no reassurance. We were fortunate enough to be blessed with a private scan that evening, which helped to settle my concerns, but I couldn’t get over being turned away. I felt like a number, not a human being.

The reassurance from the private scan, made us relax a little and we decided to share the news with our children. It took them a while to process that we were expecting twins, but they were so excited. It was such a special moment.

Despite having a rough first three months, battling with extreme nausea and sickness, I exhaled when I reached the second trimester. All the symptoms began to subside and I was enjoying experiencing the twins move from quite early on. I thought we were safe. I was still in pain, which seemed to increase as time went on. I thought that the pain was down to the weight of the pregnancy. Although, I had previously been pregnant, everything bout this pregnancy was so different. I had never carried twins before.

Due to previously going into labour before 37 weeks I was told my cervix would be measured at around 16 weeks. At the internal scan we were reassured that my cervix was fine, and the sonographer didn’t believe that it would need to be checked again. But we had an appointment the following week we were told by our specialist twin consultant that my cervix was borderline short, and I was prescribed Cyclogest.

As our babies grew, and their movements became more frequent the pain began to get more intense and became more frequent. I decide to buy a pregnancy belt to help relieve some of the pressure, but it didn’t seem to help at all. It was now December; we were counting down to our final Christmas as a family of four. We also had our 20-week scan booked for Christmas Eve. We were so excited with the prospect of telling our children the gender of our new babies as a special Christmas gift.

A week after seeing the consultant, I found myself admitted to the labour ward with extreme pain. I couldn’t walk, and the pain took my breath away. The twins were scanned, and their heartbeats were checked. They were perfect. Blood tests were done and a vaginal check and swab of my cervix. The doctor told me the pain was muscular. I had been given codeine, but the pain had not subsided at all. I was discharged and let the hospital still in so much pain. I was told to manage the pain with codeine, but I decided to keep my feet up as that was the only relieve that I had.

Less than 5 days later, on the 16^th December 2024 I went into spontaneous labour at home. Our first son came out abruptly whilst I was on the toilet. He came out breathing and moving. I called an ambulance who did the best they could to resuscitate him, but he died moments later. I was taken to the hospital, and I begged the doctors to save our other baby. I began to haemorrhage, and I had 2 units of blood transfused. My cervix was checked and the doctor let me know that I was miscarrying. I began to contract and 3 hours after delivering our first son at home, I delivered our second son. He arrived in his sac.

Even though this loss has been the most painful and traumatic experience of my life, I have decided that our sons’ lives, and story cannot be in vain.

I lost 2 beautiful baby boys at 19 weeks and 3 days. I was and still am completely heartbroken. We named our sons Micaiah and Isaiah. I realised that even though I had been pregnant before there was still so much I did not know about pregnancy. Although, I knew about first trimester loss and still birth and had no knowledge of second trimester loss. I also did now know that 24 weeks was when a life is legally considered viable. Even though this loss has been the most painful and traumatic experiences of my life, I have decided that our sons’ lives, and story cannot be in vain. I am going to do my best to share and bring awareness to second trimester loss and twin loss. My hope is that even if one woman’s pregnancy outcome will be changed, their short lives will potentially save another.

There are so many things that we are not made aware of and it’s important that we ask questions and ask for clarity where our care is concerned. My experience during this pregnancy has left me feeling that I have little hope and trust in the NHS with my maternal care. There have been many instances during each of my pregnancies where I have felt ignored, dismissed and not heard by the professionals who were responsible for my health and the care of my babies. It is really heartbreaking to know that a lot of these losses are preventable.

I was foolishly confident that I was out of the miscarriage ‘danger zone’.

I was pleasantly surprised, as an anxious person, at the positive test after 3 months of trying. I was nauseous and dizzy in my first trimester, which looking back, I feel was probably an early sign that things weren’t going well. We had our first ultrasound at 12 weeks. I was again pleasantly surprised when we saw a heartbeat and we were told that the baby was growing well. We had told our families prior to the ultrasound, but afterwards we finally told my friends and work, foolishly confident that I was out of the miscarriage “danger zone.”

My obstetrician wanted me to wait until 13 weeks to have the NIPT done so one week later, when I was officially in my 2nd trimester, I got the results as I was falling asleep. At first, I could not believe what I was seeing. I ran to scholarly articles about the accuracy of the NIPT for down syndrome. When evidence wasn’t enough, I turned to reddit to see if I could find stories of false positives. Everything I read indicated that false positives were rare, but I thought, “I will do whatever it takes to support my son.” I told my husband when he got into bed and he knew immediately he wanted to terminate. I was surprised and conflicted at how quickly and confidently he had made that decision. I stayed up the rest of the night researching outcomes. And crying. I wanted this child deeply, but I was so scared for what his future would look like, and for what it meant for my marriage.

This was not just a matter of doing everything I could for my child.

The following day I called a mentor who was also a mother. We talked about what it would mean to have a child with a significant disability. This conversation forced me to think about support, finances, resentment, and what would happen if either of us died, especially me. We have no family nearby and financially being a stay-at-home mum would never be an option. This was not just a matter of doing everything I could for my child. That night my husband and I talked further and we decided that if the diagnosis was confirmed that we would most likely terminate. However, the following night I was looking at images from his ultrasound and saw something that I hadn’t noticed before. I sent the image to my OB for her input, but I knew with absolute certainty that it was a cystic hygroma, that our son had trisomy 21, and that it would most likely be a severe form.

Because I was 14 weeks when we received the NIPT results I had to wait two tortuous weeks for the amniocentesis. The appointment started with genetic counselling followed by an anatomy ultrasound. As the tech completed the imaging, I saw the large cystic hygroma swallowing his neck. My husband later told me that he could feel how wrong things were by the way the tech and I were acting even though she barely spoke. The doctor then came into the room, sat down, and said, “I don’t like what I’m seeing. I can tell your child has down syndrome just from the ultrasound. You know the children that you see with down syndrome walking around? That won’t be your child.”

“I woke up in recovery, and I could feel that his weight was gone.”

The ultrasound had shown a large cystic hygroma, echogenic bowel, echogenic right kidney, and pyelectasis in the echogenic left kidney. They were unable to get a good image of the heart and lungs. We did not pursue amniocentesis and chose instead to do genetic testing after the termination. My D&E was scheduled for 1 week after the ultrasound on October 16, 2024. When I woke up in recovery, I could feel that his weight was gone. It was a whole new depth of grief and guilt that I had never felt before.

No amount of running, journaling, yoga, therapy, or trips to Europe will ‘fix’ me.

Several months later it still feels like my breath has been knocked out of me and no matter how deeply I breathe I can’t catch it again. I have realised that no amount of running, journaling, yoga, therapy, trips to Europe will ‘fix’ me. I am broken and always will be scarred. But I also recognise that parts of me will come back stronger, and already have. I am a better healthcare provider than I was before, and a more conscientious and communicative partner in my marriage.

I share my story because during my TFMR I felt like no one truly understood what I was going through. I felt isolated despite heroic support from my family and friends. If just one person reads this and finds similarities in our pain, then that is one person that may feel seen in their heartbreaking journey through TFMR.

And for my baby in the sky, James, I also share this story for you.

We couldn’t find the words to express our happiness in October when we found out we were pregnant, 2 months after getting married. This was our first pregnancy so naturally some anxieties were there.

…the whole pregnancy so far, I had no reason to think anything was wrong.

My symptoms didn’t seem as bad as some of my friends so I thought I was quite lucky. We decided to book an early private scan which was when I was 6w6d, the scan gave us mixed feelings, the reassurance that everything was in the right place, however, we were told we measured at 5w6d and had a chorionic bump. The sonographer suggested we return in 2 weeks if we wanted. I left feeling deflated and immediately booked a scan for in 14 days’ time and tried my best to put it to the back of my head for those 2 weeks.

Scan day arrived and the first question we were asked “have you had any bleeding or cramping?” No, I hadn’t, the whole pregnancy so far, I had no reason to think anything was wrong. The scan went on for what felt like a lifetime and the silence was deafening, until I was told to get dressed and the sonographer’s assistant was going to make a call.

We were told there has been no growth and we were being referred to the EPU. We were asked if we wanted to see the screen and said yes, so we were shown the screen and I was completely and utterly shocked at what I saw compared to the first scan, the whole area now looked like it was filled with lots of small holes – I remember asking what it was and the sonographer saying it’s cystic tissue. I was so shocked at how much had grown, so quickly. I don’t think this is an image that I will ever forget.

My heart broke because in that moment, I knew, everything I had googled, was now my reality.

I spent the night crying and googling anything to search images that matched what I had seen and came across one which said molar pregnancy – something I had never heard of, I read some more and thought, this can’t be it, I don’t fall into the high-risk categories.

The next day at the EPU, I was taken for my blood pressure and the nurse said “you’re here for a partial molar pregnancy, is that right?” My heart broke because in that moment, I knew, everything I had googled, was now my reality. I broke down and went back to my husband and just said “it’s a molar”.

The scan then confirmed it and we were told it is likely a partial molar, then, in one sentence the consultant went from saying sorry for the loss, to the rare occurrence of a molar, to the potential of cancer. I was a mess at this point, we were given the option to go home and come back tomorrow or wait to speak to a doctor. There was no way I was going home so we were taken to a small quiet room and waited for a Dr, who brought some leaflets, took my blood pressure and a blood test. My HCG was 176,000 and we were asked to return in 4 days for my pre-op bloods, by then my HCG was >225,000 and my surgery was the next day (5 days after first diagnosis and 6 days after the scan).

10 days post-surgery, I received a call to explain testing was complete and it was a complete molar. My heart broke again. Everything I had read and listened to with partials, was no longer the case. Whilst the follow up is the same, things can be slightly longer and a higher % of requiring further treatment with completed.

I also knew (from my research) that you cannot try to conceive again until you are discharged, something I struggled with the most because it is all totally out of our control now and a waiting game. How can we have gone from being on cloud 9 finding out we were pregnant so soon into married life, to now have this what feels like, a never-ending wait.

I still cannot get my head around molar pregnancies, I have been told time after time, it’s a freak accident – not great when all you want is answers.

15 days after my surgery, I received my first kit and pack from Charing Cross (specialist hospital for Trophoblastic Tumour Screening). I have since had 2 blood tests and am currently waiting for the results from my latest. My drops have been great so far (thank goodness) and I know I am lucky at this point to have experienced such drops compared to some women.

I still cannot get my head around molar pregnancies, I have been told time after time, it’s a freak accident – not great when all you want is answers. There isn’t loads of information around and I found some Facebook groups to be a source of support and guidance.

To anyone reading this, worried, scared, distraught, I feel you, please reach out. It’s an extremely anxiety inducing time, I feel like my life currently is a cycle of waiting and anxiety, waiting for my kit, going for blood tests, waiting for the results, waiting for my next kit. I’ve also felt quite lonely, only a very small number of people around me (4) have heard of a molar pregnancy, and people don’t really fully understand the torment that comes alongside. I am remaining hopeful that I will not require chemotherapy and my HCG continues to drop in the way that it has, but I know this isn’t a given until we reach “normal” which is less than 5 and then we are discharged following a few extra weeks of confirmatory bloods to check levels remain normal.

I am spending my time currently doing lots of walking, eating well and having regular acupuncture to try and get myself into the best place physically and mentally for when we are discharged.

PS The image used is from Stephanie as her little flower corner brought me some light in the darkness at that time!

I never imagined how incredibly difficult it would be facing a miscarriage, until I’ve now had to experience it myself.

For 5 months myself and my husband had been trying to start a family. A shared dream that meant everything to us. The day that we finally saw that positive symbol on the at home pregnancy test was all our hopes and wishes come true, with the further 3 positive tests carried out to further confirm it.  With the greatest excitement I started the process of booking our first midwife appointment.

Just 5 short days after that initial positive test I started to bleed.  In a state of absolute distress and desperation I phoned my GP surgery which was still open to be immediately turned away and asked to phone NHS 24.  After being triaged by a nurse they gave advice to phone the maternity department at our local hospital. Who took details but advised the Early Pregnancy Unit was closed and that I would receive a phone call from them to following morning.  In the meantime, I was to put on a pad and if any worsening symptoms I could access A&E.  Since my bleeding started it was approximately 16hrs until I finally came face-to-face with a health professional and investigations were commenced. I can’t describe the level of distress and anguish during those long hours we waited.

Although I had my husband at my side, he was still trying to be optimistic and hold onto to the hope that everything would be okay.  Whereas I knew in my gut that I was likely losing our baby.  A sleepless night spent bleeding and knowing there was nothing I could do about it. The questions that kept circling round my mind were ‘what did I do wrong’ and ‘what is wrong with my body’ that I was unable to nurture this little life. It was my job to grow and keep our baby safe, I failed that role before it even truly began.

It was called into question by the nurse whether I had even been pregnant in the first instance.

We were seen promptly the next morning by the Early Pregnancy Unit when it finally opened. It felt like some horrible nightmare when we went into the ultrasound and they told me that they couldn’t find anything. I was in a complete daze and state of shock as we went from getting ultrasound scan to going into the specialist nurse.  The first question I was asked was ‘what did they tell you from the scan?’.  Something I thought that surely the staff could have communicated about before I went in.  Instead with the deepest pain I echoed the words I had been from the scan that they ‘couldn’t find an embryo’. It was called into question by the nurse whether I had even been pregnant in the first instance.  Which immediately made me feel like all this trauma I was experiencing was invalid. I knew that I had been pregnant, that I had felt that little life growing inside of me. After I defensively told them that we did 4 home pregnancy tests all of which were positive and that I could show them the photos, they conceded that a false positive was unlikely.

A blood test was fun taken to determine my Human Chorionic Gonadotropin (hCG) levels and I was told that I would be phoned later that day to advise of the results and to make a plan from there.  But then within that very same conversation I was suddenly being offered leaflets about miscarriage and a memory box.  How on earth did the conversation go from it being called into question whether I had even been pregnant, to getting a blood test taken (which I didn’t even have the results back from) to being given information on miscarriage?!  It was an inappropriate time to be given that information and I was in no state psychologically to receive it.

How could I possibly flush away or bin that little life that meant everything to us?

The bloods confirmed what I had known I was 3-4 weeks pregnant. I was asked to return 48hrs later for a further blood test to confirm that my hCG levels had dropped and that the pregnancy was over. During the course of that time, I was consumed with grief and horror of continuing to bleed and then seeing what I believed to be our baby.  I had absolutely no idea what to do.  How could I possibly flush away or bin that little life that meant everything to us. This was something we were left alone to try to cope with.

When we returned to the hospital 2 days later, I expected to be seen by the specialist nurse again. Instead, she brusquely asked if we were waiting for an appointment and it was another member of staff who eventually saw us.  It was apparent from their upbeat manner of the member of staff that they had no idea that we were there to confirm that I had experienced a miscarriage.  It was over the phone that I then had the confirmation that my hCG levels were no longer detectable and that it was a complete miscarriage.  I didn’t even have the opportunity to be face-to-face to get those results and to be able to ask the questions that I had finally had the time to form. Instead, it was just a voice over the phone and what felt like a generic consolation that they would try to get me in for an early scan if I did get pregnant again.

…it’s become a norm that such devastating news of a confirmed miscarriage is provided in such an impersonal way over a phone call.

Over that course of the time period that I miscarried, I received 2 letters from the NHS one for the Midwife and another for an obstetrician appointment for what would have been my first scan. I was beside myself that I would now have to face phoning these services to cancel these appointments and explain that I’d had a miscarriage.

I felt so let down and angry that within our healthcare system that it’s become a norm that such devastating news of a confirmed miscarriage is provided in such an impersonal way over a phone call.  That miscarriage is seen as being so common and routine, that you are provided with such generic empty words of consolidation and some leaflets in your hand. To then have to relive that loss in your time of grief when presented with letters for maternity and obstetrician appointments you now no longer need.

Our whole world changed the instant that we discovered our baby will not make it into our arms.  This loss carved a deep wound within me, presenting a challenge that I had never been prepared for. The emotional toll became an overshadowing cloud, casting doubt and despair over what should have been a time of excitement and hope. I found myself in a spiral of grief, trying to reconcile my desire to start a family with the heartbreak of this unfulfilled dream. The initial shock of the miscarriage was followed by a profound sense of isolation. As myself and my husband grieved and handled this experience very differently.

Small changes within healthcare practice….could have helped to relieve the additional pain caused by our miscarriage.

The loss experienced through miscarriage shouldn’t be minimised or medicalised.  Small changes within healthcare practice such as information at the right time and at minimum the opportunity for a face-to-face to receive the confirmation of the miscarriage, would have made us feel like our loss was acknowledged and that we were treated with due sensitivity, empathy and compassion.  Having a more efficient system of cancelling and preventing the provision midwife and obstetrician appointment letters after miscarriage or staff informing services users that letters may have already been mailed, however, no actions will be required from the service user as these will be automatically cancelled. All these steps, could have helped to relieve the additional pain caused by receiving these in the post after our miscarriage.

Mango is my fur baby. She is almost two years old. She is the most beautiful and sensitive wee soul and, as is typical of cocker spaniels, an adorable level of bonkers.

But then suddenly Mango’s vibes changed. She went off her food and started avoiding me

Shortly after my husband and I returned from holiday she was glued to me. She has always been uber cuddly, but this was a level above. Stuck to me like Velcro. A few weeks later I had a positive pregnancy test. Mango had known we had brought back more than just souvenirs from our holiday!

We had only been trying for a month, so we were excited but a little taken aback at how quickly things had moved. Everything seemed fine for the next six weeks. Sore boobs? Check. Almost constant nausea? Check. Craving for unusual food? Check (for me, it was Marmite!) We were all very much immersed in the pregnancy vibes.

But then suddenly Mango’s vibes changed. She went off her food and started avoiding me. If I sat down on the sofa, she jumped off. If my husband went out the room, she went too. She almost seemed relieved when he came home.

Shortly after, my vibes changed too. My nausea eased and something just felt different in myself. But I reassured myself that pregnancy is a period of perpetual change, and that I was moving toward the second trimester.

By this point, we had only told a handful of people on a need-to-know basis. We decided to go for a private scan at around 11 weeks, so we could make the big announcement to families. We had bought Mango a bandana which said ‘I’m going to be a big Sister June 2025’ so she could join in the announcement.

I went in ready and expecting to hear my baby’s heartbeat and see them wiggling… in hindsight I feel like such a naive idiot! Sadly, too many TWGGE members know what happens next and how it feels. The silence. The wavy indistinct image. The baby smaller than expected (9 weeks). “Sorry I can’t detect a heartbeat”. I hope it’s ok, but that’s a tale for another time. This is Mango’s story.

Absolutely distraught. we made our way home to Mango. As all dog owners know, coming through the front door is the best moment of their dog’s day and she was thrilled to see us… but she just couldn’t read the room. She proceeded to entertain us with the world’s most zoomiest zoomies, throwing her toys around and begging for attention, yapping at us to play with her, while I sobbed on the sofa.

She wasn’t aggressive, but she would follow my husband around. He was the focus of her attention and cuddles now

Over the next few days, she continued to avoid me. She wasn’t aggressive, but she would follow my husband around. He was the focus of her attention and cuddles now. Finally, we all knew what she already knew. There was something wrong. The baby she had sensed growing inside me had reached the end of its journey and she had sensed that too, and this change in my smell or hormones unsettled her. I had to accept her behaviour, even though I craved her puppy love more than ever.

Once in bed, she tucked her nose under the duvet near my tummy, but immediately pulled away like she couldn’t bear to be near my belly. My husband noticed this, and he could also see how distraught I was having no cuddles from my little therapy dog. So, when he wasn’t cuddling me, he spent the next few days sitting alone in the armchair, meaning that I was Mango’s only option for sofa cuddles.
Eventually, she relented and settled for my strokes and could obviously tell I was sad. Tentatively, she started to give me attention, sitting by my side while I made crafts, letting me hold her in my arms, licking my tears… mmmm tasty.

…while sobbing and being cradled by my husband I felt a little nose under my elbow. It was Mango.

The day came for my surgical management. Before we set off to the hospital, I sat on the sofa and decided to look at my baby’s scan photos for the first time. I wanted to look at them while I knew that they were still with me. It was so very hard, but while sobbing and being cradled by my husband I felt a little nose under my elbow. It was Mango. She wiggled herself in and placed her head right on my belly. We sat there for 15 minutes, the three of us saying goodbye to Papaya – the nickname for my baby in-utero, which has now stuck as their forever name. Mango knew this was the time to say goodbye to the wee playmate she never knew, but had sensed all along.

As I said, this is Mango’s story not mine, so I will save my journey through the NHS for another day, with a key highlight being serenading my anaesthetist as I was high on drugs, fear, and adrenaline. Anyway, once home it took Mango a while to trust me again. Even now, three months later, I still think she prefers my husband – maybe that’s just my self-loathing brain.

I will also remember my first solo dog walk with Mango after the procedure, when I let her off lead and she pegged it through a field… I sat in the path and cried until she came back looking quizzically at me! I no longer had the confidence with her I had before. Even the slightest set back or wrong behaviour and I freaked. We are getting there though, walk-by-walk, cuddle by cuddle. She is currently wrapped up in a blanket with me on the sofa while I type this, occasionally popping her snout on my keyboard in the hope of a piece of kibble.

I shall always treasure the image of Mango saying goodbye to Papaya.

Maybe she will be glued to me again soon, sensing a wee life inside me. Hopefully, this time, that little puppy sense will lead to a real-life best buddy for her to play with. Although that’s how I picture the future, I shall always treasure the image of Mango saying goodbye to Papaya.
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Ps. I wanted to share Mango’s story, rather than my own, because it’s easier. It lets me keep my emotions slightly at bay. It’s how I deal with the awkward conversations… ‘How are you?’ ‘Oh well I’m not really ok, but let me tell you how Mango is…’ Also, she is so cute I can’t get mad, angry or overwhelmed with her like I do with myself. I hope her story might bring you some healing, a small smile, or even validation if you experienced similar things with your pets. Lots of love to whoever is reading this. You are not alone; Mango sends puppy licks.

My grief felt different to theirs, I felt like I was too ‘ok’ and to some extent still do.

Eight weeks. That is how long it has been since I gave birth to my baby boy Charlie who was stillborn at 35 weeks. In this time, I have scoured the internet and social media for other people who are going through what I am. One part of me hoped that there wasn’t anybody as it meant nobody else had been through this horrific experience, but the other part hoped there would be someone who somewhat understood me.

It was very bittersweet when I found so many online communities for baby loss. There was a lot of women who had come together to share their journeys and grief. But after reading through, I still felt like I didn’t fit in. My grief felt different to theirs, I felt like I was too ‘ok’ and to some extent still do. I found a lot of people were still struggling with their loss or losses months or years later, whilst others were on a focused journey to get pregnant again as quick as possible. I was neither of these, and I’m hoping by sharing my story I can give a different perspective and help someone else feel less alone. Losing a baby is the most lonely and isolating experience I have ever been through, so when I then felt I didn’t fit into the group that I should, everything stung just that little bit more.

I’ll start my story at the beginning of my journey to motherhood. In August 2022 my daughter was born after what I would call a simple and easy pregnancy. It had taken us almost a year to fall pregnant, which felt like forever at the time. Like most people, I thought you got pregnant, passed the 12-week mark and came home with your baby. This experience just solidified these thoughts. So, when I fell pregnant again in May 2024, I was ecstatic, and once we passed the 12-week mark I was excited to share the news with all of our family and friends. Again, I had what I would call an easy pregnancy. We found out we were having a boy and were overjoyed that we would have one of each. We couldn’t agree on any names but other than this everything was great. Until it wasn’t.

I heard the words nobody wants to hear “I’m sorry but I can’t find your babies heartbeat.”

On the 1st of January I went to bed, slightly concerned that I hadn’t felt my baby boy move that evening. But as I got into bed, I felt his body move and his bum stick out, a usual position for him so I wrongly assumed everything was ok. I now know it was just his body moving as I moved. The following morning, when I was bang on 35 weeks I awoke after having a very vivid dream. In this dream I had been wording out text messages to family, friend and work colleagues telling them we had lost our baby. I still hadn’t felt any actual kicks at this point, and in my gut I just knew. I knew our boy was gone but I didn’t want to believe it. I told my husband I needed to go get checked out so off I went to the hospital alone. In a strange way I thought if I went alone, what I was feeling wouldn’t be true and my baby would be fine. But when I got there, I heard the words nobody wants to hear “I’m sorry but I can’t find your babies heartbeat.” In this moment my whole world came crashing down. I was ushered into a side room where a scan confirmed our baby had died, and the midwife called my husband to come and be with me. After being given a lot of information and booklets to read we went home for two days before I went back into the hospital to be induced.

Being in the hospital and going through labour was the most surreal experience. I can’t accurately put into words how I feel about it. I wanted to feel everything, and did most of it without pain relief, only really using it for the last couple of hours. It was the most horrendous yet amazing experience, and it was a privilege to be able to bring my boy into the world that way.
He was born on the 5th of January at 08.48am and weighed 5lb 7oz. We swiftly decided on the name Charlie for him, one of the only names we’d both liked.

These first few hours I held him like any new mum would hold their newborn…

I look back on it now as a time we shared together, another memory to hold on to. I don’t want to dwell too much on my labour, for as I say it was an amazing experience, however there were a few complications that tar it a bit. I had a nasty infection and had to have my placenta removed in theatre almost 6 hours after he was born. Everybody apologised that it took so long for me to go down to theatre, but I am thankful that it did. I got to spend the most precious time with Charlie after he was born whilst he was soft, warm and looked like he was sleeping. I’d have missed out on some of this time had there not been that wait. These first few hours I held him like any new mum would hold their newborn and showed him off to my mum and mother-in-law. We were all in awe of how perfect he was.

Before I move on to afterwards, I just want to touch on the care I received during my pregnancy and birth. I have nothing but positive words for everyone involved. I have found in my journey since having Charlie the majority of people feel they have been failed by the health care system and the people involved in their care. My community midwife has seen me through both pregnancies and has been nothing short of amazing. I was booked in on time for all my antenatal appointments, and was always told if I had any worries or wanted to be seen more often to just let her know and she’d fit me in. If I ever had any concerns my texts were answered promptly, and I was seen within the next day or two when needed. I always felt she truly cared about the care she gave and has continued to give since Charlie was born. I will always be grateful for the care she has shown and it gives me faith should we go on to have any more children that me and my baby will be well looked after. The midwives in the hospital also all treated me with care and respect. I was treated like any other new mum, and they all greeted my baby like any other newborn, commenting on how beautiful he was. I will forever be indebted to everyone involved in my care for making the worst time in my life slightly more bearable. People say thank you, but I often wonder if midwives truly understand the positive impact they have on the lives of people like me.

It made me wonder; did I love my baby enough? I now know I did and still do. I love him with everything I have.

I mentioned at the start that I felt like I didn’t fit into the baby loss community due to how I was in the days and weeks after Charlie died. Everyone I spoke to seemed consumed with grief or focused on another baby. I was neither of these. In the first few days after Charlie was born I was incredibly sad and lost, I didn’t want to do anything or get out of bed, but I did. I managed to function, get out of the house and make myself eat. I went for a walk every day and still do. The fact that I was doing this made me feel guilty that I wasn’t ‘sad’ enough. Not like the other mums I had spoken to and read about who spend days holed up inside their house avoiding everyone. It made me wonder; did I love my baby enough? I now know I did and still do. I love him with everything I have.

Whilst I might not be dealing with it the same as other people, that my way isn’t wrong either. I’m not broken.

After the first few days had passed from him being born, the crying lessened, and after about 2 weeks I was able to have happy moments and laugh again. I’d feel happy then guilty that I’d been able to smile when my baby was dead. Other people were telling me months down the line they were still overcome with sadness every day. I felt like I was broken. I wasn’t acting like I should be. I was able to openly speak about Charlie, his life and death from the off without shedding a tear. Again, others were telling me they couldn’t even speak their babies name for months without welling up.

I have only recently come to accept that we all grieve differently, and whilst I might not be dealing with it the same as other people, that my way isn’t wrong either. I’m not broken. I love my baby. I know Charlie wouldn’t want me to be locked in the house, overwhelmed with sadness every day. He would want me to be positive, enjoying nature and treasuring the short time we had together.

I’m not a medical professional but I knew something wasn’t right

The saying mother knows best has always been something I’ve attached myself to, as my own mother always knows best. In my situation I knew something was wrong but was made to feel like I was just an anxious first-time mum. I had a very turbulent pregnancy and visited the EPU a couple of times due to bleeding, and was found to have a subchorionic hematoma

On Tuesday 23rd January I had pain in my lower bump, and was being violently sick, struggling to keep down any fluids. At around 11pm I noticed I was bleeding. We went straight to emergency gynaecology and I explained my symptoms and they asked me to do a urine sample. I explained the pain and that I was bleeding and the sickness was different to the sickness I had previously. Due to the serve dehydration, I was unable to provide much of a sample. The Dr came back and explained I had signs of a potential infection and that they would give me antibiotics to treat it. I again explained about the bleeding and how the pain was different from a UTI. The Drs response “I’m 99.9% sure that your baby is ok and the blood isn’t coming from the baby and it’s because of the infection”. I was sent home to rest and take the antibiotics. I’m not a medical professional but I knew something wasn’t right but I felt I was wasting their time, especially being told by another member of staff that most first-time mums are anxious. My mum wanted me to stay in and be monitored but she didn’t want to undermine the staff on the ward.

A year on I can’t stop seeing that image and feeling so scared and helpless. I was on my own

The next evening the pain became a lot worse, my partner was working away in Italy so I was on my own. I didn’t want to bother anyone after being told everything was ok and it was normal to be anxious. That night after trying to soothe the pain with a bath at 12.30 I felt a pop and I thought I had wet myself, within minutes my little baby was born on my bathroom floor. Our baby was alive when born but due to how early it was, stopped moving and breathing within minutes.

A year on I can’t stop seeing that image and feeling so scared and helpless. I was on my own, unable to get to my phone. I just screamed for help hoping a neighbour would hear me. I finally managed to crawl to my phone holding my baby who was still attached by the cord. I was able to call my parents and then 999. My mum with the guidance of the call handler helped me deliver the after birth, there was a lot of blood. I continued to lose blood and felt very weak. An ambulance couldn’t get to us as there was a wait, so my dad had to drive us to the hospital 30 minutes away. I walked into A&E with my baby in a towel still losing blood.

We have had 6 months grieving our little boy, we were told by professionals our baby was a boy.

We were told that I had given birth to a baby boy. We called him Archie, had a funeral for him, his memorial is in the name of Archie and we have grieved a little boy. Having waited 6 months already I had to chase information on the post mortem as I was told it would be around 12 weeks (I fully understand the strain on the NHS and knew it might be a little longer). It wasn’t until I had the courage to go to my first group support session with the bereavement midwife that she managed to push this. She informed me the results were returned a number of weeks prior and I should have been contacted. On top of that, the results show that Archie was in fact a little girl. We have had 6 months grieving our little boy, we were told by professionals our baby was a boy. We had named him Archie you can’t just flip a switch to change that.

I’m almost a year on and despite counselling through the amazing charity Petals (NHS wait was too long) and going back to work and putting on that brave face for everyone, I still sob every day. I relive that moment on my own every day. The outcome may not have been different but if they had listened to me and my mother’s instinct something was wrong, maybe I would not have been alone. I, like many other women have been let down because not enough is done to support women’s health. More needs to be done. 1 in 4 is too high of a statistic and realistically it’s probably higher.

It is a word that cannot be understood without experiencing its cruelty.

Whilst I had heard the term miscarriage, I never really understood the true significance of the devastating physical and emotional pain it has on an individual. Now having gone through my experience, I understand why people do not talk about it. It is painful. It is lonely. It is frightening to navigate. It is a word that cannot be understood without experiencing its cruelty.

On Saturday 29th April 2023, not long after our dating scan, I was awoken in the early hours by what I can only describe as waves of pain that intensified minute by minute. As the pain increased, blood followed. Not truly understanding what was happening, I called 111. They advised me to visit A&E due to a potential miscarriage.

I stood, but could not move. I knew my baby was being held from the ground by my clothes.

Upon arrival, I was directed to remain in the waiting area. As time passed, my condition significantly deteriorated and I was in a tremendous amount of pain and very distressed. I was also heavily bleeding which was obvious and becoming uncomfortable to all those around. I wailed in pain, pleading for help, as I felt like I needed to push. My partner visited the front desk 3 times to discuss possible pain relief and after 70minutes I miscarried which coincided with my name being called by triage. Shock hit me like a wave. Though it was chaotic around me, I heard nothing. I stood, but could not move. I knew my baby was being held from the ground by my clothes.

A nurse asked me to sit down, but knowing something large and warm was in my underwear, I trembled I couldn’t. The nurse then walked me through A&E to the nearest toilet. Whilst being in the toilet, I held the sac with the fetus inside, in its complete entirety, not knowing what to do. I looked outside for the nurse but she had gone. I waited, holding the warm sac in my hands, knowing I had lost our baby. When the nurse turned up, I asked her what to do and she came back with a container.

I then returned to triage, still soaked in blood. I waited for a consultant who examined me with my partner’s phone torch as she didn’t have the appropriate equipment. She was short and abrupt and told me my cervix was still closed and hopefully the baby would be ok, despite already passing the full sac. After I explained I had passed the sac in its entirety, she said ‘no baby, you will need to do a pregnancy test in three weeks and if it’s positive ring this number’ and she handed me the early pregnancy unit contact details and left. Soon after, a nurse asked to take my bloods. These were done and I was moved to a small area. My phone rang around 20 minutes later – my partner answered and it was the gynaecologist saying my bloods were fine and we could go home. As I was walking out, I saw the nurse who I had handed over the sac/foetus to. I asked her what we should do with the foetus. She said we could send it for testing but … and then she shrugged her shoulders. I never saw our baby after that. To this day, I regret not walking out with our baby. That haunts me.

The EPU were extremely empathetic and could see how affected I was by this traumatic experience.

Days later, I was still experiencing pain, so I rang the early pregnancy unit for advice. They examined me, and told me the placenta had not been passed and spoke through my options. Having shown the nurse a photograph of the sac/baby, the nurse explained that I had a labour like experience as my cervix would have had to dilate for my body to have passed the sac in its entirety, which is why I was in a huge amount of pain. The EPU were extremely empathetic and could see how affected I was by this traumatic experience.

I wouldn’t wish for anyone else to experience what I experienced. It has taken time for me to be able to talk about this, and I believe that whilst we never completely get over our grief, brighter days come when we can talk about our experiences together. We should never feel alone.

Related podcast episode

S8 E32 : First Trimester Loss, Finding your Tribe, and Supporting the Miscarriage and Baby Loss Community

Resources

*Tommy’s miscarriage statistics