Finding Strength in Community: My Journey Through Loss and IVF
I’d naively assumed that the road to parenthood would be straightforward for us. That’s what society prepares you for, and I’d seen that play out with friends and family. Three years down the line I feel like a different person. I have a lot more knowledge about women’s health, a whole new dictionary’s worth of jargon and acronyms, and a feeling of desperation rather than hope.
Our first pregnancy came quickly – 3 months of trying and we got the positive test. We felt so lucky. A little bit cautious, but nothing gave us a reason to suspect anything would go wrong, so we shared the news at Christmas time. This would be my parents’ first grandchild, a cousin for our little niece on my husband’s side. Everyone was so excited.
I desperately tried to understand what was happening to me as I writhed in pain in my bed
Blood tests came back normal; my first midwife appointment went well. So, when we went for our first scan, I wasn’t really prepared to hear the words ‘it’s bad news’. At that appointment I learned about anembryonic pregnancy – where the foetus doesn’t develop properly but the gestational sac keeps growing. Your body thinks that you are pregnant, but there is no embryo. I had to have vaginal pessaries to remove ‘the remains of the pregnancy’ and was told to go home and rest. I was not told about the debilitating pain, the contractions I would feel and the quantity of blood there would be. I read about those things on online forums as I desperately tried to understand what was happening to me as I writhed in pain in my bed. The lack of knowledge around miscarriage is incredible when you learn how common it is.
After 12 weeks of bleeding, several follow up appointments, a lot of tears and confusion, we got the all clear from the doctor that everything was ‘normal’. They told us it was bad luck, a very common occurrence and that we should just try again. We told ourselves the same thing, just bad luck, and tried to move on.
A few months later we were back at hospital. What I had thought was my period, was actually another miscarriage. It started around the same time as my period, lasted a few days, then the bleeding stopped, only to start again a couple of days later. By then I felt extreme exhaustion, just a tiredness like nothing else, and developed pain when I peed – I thought I had a UTI. At the hospital we found out it was an ectopic pregnancy, not viable, in my left fallopian tube. It seemed like my body was miscarrying itself this time, but there was a risk the tube could rupture. I had to go back to the hospital every 48 hours for 10 days for a blood test to ensure that my HCG level was going down. If it went up, I’d need medical intervention, and potentially surgery. Luckily that didn’t happen for us, but the bleeding again lasted a couple of months, and the feeling of loss hit even harder the second time.
There were posters on the walls about the benefits of breastfeeding and what vaccines to get your baby.
At the hospital where I was treated, there was no specific area for pregnancy loss patients. Every time I had to sit in triage, then go to the maternity ward and sit in a waiting room surrounded by women with big baby bumps. I saw newborn babies in their mothers’ arms getting wheeled down the corridor as I waited. There were posters on the walls about the benefits of breastfeeding and what vaccines to get your baby. Even as the doctors there told me that 1 in 4 pregnancies end in loss, there seemed to be not a thought for the feelings of the mothers who are going through such terrible pain and loss.
A couple of months later, I started to feel really desperate. Before discovering TWGGEF I think I was trying really hard to avoid my feelings. I latched on to the words I’d heard so many times: ‘at least it was early’ … ‘there was no embryo’ … ‘it’s just bad luck. Next time it will happen’. But now, after connecting with so many of the warriors in TWGGEF I can see how damaging those words are. What was meant to serve as a comfort for me, actually just delayed the suffering. By trying to minimize the pain, I felt like I didn’t deserve to be so sad. And with no outlet for my grief, I was really struggling. It’s only when I sought out support that I realised how much suffering I’d been through. Hearing other women’s stories, and connecting with people who’d been through similar heartbreak was so validating. I understood finally that I had to let those feelings in, and grieve what we had lost.
Fast forward a year or so, and the feeling of ‘it will happen’ was really starting to dwindle. I was finding it really tough to live in this constant monthly cycle of hoping, wondering and waiting. I’d tried everything we could think of: a cocktail of supplements, speaking to specialists, changing my diet, doing more sports, doing less sports, acupuncture. I went through a hysterosalpingography and a hysteroscopy, I had so many blood tests and internal scans I’ve lost count and still we had no answers for why we weren’t getting pregnant or staying pregnant.
People seem to think IVF = baby, and give little thought to how gruelling the process can be.
Out of desperation, we turned to IVF. It felt frustrating when we didn’t have a reason why we weren’t conceiving naturally, but our doctor said it was a way of reducing some risk factors and having a bit more control. I was pleased to be doing something different, but dreading the toll it would take on my body and on my mind. Strangely, family and friends seemed to be really pleased for us. There are still a lot of misconceptions around IVF and its success rates, but people seem to think IVF = baby, and give little thought to how gruelling the process can be.
The process for the egg collection went relatively smoothly, though I had 4 different injections to do each day. After all we had been through to this point, it felt like no big deal to be honest. We were lucky in that we got multiple embryos, though I wasn’t able to do a fresh transfer because of a risk of OHSS. We froze what we had and waited to do the transfers. Fast forward another six months, more injections, more medications, more money to the clinic and we’ve sadly used up all our embryos and have no pregnancy to show for it. With every loss, a part of me felt like it was being chipped away. I had to take some time off work as I wasn’t coping. People were loving and supportive and caring and sorry and none of it mattered. None of it took away the sadness. Frustratingly we still are no closer to getting any answers either. It’s hard to think about next steps but I am determined to not stop yet.
The fundraiser gave me an outlet to share my story and I’m so pleased I did
I joined the TWGGEF Run 10k to raise 10k fundraiser in January, mostly because of the mind-blowing fact that in 2025, the topic of baby loss is still a taboo. It breaks my heart that women today feel isolated and ashamed when they experience loss, because they haven’t ever heard anyone openly speak about it. That was my experience for sure. I felt a sense of duty to open up about what I’d been through – if I wasn’t prepared to speak honestly about it, how would anything ever change?
The fundraiser gave me an outlet to share my story and I’m so pleased I did. The conversations that came from it, and the messages of support and the donations I received were incredible. I shared the JustGiving page at work and my company matched a portion of my total. Colleagues and friends joined me to complete the 10k despite the TERRIBLE weather we had that weekend. The WhatsApp community was a beacon of positivity and encouragement. Only good things came from my decision to be honest.
I wish I could finish this post with my happy ending, but I’m not there yet. I’m sure a lot of you reading this can relate. So instead, I’ll leave you with wise TWGGEF words that always make me feel a tiny bit better on the darkest days. You are not alone. Your grief is valid. You can do hard things.
Sending love and strength to you all.
Caroline x
