What it feels like to be pregnant after loss.

TRIGGER WARNING: Please be aware that this post contains potentially distressing information.

I'M PREGNANT. (YAY!) It's been two years since I've been able to say that to myself. And a further three years since I very first said it. Each time, the words have been laden with very different emotions; a rollercoaster of peaks and troughs ranging from blissful anticipation to a sense of foreboding and dread. I know I'm not alone in this: every twitter feed or forum conversation I read from women expecting a 'rainbow baby' starts the same way.

But, before we get to that, let's return to 2013 when naive and hopeful Gina first fell pregnant, all by herself (well, obvs with the help of Husb but, you know, by actually having delightful and delicious sex rather than the far less delightful IVF).

August 2013 - the day we first tested positive

I'M PREGNANT. "Can this really be true - for once something's gone right!" I exclaimed. Having always been convinced that I am not blessed with great luck, I was astonished that, at the age of 39, something had finally come relatively easy to me. "THANK GOD" I rejoiced. "We've nailed it". Yes, of course I worried about miscarriage but I had no reason to think that it would or should happen to me - I was healthy, I was happy, I was pregnant!

For 11 and a half blissful weeks I allowed myself to put bad thoughts behind me and focus on our happy secret. Our first wedding anniversary approached and would have coincided with our 12 week scan. We duly arranged a lunch for both sets of parents, when we'd planned to unveil our news.

Of course the lunch never happened. Suddenly I just knew I wasn't pregnant any more, despite my maternity hospital telling me that symptoms come and go and not to worry. A few days later, the bleeding followed along with the devastation but, it's fair to assume that because I'd fallen pregnant and I'd held a pregnancy for all that time... perhaps falling a second time wouldn't be an issue. We still had hope, a loving marriage  and a huge support network to carry us through. If you've been reading my blog, you'll know what happened next: fast-forward exactly three years (almost to the day of our first pregnancy)...

August 2013 - the day we tested positive again

I'M PREGNANT. IVF Cycle #5 had finally delivered the result we'd hoped for. It was the first cycle where we'd achieved blastocyst embryos - three in fact - one was "near-perfect", the other, "very good quality" and the third became a reasonable-looking day 6 blast. We'd got into the habit of taking a holiday after every embryo transfer - to kick-start us into relaxation mode and cocoon ourselves away from outside pressures. Off to Majorca went we, spending the days lounging at the beach in glorious life-affirming sunshine and the nights watching sunsets and then lulling into an early, progesterone-induced slumber (and then waking up again in the small hours to nestle into Husb's arms and watch the Rio Olympics on telly). 

This was the only IVF cycle where I'd felt any sense of confidence - because we had such good quality embs - two on board and one in the freezer. And, I felt pregnant before my test day - I really did! So the morning we finally got our result (I woke up at 2am and tested!) we had moments of elation. FINALLY!!! But, as I tried to drift off to sleep, I remember lying there in the darkness; the happiness quickly turned to angst and I found it hard to switch off my recollection of the cruel fragility that comes with pregnancy. This one was so longed for, with so much effort made - the thought of another loss was just unbearable. "Just because our first pregnancy ended, doesn't mean this one will," said Husb. I tried to convince myself of that, but secretly I (over)analysed EVERY single symptom until I was into my 6th week when, suddenly all the symptoms that had reassured me of my pregnancy's health disappeared overnight. 

It's a subtle thing (and I know that some women don't even know they are pregnant to start with) but, for the second time, I literally knew I wasn't pregnant any more. I called my nurse in a panic. "Don't worry" said she, "unless you see blood there's probably nothing to worry about - symptoms come and go" (sound famiiar?). "Yes, yes, yes, I KNOW all that, but I've had a miscarriage before and I just know...". Two days later the bleeding came again. A coincidence? I think not. Off I went to the sonographer - and, for the second time in our lives, Husb had to witness my empty, unforgiving womb. No sac, no yolk, no baby; the image now indelible on our brains. "A chemical pregnancy" said our consultant "the cruellest thing that could have happened". 

The distress this time felt insurmountable. It's one thing to miscarry when you haven't struggled to get pregnant and have no reason to think you won't again. It's another thing entirely to have spent years having fruitless fertility treatment coupled with unimaginable grief, anguish and shame. Back to square one. Or, in this case, not exactly square one; enough was enough. After the one and only FET we'd ever managed (the third, "reasonable-looking" day 6 blast) it was time to try donor conception.

November 2018 - we've tested positive yet again

I'M PREGNANT. You'll possibly have read my previous post that, within an hour of getting a positive result, I started to feel like things weren't going well. Again, I dropped in to my clinic to see my nurse. "Don't worry" said she, "there's probably nothing to worry about - lots of women get back pain and symptoms do come and go". I tried to reassure myself that this time, of course, the embryo was created with a young woman's egg, not my own sorry effort. I know I should be reassured and, I'm sure my nurse is right, but I've been here before.

In the days since that conversation, my symptoms, to be frank, have been all over the bloody place. Boobs slightly sore at night (coincidence that it's after my progesterone shot?) I'm still freezing (and sneezing) and, the most exciting sign, is that at around 4pm every day I'm overcome with a dizzy, hungover-like nausea and disorientation. I've still had the weird burny back and buttock ache I mentioned - although it's been far less bothersome and frequent - and there have been a few very feint signs of period style cramping. But nothing that has overly concerned me.

My nurse did offer me a series of Beta blood tests - to measure my HCG levels once and then again a few days later - to make sure they were increasing normally. She suggested I go and think about it because a) it was expensive and b) she thought it could possibly add extra stress, unnecessarily. I decided to take her advice and go away although... I admit, the first thing I did was rush to the chemist to by another Clear Blue digital test, with the cunning plan of testing in a few days to see if the 1-2 weeks result from before had upped to 2-3 weeks. (WTF, really? Am I that woman? A dangerous game, I know 😳).

I've been examining why I decided not to take Nurse Mary up on the offer of the test. It wasn't the cost - a couple of hundred quid is a drop in the ocean at this stage. Honestly, I can't really bear to admit it to myself, but I think the reason was this: I am not ready to confirm that our dream is over. We have no back-up plan this time; no frozen embryos and no more cash to 'go again'. This was our last shot. Literally, all our eggs are in one basket.

So here I am, in a different kind of two-week-wait - with my 6 week scan booked in and my fingers very tightly crossed. Even though nothing can prepare you for the emotional shock of seeing that empty womb, my reaction to recent events which, I accept, is totally fuelled by hormones and fear rather than any rational thinking, is all about managing my own expectations by preparing for the worst. And, I'm afraid that it's just the way it's going to be. Many, many other women have trodden this path and shared similar experiences. Pregnancy after loss somehow strips away the early joy I should be feeling. But, until I see a healthy heartbeat and, probably for many months after that, I'll continue to worry. 

If you're reading this and have any good coping strategies to share, then please do - anything to help the unbearable wait until my 6-week scan will be most welcome!

As always, thank you for sticking with me.