Reaching 12 weeks felt like such an achievement. We were safe, nothing could go wrong now that we had past the fearful first trimester and we were most definitely bringing our baby home in September 2020. 

My earlier symptoms of nausea, tender boobs, exhaustion, food aversions, chin spots and headaches had begun to subside by the end of the twelve week. Great I thought, now I can enjoy our second trimester!

It was early March, I’d just celebrated by 30th birthday in Tromsø, Norway, with my husband and came home looking forward to our dating scan that Wednesday. I’d ordered cute little cards for our parents and siblings that said “You’re going to be grandparents/auntie/uncle”, and we had planned time with our closest family and friends that same week to tell them in person that we were having a baby.

I had already what I thought was a solid little bump, though in reality it was more likely just a case of being bloated but to me, that was a sign that our baby was growing strong. And I could no longer button my super skinny jeans.. I couldn’t have been happier!

The afternoon of the scan, I met my husband off the train from work and walked to the hospital, bladder full. We talked about our excitement, reminiscing about those few nights over Christmas that had made this moment possible.

At the hospital, I had my blood test and was ushered into a tiny waiting room filled with mainly heavily pregnant women. The walls were covered with cute baby pictures and new mothers nursing their baby’s. I started to feel really nervous, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It may have been the long 45 minute wait with a bursting bladder or perhaps it was the overwhelming sense of joy I could feel all around me as expectant mums rubbed their swollen bellies and others squealed with excitement whilst clasping their new scan picture. Whatever it was, I was feeling uneasy..

I was called into the room and asked to lay down. I stared up at a seabed of fish drawn on the ceiling and felt the anxiety grow inside of me. My husband was beside me, looking both innocent and nervous as the jelly was applied to my belly.

There, on the big screen, was our beautifully formed baby. She was so still, so silent. It was almost sinister silence, and after a few moments the sonographer turned to us and said the words no expectant parents wants to hear.

“I’m so sorry, there’s no heartbeat”.

My heart shattered into tiny pieces with those six words.

I turned to my husband who held his head in his hands, looking pale and sick. He grabbed my hand as tears spilled from my eyes. I remember the pain etched in my husbands face, too shell-shocked to say anything. Our baby had gone and neither one of us could do or say anything to fix this.

A second doctor came into the room to confirm what we already knew was certain. Our baby had died not long before, I had had a ‘missed-miscarriage’. I never knew this was even a thing.. my baby had died and my body and mind had no idea. There’s something so cruel in that.

We were taken into a side room, left to ourselves to make sense of the news that we were no longer going to be bringing our baby home come September. A nurse joined us after an hour to explain our options, and advised that we would need surgery to remove our baby from my tummy. And with that, we left the hospital.

This part of my story is still so raw for me and writing it is equally as difficult. If you have been affected by miscarriage or loss at any gestation and you need support, please turn to The Miscarriage Association. This is a space that gave me my strength to share my story with others facing a similar trauma and is a place with the most wonderfully supportive group of like-minded people bound together by their stories of loss and hope.

Whilst I’ll go on to write about my experience after loss, for now I want you to remember that no matter what your fertility journey throws at you, you have so much strength and resilience that will see you through.

If you would like to keep reading, you can find my blogs here: www.sprinkleofbabydust.com/blog

Baby dust to all of you.

Love, Sophie xx