Day Zero

Life changes, fast. One minute you have a head full of "ooh the garden needs weeding" and "Stupid drunk Big Tim has blocked our car in again" and the next it's "my baby has died." Tuesday nights pessary was like any other: and hour (ok, maybe an hour and a half) in bed with Cruise TV and an ice lolly. Then, going for my post-pessary wee I did my usual over-zealous wipe and scrutinisation to be confronted with pink. Tiny pink dots I checked the pad, and found a few more tiny pink dots. My rational brain whispered "it's fine, you just scratched your bits - chillax woman," but the pregnant part of my brain screamed "it's over - your baby is dead." After a melt down I managed to calm myself and called the clinic. They did the usual "it's absolutely nothing to worry about, we will call you tomorrow, just relax." I did as I was told and relaxed, and it worked. The next morning I felt loads better but they offered us a scan at 11.30 and who was I to refuse such an offer. Mr P was white as a sheet, I was cool as a cucumber. All I could think was about the statistics of people who get to keep their baby after seeing the heartbeat at 7 weeks and I couldn't wait to see my baby. In fact I felt lucky being able to see Him so early: he has a name - Bubba. The transvaginal scan was like a million others I have had: the silence, then the bad news. Normally it's about a cyst, fibroid, fluid. This time it was about a very tiny black circle. No heartbeat. No fetal pole. No yolk. No baby. At 6w6d there should be something, but there is nothing. Just a black hole that has sucked in everything around it and destroyed life. Mr P just things Bubba is being lazy and when we have our "proper" scan next week everything will be fine. But Mr P hasn't got a PHD in Dr Google. He hasn't spent the last five years obsessively reading about infertility. Thirteen years ago on September the 17th I lost a baby: I thought it was a late miscarriage at the time, but I now realise it was probably a chemical pregnancy. It doesn't mean it hurts less.