More Bleeding

Saturday 12th March

I wake on the futon after a delicious sleep. I rub my tummy to say good morning to you. I text your Dad from us to tell him we are missing him. It's been three days since we saw him now. My little nieces are up and smiling. After the eldest is whisked off for her swimming training I slip into the bathroom to get ready.

I sit on the loo and feel something coming out. I wipe and there is a creamy red fluid all over the tissue. I look into the toilet bowl and watch as this same fluid drips out of me. My head swims with confusion and panic. I phone your Dad and sob down the phone to him.

I creep out into the hallway and ask to speak to my sister in law. She has tears in her eyes and knows my pain having suffered a miscarriage herself in her first pregnancy. We drive across London to Chelsea and West Minster hospital. A man is writhing with agony in the waiting room but is being forced to wait his turn.

Eventually they take me through and I have to change into an undignified open backed gown. They take bloods, test urine and then leave me waiting. Finally the Gynie doctor comes, except I can barely believe he is a doctor, he looks about the same age as my nephew. He examines me internally and tells me my womb isn't opening. He says he can't rule out miscarriage but that since the neck of the womb is closed it hasn't already started. I plead for a scan which would conclusively tell me one way or another if you are both still alive. The Sonographer doesn't work weekends and so I have to go to my home hospital on Monday. The doctor tells me to pack heavy absorbency pads for my journey back. In case. It's brutally pragmatic. I hear the doctors in the corridor panicking about lack of bed space and they are ordered to clear people out where possible.

I'm back outside again and in the car driving home trying to change the subject.

Monday seems like light years away.

My heart is telling me things I don't want to hear. Your Dad tells me if I believe you are OK then you will be. I feel like I am failing you by failing to believe that. My heart is whispering my fears.

I make my way home and curl up in bed and catch up on Eastenders.

Sunday 13th March

In the morning I wake and initially I feel fine, well rested, even hopeful. But within moments of moving around a cramping pain starts and on the loo I see spots of blood on the tissue. There's a dull ache in my lower back. I search around the internet as if I may by chance come across my answer.

Then I search for where you are at in your development if you are still there, holding on, 9 weeks now. You have moved from embryo to foetus your joints are in place and your little fingers can open and curl. I lose myself in the thought of your tiny perfect fingers opening and closing.

I don't want to lose you, either of you. It feels like there's a knife in my heart.