Penny’s Story - Part 1

Penny.

Our much loved, cherished and longed for baby. The girl who made us parents.

Yesterday, 7th June, was Penny's 3rd Birthday. Our girl who made us parents, and who showed us utter love and joy. 

I see Penny's story in two parts. It is hard to share Part 1. Some bits might be too much information for some, but I hope it helps people understand what it's like to go through a miscarriage. It's not just a 'heavy period'. Some people won't want to read this, and I understand. 

I also write for those who've experienced their own loss. If this is you - I'm so sorry. I hope by sharing our story it helps you feel seen and understood. More light needs to be shed on pregnancy loss and miscarriage and just how hard and life-altering it is. 

Part 1. The sad thing. 

My pregnancy with Penny was a LONG time in the making. It involves years of trying to conceive naturally, tests, surgeries, IVF and a donor. By the time we received a positive pregnancy test, we had already been through the wringer. It felt like we’d run a hundred marathons just to get to the start line, where everyone else just arrives. We were elated, over the moon, but I also had a feeling I couldn’t shake that it was all too good to be true, and why would this chapter be any easier than the previous ones.

At around seven - eight weeks pregnant with Penny, we had a 'scare'. I thought for sure it was over and we'd lost her. I had covid at the time and I was terrified about how it might effect her. But we went to Emergency. We had to fight for Duncan to be allowed to come into the hospital with me. Covid protocols meant he had to go sit in the car. Eventually after complaining they let him in, but I felt so silly for asking. After many hours waiting, we finally saw her heart beating - she was still there, still alive. Blood tests confirmed all was well. I felt silly for overreacting because the health staff were clearly unworried. 

Everything was fine, until at 13+4 weeks I started to have a couple of very light cramps. Of course, I googled the hell out of it and decided not to overreact. I went to bed and tried not to worry. I woke with what I now realise was my waters breaking, but in my half sleep I thought 'that's not enough 'water', it's probably just usual pregnancy stuff (IYKYK), it's nothing to get worried about'. Later again, I woke up in terrible pain, and realised something was wrong. I woke Duncan to take me to Emergency. We sat for hours in Emergency, watching kids with blood noses go through, a woman with a sore back. Duncan started timing between the cramps, which were horrendously painful by then, and I thought he was being ridiculous - 'this isn't what miscarriage looks like', I thought, 'I don't think there's labour in miscarriage', and 'everything will be fine - this is just another false alarm'.

We asked the nurse triaging people when we might be seen because we thought this might be bad. He said 'you're not losing enough blood to be seen yet. If it gets much worse, let me know.' Mate - surely the horrific pain I was in was a dead giveaway something bad was happening, but he wasn't concerned. He brought out some endone which I declined and gave me panadol instead. 

Eventually we were taken in and I had bloods, and some banter with a doctor, who clearly wasn't worried. After a while (at this stage I think we'd been in ED for about five hours) the pain slowed down and stopped. We were told we'd have to wait a few hours until blood results came back to know what was happening. They also said they couldn't do a scan because everyone was too busy and it's just too hard to get an ultrasound machine down. 

I started to feel relieved, like everything was going to be fine - everything had stopped and no baby had come out, surely this was all fine? I hopped up to go to the bathroom, and our baby arrived. Right there in the ED bathroom. I had to catch her. I remember being absoloutely shocked at that point, and in complete denial - this could NOT be happening. This is NOT happening to us. After everything we'd been through just to get to that point, how could this be happening. I pressed the emergency button and they raced in. I will never forget Duncan's face at that point. I was taken to a bed, where we waited for what seemed like hours, at that point the actual birth was incomplete. I just had to lie there, with a baby half born. Duncan was helpless and terrified. We waited for an obstetrician to be called. Finally she arrived and removed everything including Penny from me, in a dish. 

We were told that the 'uterine contents' would be taken to pathology for testing, and that any remains would be cremated centrally with other remains, perhaps with a little ceremony. If we wanted anything different we needed to tell them quickly. We didn't know what we wanted, we were shocked and heartbroken, and just went with what they offered. I did ask to see the baby, and they brought in the dish, with Penny still inside the sack - we couldn't see her. We didn't know or think to ask if we could take her out, let us  hold her. We let them take her away, and that was it. By this time it was early morning. 

I wish we had known about the Early Pregnancy Unit (if indeed it did even exist then, I'm not sure it did), or about the Fetal Medicine Unit, like ED for pregnant women. But, I didn't know what to ask for, and just went with the flow. In hindsight, I'm not sure how different it would have been. 

I was taken for an internal scan, which was horrific after what had just happened, but I pretended like it was all fine and I was so tough. They decided I needed a D&C. I was finally taken to the Antenatal ward, where I was in a room with a woman who would not. stop. talking. She asked me why I was in and I told her - she just went quiet for a while, before re-commencing the diatribe about her myriad health problems, including why she would never want to have kids and how there's a good side - kids will ruin your life, she said. 

Eventually the OB came back and explained the next steps. She explained what medication I could take to help remove anything further still remaining inside. She explained all sorts of things, but still, no one had said 'miscarriage' or explained what might have happened. I was still in shock, not really clicking with what had happened. Last night I was pregnant. Now all of a sudden I'm just not. Everyone was calm, no one seemed too worried or perturbed about anything so I just behaved myself and did as was expected. 

I sat there the rest of the day and overnight, with Duncan not permitted to remain with me. I barely slept, and had to endure listening to a woman in the room next to me deliver her baby. I'm not sure why she was in the antenatal ward, but I heard the whole thing. I was devastated, grieving our baby, grieving what had been taken away, quietly, without really realising the impact the whole experience at the hospital was having. It's in my programming to 'just suck it up and deal with it. Nothing will break me'. So I did. 

The next morning I was whisked away for the D&C, without Duncan there. It happened so quickly and he couldn't get back to the hospital in time. Again, I just went with it, but I wanted to scream. I woke up with a pristine uterus, just like nothing had happened. I was told we could try again but maybe wait a month or two. 

Finally, that night, I was released to go home. One nurse said how sorry she was and that if I needed to, I should talk to someone. But that was it - no support, no information, no follow up. A few days later I received a missed call and voice message from a doctor saying they couldn't find anything wrong, but I should have a follow up blood test in a couple of weeks. 

Duncan was incredible - he was so gentle and supportive and caring, but he was absolutely heartbroken and grieving too. The hospital staff basically ignored him - no wonder the dads and partners don't speak up when they are struggling, they are met with silence. Where was the support? Where was the information? Where was someone saying 'hey, you've had a miscarriage, this is what it looks like, what happened to you is really tough, and there is support available to both of you'. 

We just pressed on like nothing had happened. Most of our friends and wider family didn't even know I'd been pregnant, we hadn't announced it to many of them yet. So we just cracked on, with shattered hearts, not wanting to rock the boat. I never felt like a mum, I don't think Duncan felt like a dad. It took us weeks to find out the baby's gender, and not until Christmas to decide we wanted to name her. Until then we felt weird, like we were overreacting and being stupid by naming her. How ridiculous! I would've told a loved one and the same position that they should do what felt best for them, and not to worry about anyone else, that what had happened was horrible and difficult and sad. It's crazy, but that's not how we talk to ourselves.  We decided this baby, who is so loved, cherished, longed for, needed to be recognised.

I’d never felt so isolated, unseen, alone and broken as I had in those early days. I felt like I didn’t have a voice, and like I was in a world where all these women must we just walking around feeling the same but keeping it hidden. We were passing like ships in the night - how on earth could so many people feel like this on the inside and outwardly be so fine?!

A couple of months later, we started IVF again, trying to have another baby. It was terrifying, nerve-wracking and stressful. It wasn't exciting like everyone was telling us it was. I look back and realise how brave it actually is to put yourselves back in the breach, completely vulnerable and at the mercy of this happening again. 

Incoming - Part 2. What happened to you was sad, but you will never be a sad thing.