I will hold my hands up and acknowledge that I was totally unprepared for and naïve about the realities of pregnancy. I was so ready to be a Mum and couldn’t wait to be pregnant. I was looking forward to having the pregnancy ‘glow’, the cravings (I really hoped it would be something sweet), looking stylish in maternity clothes and the thing I was most looking forward to.....having big boobs for the first time in my life. However I soon realised these were all things I had wanted to believe to be true and had therefore willingly envisioned this ‘perfect’ pregnancy. I never felt the ‘glow’, I believe this to in fact be the sweaty result of the hot flushes. Maternity clothes turned out to be quite expensive so I lived in leggings and vest tops just in a larger size and…my busty dream was shattered as I didn’t even go up a cup size!
Jokes aside, the moment I found out I was pregnant I was elated and loved this tiny thing inside of me so much that it hurt. I vowed to do everything I could to protect our baby and ensure he/she arrived safely. So a week later when I started bleeding the panic immediately set in. I was (quite bluntly) told by a male doctor over the phone that it was likely to be the beginning of a miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy, both of which I would need a scan to confirm but as it was six’o’clock in the evening, scanning departments were closed so I would have to wait until tomorrow. Great. My husband and I spent the evening holding each other in silence as we struggled to contemplate the thought that we could be losing our baby. The following day after a scan I was reassured that everything was ok and they believed the bleeding was caused by the changing hormones. Phew!
The following week the ‘morning’ sickness began. I told myself this was ok, it’s a common symptom of pregnancy and from what I had heard it would clear up around the end of the first trimester. My biggest mistake was to believe this is what would happen and it was in fact the sickness that became the downfall of my pregnancy experience.
First of all it wasn’t ‘morning’ sickness for me. It was all day every day from the minute I woke up. I was being sick at least every 20 minutes for periods of over 36 hours. I had trips to A&E as I couldn’t keep down water, let alone any food. When I had my twelve week scan and I was weighed, I was lighter than I had been before becoming pregnant. After my first trip to A&E I was put on medication to help control the sickness. It worked for a few days but then it started all over again. Another trip to see a Doctor who prescribed me a different type of medication, this one didn’t even touch it! My 30th birthday evening was spent in A&E (Happy birthday Mummy!) I was once again prescribed another medication, however I was told that this was as strong as it could get and if it failed, I would be in hospital on a drip. I was only nine weeks pregnant at this point. Thank goodness it worked. However as it was so strong, I was only prescribed three weeks at a time. I then had to wait and see if I could continue without the medication. I was unable to do so until I was nearly 30 weeks pregnant.
Those first nine weeks were horrific, I doubted my own strength and couldn’t see how I could possibly make it through the next thirty one weeks. I worked 40 hours a week in a children’s nursery, a job I absolutely love but it was so draining whilst being that ill. Alongside my job I was also working my way through my final year of a six year degree with The Open University. For the first time in those six years I was having to request extensions on my assignments. There were some times I was so drained I would end up crawling into the bathroom and afterwards I would curl up on the floor as I knew I would be back again in a few minutes and I just didn’t have the energy to keep going backwards and forwards! I was just exhausted.
However, it wasn’t just the physical impact that it had, it was also emotionally draining. Every morning, the second I opened my eyes I would be hit with the pang of nausea. I would know before I had even got out of bed that it wasn’t going to be a good day. This would leave me with a serious lack of motivation to get up and face the day! I was constantly worried about the impact this would all have on the baby. If I couldn’t keep down any food or water was the baby not getting what it needed? I also felt very lonely. I didn’t know anyone who had experienced this so didn’t have someone to talk to who truly understood what was happening. I even had someone say to me, “I know you feel ill but do try and enjoy this magical experience”! ‘Feel’ ill?? ‘Magical experience’?? Cue….THE GUILT. I felt guilty that I wasn’t enjoying my pregnancy as much as I should. I felt guilty that it might appear that I wasn’t grateful for being pregnant when there are others who struggle to get pregnant. I felt guilty that I was letting my baby down as my body wasn't coping as well as it should. I felt guilty that this was also affecting my Husband and his experience as he worried about me and the baby.
Although the medication provided a relief from the sickness for a few weeks it also triggered a lot of anxiety for me. For two weeks I could go about my day and focus on other things. But come the third week when I knew I was near the end of the pack, the anxiety would creep in. The fear that I would be so sick again, even for a short time whilst I sorted another prescription, was too much.
The relief I felt at nearly thirty weeks when I was finally able to stop taking the medication was immense. I felt excited for the last ten weeks and hopeful that I could finally relax and enjoy the rest of my pregnancy. I had a few weeks where I was able to do this (although this is when the heartburn really kicked in!!) I loved the feeling of my little one moving around. I would often lie on the sofa in the evening and play music, the baby loved a dance even back then!
I’d just started my maternity leave when there was a morning that I didn’t feel the baby move. The fear ran through me as I gently nudged my bump in an effort to get some sort of movement. We went to the hospital where I was connected up to a machine. I was soon able to breathe again when movements were detected. It turns out the baby was just having a lie in and clearly didn’t want to be disturbed! The machine also recorded some Braxton hicks that the midwife hinted meant labour was getting close. This was music to my ears. My sister’s wedding was two weeks after my due date, I was desperate for the baby to at least be on time, but slightly early was my hope to ensure I was settled and ready with the new baby for the wedding day.
However as we all know, babies have their own agenda. My due date came and went. Over the next week I had three stretch and sweeps (anyone who has had this done will know it is not a pleasant experience!!) All of them were unsuccessful and every time I was told that my cervix was too posterior and therefore they couldn’t reach to actually do the sweep. I left the hospital each time in tears and so deflated as the end still felt so far away. I was also being monitored that week as I’d had some symptoms of pre-eclampsia, something that could be hereditary and as it was something my Nan had had the midwives wanted to keep an eye on the situation. Once again I feared things were going to go wrong.
It was at the fourth stretch and sweep that things took a turn, but for the wrong reasons. I can remember being seen first by a student midwife and that it took her a while to detect the heartbeat. When she had found it a senior midwife came in to do the procedure. I was once again told that my cervix was very posterior. The midwife was confused as at eight days overdue she said it shouldn’t be that high. She asked if she could examine my bump and listen to the heart beat. I can remember catching my husband’s eye as he sat across the room. I could see on his face that he also sensed there was something wrong. It was then that the midwife told us she suspected the baby was breech and we urgently needed to get to the main hospital to have a scan. I couldn’t believe it, nothing was going as it ‘should’ in this pregnancy.
Isn’t it crazy how we can beat ourselves up about things but if it was someone else going through the same thing we would tell them it wasn’t their fault? As I’ve been writing this, the guilt and feeling of failure hits me all over again. I should have enjoyed my pregnancy more. I should have been more grateful for being pregnant. Why couldn’t my body cope? I should have noticed that something wasn’t right and that my baby was breached. Although I still feel these emotions, my head is in a better place as I am now able to recognise that this pressure and guilt that I put on myself is stupid. No on should be expected to get through pregnancy without any struggles. I’m not a doctor or a midwife, I should not expect myself to have known everything about what was happening. Just because I struggled through my pregnancy, this does not mean I wasn’t grateful.
Although the thought of another pregnancy is daunting for me, if/when this was to happen I feel I would be more prepared to face any difficulties that may come my way.