Everything started for us back in January 2018, we decided in the December we’d start trying & found ourselves pregnant after the first month.

I remember being upset but I’d heard miscarriage was common, 1 in 4 & thought that was just our 1.

It was only about a week after finding out that we were pregnant that I started cramping & within 24 hours was miscarrying.It was a bit of a blur at the time, we hadn’t really gotten our heads around being pregnant & what that meant before it was over. I remember being upset but I’d heard miscarriage was common, 1 in 4 & thought that was just our 1.

We got pregnant again a few months later & happily brought our little boy, Theo into the world following a relatively straightforward pregnancy. Just over a year later we decided to try for number 2, we fell pregnant within a couple of months in the first Covid lockdown. I was sick, all the usual first trimester symptoms, we got past that 6-week mark & naively the prior miscarriage was a forgotten blip.

I was just over 10 weeks pregnant & despite not being far from our 12-week scan, I decided to buy my husband a private scan for his birthday, it was the middle of Covid so it seemed like something that would make the day memorable. I lay on the table wondering if I’d managed to fill my bladder enough as I felt so sick I wasn’t drinking much, we were just chatting away as the sonographer put the scan up. I don’t remember exactly how things went after that but I do remember almost feeling like I was being told off, why had I not realised something was wrong, I must have got my dates wrong because the foetus was only 8ish weeks in size. A total lack of compassion & sign posting to an EPU. We were devastated.

We opted for a medical procedure following that. It took a lot longer for me to pass the baby than expected, a few days after the medicine I had these intense cramps and ran to the bathroom, before I could get to the toilet, what I now realised was the baby literally fell out of me on to the floor, the size of a big tampon there on the floor. I stared at it not knowing what to do, then picked it up and flushed it down the loo. No one prepares you for that.

Now we were 1 in 20-100 having a missed miscarriage. Following that we had 2 further early losses at 6-7 weeks. It was the darkest time in my life, we withdrew, it wasn’t hard, we were still in Covid so we could avoid people. We struggled to get any help with the NHS because we already had a child. I just had some blood tests & an ultrasound, when they didn’t find anything (after a possible cancer scare that turned out to be a highly incompetent doctor) we were discharged. I remember asking can I access any mental health support given what we’ve been through & was told there are long waiting lists you should just try going private.

The one thing that has remained true throughout our story is the complete lack of support available to families in these situations. I’ve got to the stage where I think I’m crazy for expecting more. After 4 miscarriages we were now 1 in 100, ticking the recurrent miscarriage box too. We ended up seeing a private doctor who was so brilliant, we are very fortunate that we were able to afford her support & I truly believe we have our 2nd son, William, because of her brilliance. She prescribed us with progesterone pessaries that I have taken in all my subsequent pregnancies and I’ve not miscarried again. I have a feeling that so many women would benefit from this intervention & not have to go through all this pain but it’s not always accessible on the NHS which is devastating. With William, again our pregnancy was relatively straight forwards, we were blessed.

That brings us to last year, it took us a long time to decide whether to try for a 3rd but in March 2024 we made the decision & got pregnant that first month of trying. It all felt too easy, how could this be? I was 38 now, we had so much loss before, surely, we weren’t just going to have another baby because we wanted it. I don’t know why I had that underlying feeling but we had scans at 7 weeks, 10 weeks, 12 weeks, my cervix was checked at 16 weeks & I saw our baby moving around, we were in the safe zone we thought as all our other losses had been before 11 weeks. At 18 weeks I expected to start to feel movement, I knew I had around that point with the boys. It didn’t come, I tried not to freak out, I knew I could have an anterior placenta or maybe my memory was a bit off but by 19 weeks I was preoccupied with the thought that I had a dead baby inside me. We were on holiday in Portugal at the time but the minute we got home I went to pregnancy unit & they listened in. To my disbelief they found a heartbeat & told me “That sounds like a happy healthy baby, you probably have got an anterior placenta, don’t worry, your 20-week scan is only a week away”. My husband wanted to see the baby regardless so we booked a private scan the next day to find out the baby’s sex with the boys as they wouldn’t be able to come to the NHS scan. It was a little girl!

When we left, I looked at the papers, she was <1st percentile on some measurements. That’s when our world started to fall apart.

After the scan the sonographer pulled me aside & asked if the boys had been very small babies. I said not abnormally small; Theo had been 5th percentile but William bigger. She said she wanted to share the results with the midwife as she was concerned. When we left, I looked at the papers, she was <1st percentile on some measurements. That’s when our world started to fall apart.

The NHS would not see us before our scheduled 20-week scan 5 days later. We sat in that waiting room with these happy round bellied women for what felt like forever. I was shaking & crying on the bed as she took the scan, and she said “I agree with the private scan but also the baby’s thorax is the wrong shape. You need to go to foetal medicine.”

We were taken to a private waiting room & ushered out the back door. It took a couple of days to get in to foetal medicine, during this time we had no idea what was going on, what range of outcomes we were looking at from survival & everything is ok to losing the baby. It was a total head f***. Meanwhile trying to pretend to the boys like we were ok & not knowing what to tell them as they grew more excited about having a baby sister. I was so scared to tell the boys, but surprisingly that was one of the easier parts about the whole ordeal.

The foetal medicine appointment was horrendous, we were scanned for over an hour, we didn’t look at the screen, we couldn’t. Eventually they took us into a room & told us what they thought was wrong with our little girl. I can so vividly see the doctor saying to me, “many people would choose to terminate based on these results”. I can see her face, the room, hear those words. The worst moment of my life.

We decided we wanted more certainty so had the amniocentesis the same day & went home. To say that we then felt abandoned at this point is the only way I can describe the next 3 and a bit weeks. I trapped myself inside not wanting anyone to see me & work out I was pregnant, for me to have to tell them I was but things weren’t looking good. We had next to no correspondence from the NHS with the exception of the geneticist calling to explain the tests, then to say she didn’t have Downs’ Syndrome or any of the other more common disorders. We were basically told to contact the midwives when we decided what we were doing- i.e. terminating or looking for palliative care at birth. After 3 weeks & no results we asked for another scan, who knew, perhaps there had been a miracle. The evening before the scan we did get a call from the genetics lab to tell us that the gene they had suspected was fine but they would keep looking for something else. As much as I wanted to suppress it, I had a shred of hope. That was all shattered the next day when the scan revealed she was still tracking very small & it was clear to the doctor she had a form of skeletal issue they just hadn’t pinpointed it yet. Sure enough, we got the call later that day to say they had found the gene & that alongside the scan suggested that the severity of the issue was not compatible with life. I didn’t know it was possible to cry that much.

I had to sign to say, yes you can kill my baby. No one should ever have to do that.

We made the decision that it was in her best interest not to put her through the birth for her to die during or shortly after and that we would go ahead with the termination. A few days later we were booked in. By this point I was over 24 weeks so we would have to have a foeticide, I had to sign to say, yes you can kill my baby. No one should ever have to do that.

2 days later we gave birth to our tiny Georgie. I was so thankful to TWGGEF for the podcasts from others that had been through TFMR. It meant that we did a few personal things such as buying her a little Teddy & taking her a book that we’d read to the boys to read to her etc. and accessed guidance I wasn’t able to find anywhere else nor did the bereavement midwife suggest.

We were a bit scared; how would she look? She was so beautiful & just fit in my hands. The midwife that helped us that day was the most incredible, compassionate woman, thank you Jane for making that day as easy as possible & for really caring for our little girl. I’m crying as I write this.

I’ve had so much anger in my grief, primarily at the lack of emotional or mental health support that has been on offer to us. Apparently, I have been coping too well to access maternal mental health support & numerous charities have either not replied to me or been inaccessible due to the post code of the hospital where Georgie was delivered.

And there we are, one of the 5,000 couples that have a TFMR each year in the UK. There are no statistics for the likelihood of a baby having the gene defect that Georgie had, we’ve finally broken the stats!

I could say so much more but I think I’ve run out of room. Thank you Bex & Laura for all that you are doing to help have our stories heard & improve the care and compassion that women & their families so desperately need. You are incredible. With lots of love x

Nothing quite prepares you for that quiet ultrasound— the one with no rhythmic beating. The silence speaks volumes, and it pierces the heart with profound pain. My ears felt like they were ringing with silence. It was too quiet, and my heart began to sink with anticipation—I knew, before anyone said a word.

“I didn’t feel like a ‘1 in 4’ statistic. I felt like my hopes and dreams didn’t have a heartbeat.”

When the tech finally said: “It looks like it’s too early for a heartbeat.” My heart sank even further–I was almost nine weeks pregnant, but my baby was only 6 weeks. I whispered to my husband “It’s okay,” again and again. But really, I was trying to convince myself. At that moment, I didn’t feel like a “1 in 4” statistic. I felt like my hopes and dreams didn’t have a heartbeat. Speaking with the medical team, I assured them I’d gotten a positive test over a month ago. They called it “suspicious” that my baby had no heartbeat, and was measuring behind, but suggested I may have miscalculated my ovulation date.

I thought, Are they not hearing me? I had a positive test over a month ago. I’ve had this appointment scheduled for over a month. Even if I had miscalculated, a three-week difference is far too much. This wasn’t just “suspicious”—my baby was gone,

I asked what it would be like to miscarry at this stage. Their response was “Call us if you start bleeding.” I felt very unheard and underprepared.  They told me to come back for another ultrasound in 10 days.  I felt like I was losing my mind. Why wasn’t anyone truly talking to me? I just wanted someone to tell me what was going to happen, but the only phrases offered were, “It’s suspicious,” and “we can’t call it a miscarriage yet.”

Those ten days were filled with some of the most intense physical pain I’ve ever experienced. I spent nights hunched over in agony. My husband did everything he could to help, but he felt helpless. I assumed I had passed the baby–there were clear signs of miscarriage.

Ten days later, when I returned for the ultrasound, my baby was still there. A tiny, motionless presence. The baby had grown by just one day, and there was still no heartbeat. A different doctor confirmed the miscarriage was imminent. It felt like a cruel roller coaster—I thought the worst part was over, but it wasn’t.

They asked if I wanted to wait another week. I responded with, “I’m in so much pain. I know the baby is gone. Please help me move this along.” We chose to move forward with medication to help complete the miscarriage. I passed my baby peacefully at home after carrying that pregnancy for ten weeks. We named that pregnancy “Our Little Spark.” Because that’s what it was—a beautiful spark of life.

Two months passed. We were still grieving, but something inside me felt ready to try again. To our surprise, we got pregnant on the first try. The joy of expecting our rainbow baby so soon was indescribable!

But just days later—on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day—I began to notice signs of another miscarriage. It felt like a cruel twist of fate. A few days later, our fears were confirmed—I was miscarrying again, and I couldn’t believe it.

I had experienced a chemical pregnancy five years earlier, and I thought I understood this pain. But this loss, so soon after the last one, cut even deeper. I was incredibly sad. And the postpartum hormone drop magnified that sadness.

My sister was a great source of comfort during this time and she encouraged me to call the doctor’s office and request a blood panel–and I’m so glad she did.

She didn’t dismiss me. She listened and had compassion for my story and that changed everything.

I made the call to the doctor’s office and included symptoms I had been experiencing on and off since the birth of my son. I had been disregarded by other doctors before when I had brought up these symptoms, so I was concerned they were going to be brushed off again. I’ll never forget the nurse who believed me. I told her everything—about my symptoms, and how I believed they were connected to my losses. She didn’t dismiss me. She listened and had compassion for my story and that changed everything.

She spoke to a doctor, and a few hours later, a blood panel was ordered.

The results showed elevated levels of antiphospholipid antibodies—suggesting a possible autoimmune clotting disorder called Antiphospholipid Syndrome (APS). It’s a condition that can increase risk of pregnancy loss at any gestation, and serious clotting events like strokes and heart attacks in otherwise healthy young people.

To confirm the diagnosis, the test needed to be repeated 12 weeks later. I was stunned. I wasn’t sure what I expected, but it wasn’t this.

Those 12 weeks were filled with anxiety. Every day, I lived in fear of a clotting event. I read story after story of people finding out they had APS—some, like me, through recurrent pregnancy loss. Others didn’t find out until after a late-term loss. And some only learned of it after a major clotting event, like a pulmonary embolism or stroke.

I was terrified. Panic attacks came in waves as I waited for that second round of tests. Anyone who’s been through this process knows—those three months can feel like three years.

When the time came, the second tests showed even higher levels of the antibodies—confirming the APS diagnosis. I was referred to a hematologist and was informed that it was possible to carry a pregnancy to term, but I would need to be on daily Lovenox injections (a blood thinner), aspirin, and undergo close monitoring during pregnancy.

We were relieved to have answers, but the reality of managing a chronic condition and having a higher risk pregnancy was overwhelming. Often, there is no explanation for recurrent loss—just the heartbreaking label of “unexplained.” But in my case, there was an explanation. I am so grateful for that gentle push from my sister and that nurse who believed me. I learned that the right nurse will listen. The right doctor will listen. And there is hope with this condition.

There’s an ache in the quiet spaces where a baby should be, and it weighs on our hearts.

We ended up naming our consecutive loss “Our Little Gift.” Not because we’re grateful to have miscarried again—far from it—but because that pregnancy helped uncover something deeper going on. In that way, it gave us a crucial piece of the puzzle.

Now, we move forward with grief in one hand and hope in the other. Sometimes, I still catch myself staring at the empty chair at our dining table. We have a beautiful little family and a son we absolutely adore, but it still feels like someone is missing. There’s an ache in the quiet spaces where a baby should be, and it weighs on our hearts.

We’re now with a medical team that has experience supporting APS pregnancies, and for the first time in a while, I feel seen. They listen, they don’t dismiss, and they genuinely believe my body can do this. That alone has been a game changer. I’m currently on a daily aspirin while I am waiting for a positive pregnancy test. Once I get a positive test, I will be put on blood thinner injections as well.  I’m so grateful for this fresh start—even knowing no one can promise us a rainbow. All I can do is keep holding on to hope: hope that the protocols will work, and hope that one day, we’ll fill that empty chair.

On 29 January 2025 our first baby would have been due. Instead, I was 22 weeks pregnant with their rainbow brother.

I’ve blinked and I’m now 35 weeks pregnant.

Can we talk about the contradiction of grieving a loss whilst pregnant and the absolute brain-f**k it presents?

I already know so much about our rainbow baby. Their name. Their gender. Features of their tiny face. The fact they are a wriggler and love car journeys.

I know we are unbelievably blessed to be in this position and I wouldn’t change it for the world -but can we talk about the contradiction of grieving a loss whilst pregnant and the absolute brain-f**k it presents?

Let me take you back a bit.

I was completely overwhelmed to find I was pregnant in May 2024. Neither my partner or I wanted to call what we were doing ‘trying to conceive’ as we didn’t want to put pressure on ourselves or create disappointment – so it was incredible to see those two blue lines appear.

I could visualise my life as a mother instantly. I’d always known I wanted to be a mother and it was as if my time had come. Everything had fallen into place – or so I thought.

I had the best few weeks, having a wonderful summer. I went to the British Grand Prix and was a bridesmaid at my best friend’s wedding – thinking they were all memories I’d be able to share with our child.

The day before my 12 week dating scan, I started spotting. I’d had a private scan at seven weeks and they’d identified a SCH. After a call to 111, we were told to attend the scan as normal and I convinced myself everything was okay.

Everything was anything but okay as it would turn out. The sonographer found that our baby had died not long after my seven week scan. It was as though the bottom had fallen out of my world. I couldn’t fathom how I had not realised my baby had died. All my precious memories were now tainted by knowing I wasn’t carrying a healthy, growing baby after all. I was living a lie in which I’d failed our baby.

I hate the term ‘missed miscarriage’ because there was no missing what came next. My local Early Pregnancy Clinic did everything they could to support me, but the spontaneous miscarriage that followed not long after was the most traumatic experience of my life. There’s little point beating around the bush! I felt like I was trapped in a nightmare, knowing the outcome with nothing I could do to stop it.

I know that’s ridiculous now – having left a literal trail of blood in my wake!

A week later, after going back to work ‘for some normality’, I suffered a significant bleed caused by retained product. I never knew it was possible to be admitted to A&E as quickly as I was without arriving in an ambulance! I worried the other people awaiting triage might be annoyed with me for jumping the queue! I know that’s ridiculous now – having left a literal trail of blood in my wake! I was fortunate that no issues were found and I was able to continue – and complete – expectant management.

After going from one trauma to another, my brain eventually shut down to the emotion of it all. I couldn’t handle the mass of thoughts, feelings, and reactions – so I didn’t. I became a stoic monolith, deciding I was fine and that was that.

The feeling I couldn’t shake however was that of failure. I had failed to bring that child safely into the world. I felt like I had failed in the primary purpose of being a woman. I had set myself an unspoken goal of having a baby by 30. I was 29 years and 21 days when I lost our baby and I felt like time was ticking away. I couldn’t fail again.

I was fortunate that my period returned promptly, 5 weeks post M-day, and I told my partner I was ready to try again. He tried to talk about whether that was actually true, but I was adamant. He’d coped with the loss by putting all his attention on protecting me, and he didn’t want to cause me any more stress (he’s my hero and forever will be).

We got pregnant again straight away.

There have been a few bumps in the road – a couple of EPC referrals, a fetal medicine consultation – but we’ve hit 35 weeks and baby boy is doing brilliantly.

Physically I’m doing really well, but mentally this second pregnancy has been a challenge.

In some respect, I only started to grieve our angel baby properly in the second half of this rainbow pregnancy.

Everyone around us – family, friends, colleagues, midwives, sonographers, consultants – have treated us so sensitively and offered us buckets of support and care, yet my mind has been going overtime, especially as we approached angel baby’s due date and now as we reach rainbow baby’s due date. In some respect, I only started to grieve our angel baby properly in the second half of this rainbow pregnancy.

I’ve felt grateful for being blessed with a new pregnancy so soon, but guilt that others haven’t been afforded this gift, too.

I’ve felt confusion and doubt as to why our pregnancy experience has been shaped as it has.

I’ve felt joy at seeing our healthy baby on the ultrasound, but anger that we had to experience heartbreak first.

I’ve felt anxiety from knowing anything could go wrong at any time, and annoyance that some parents never have to experience the pain and tainted perspectives caused by baby loss.

I’ve felt panic that our bumps in the road were real issues, but calm that we’ve already overcome the worse once before.

I’ve felt grief that I didn’t have the wonderful experiences I’m having in this pregnancy with my first baby, and shame that not many people even know our first baby existed.

I’ve felt failure I couldn’t carry our first baby, and pride that I’m carrying our second baby.

Ugly feelings, weird feeling, brain-f**k feelings! Grief! If truth be told, I know the extent of my emotional response this time is due to not fully processing what happened last time. And yet, I have felt like my second pregnancy is giving me a chance to grieve and find some peace as I reflect on my first pregnancy.

As I write this, I’m not sure what purpose I want my words to serve. Perhaps to confirm to someone also experiencing the brain-f**k of grief in pregnancy that they are not alone? Perhaps to confess my ugly feelings out loud? Perhaps to admit in public that I am only human and, as hard as I tried to avoid my feelings, succumbing to the brain-f**k has almost been healing?

My life has been marred by hospitals, operations and medication. I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis aged 14, and had emergency colorectal surgery to remove my large bowel when I was 18. I had been so poorly for several years prior to the surgery that it’s fair to say it saved my life. I then lived with a stoma bag for two years before having a reversal, where it was replaced by an internal pouch.

If only I knew what lay ahead, I would have been kinder to myself.

Given my complex medical history, it wasn’t a surprise when we struggled to get pregnant in the early days. We began a process with the NHS and started ovulation stimulation. I found those early stages hard emotionally as I had an expectation that, once I started some sort of medical process, I would be ok. If only I knew what lay ahead, I would have been kinder to myself.

Getting more and more frustrated with how slow the NHS process was, we moved to private fertility care in September 2018. We got cracking with two rounds of ovulation simulation and one round of IUI, but neither worked. On paper, I appeared to be the “perfect” candidate for IVF as I was still young, so we moved onto that. I had my first egg collection in January 2019, and we ended up with three “Day 5 blastocysts”. They chose the best quality embryo, and I had a “fresh” transfer five days after my first egg collection.

I clearly remember the day I went for a blood test to get the pregnancy result, and the nurse calling us into the room to give us the positive news. However, it was not to be, as it resulted in a chemical pregnancy. We were devastated. I continued to push away close friends, who felt like they were reproducing at a rate of knots around me, with many now on to baby number two.

We had two further embryos from the first egg collection, so we decided to go ahead with a frozen cycle. I was feeling positive. However, both embryos failed to thaw. It felt cruel and left me very angry. We very quickly went back in for another egg collection as I remained desperate to “get it done”. This one resulted in two embryos. We slightly tweaked the protocol a little, but both embryos failed to take.

We were going to be blessed with identical twins. However, at eight weeks, the doctor couldn’t find either heartbeat. I felt empty.

We decided to go again, this time adding in additional immune therapy and planning to do PGS (pre-genetic screening). Off I went for my third egg collection, now on the highest dose of follicle-stimulating hormone I was allowed. The first egg collection resulted in only one embryo, which we decided not to genetically test as the cost was prohibitive. That resulted in another failed transfer. From the next egg collection – our fourth – we ended up with three good embryos, which were all sent off for PGS. The results came back showing we had only one normal embryo, but when we had the frozen transfer in January 2020 it worked. We were finally pregnant, and not just a chemical pregnancy. We were over the moon. Finally, after all this time, our hard work had paid off. We had an early six-week scan and there were two little embryos! We were going to be blessed with identical twins. However, at eight weeks, the doctor couldn’t find either heartbeat. I felt empty.

By now it was the start of March 2020 and Covid hit. Lockdown came at a good time for us, which I know is an unpopular thing to say, but to have time to connect as a couple without outside noise for a few months was exactly what we needed. At the same time, I reached out to a friend who recommended acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT). I found a brilliant woman and we started our sessions over FaceTime. She was amazing and really allowed me to be sad and angry, and validated all my feelings. She guided me through a grieving process without me really know I was doing it. She gave me tools to understand my feelings, accept them and try to find a way of moving through. I learnt more about how to deal with adversity in my sessions with her than ever before and I’m very grateful for that.

My husband and I had several months to grieve, and we talked about how to move forward with trying to have a family. We researched adoption and lined up some open evenings. At the same time, I looked at other IVF clinics, and we decided to have an initial consultation with one doctor. She blew us away. The detail she provided and the screening she wanted for us was extensive. She really listened to the history, and requested all my test and lab results so she could tailor a treatment plan to us. We came away thinking that if it didn’t work with her then it wouldn’t work with any doctor!

We discussed a very thorough plan which would involve batch egg collections and sending all resulting embryos off for PGS, while ensuring my womb was the best environment it could be. The clinic identified that I had a hydrosalpinx on the right tube and in January 2021 I had a small procedure where that tube was sealed off. Meanwhile, we had received great news that my egg collections had resulted in four genetically normal embryos. It was the best news ever.

Taking all the medication under the sun, we transferred the embryo on 18th May, 2021. The odds appeared to be in our favour, having done everything possible. We did the pregnancy test at home. I crept behind my husband as he tentatively walked down the hallway and peeked on the bathroom shelf where I’d put the test, and a faint line had appeared. We were pregnant! And this time it was for real. We cried a lot.

We were so lucky. But this story is full of “howevers”.

The pregnancy that followed was uneventful. I had additional growth scans due to my previous bowel surgery but nothing too abnormal. I was booked in for a C-section and on 25th January, 2022, Billy came into our lives. The miracle had arrived. Every baby is precious, but Billy seems to have a capital “P”.

We enjoy Billy so much; he remains the love of our lives. Given we had three more genetically normal embryos, we decided to go for another transfer in September 2023. Using the same protocol as Billy, it worked again. We were so lucky. But this story is full of “howevers”. I suffered a miscarriage at 10 weeks, following a subchorionic haematoma.

The loss was brutal and tough on my body. My husband and I took a few months to recover and sought some couples counselling. The woman we saw was really helpful. It allowed us to discuss how we were coping as individuals, as well as a couple, and accepting those differences between us. She also helped us make the decision on whether to go again, which we did in May 2024.

The transfer worked again, and everything was going really well with the pregnancy. Every scan was normal, and I was being well looked after by the consultants and the midwife team. However, with no warning signs, there was no heartbeat at my 20-week scan. We couldn’t believe it. Surely not again.

As the miscarriage was so late this time, I was caught by specialist bereavement midwifery care and the consultants to manage the aftercare. Both were amazing. I had several tests to work out what had happened, and it wasn’t super clear, but we’ve deduced that there was a potential blood flow issue causing the placenta to not develop correctly. It’s been a very difficult few months and I have had to dig deeper than I’d ever hoped I would have to go. Billy doesn’t realise the job he has done to help us through. He’s an absolute miracle and I’m grateful every single day for him.

I am learning to accept what has happened to us over the past few years. I grieve for all the losses, with equal weight.

We have sought more external help and support. I even went on a solo wellness retreat for three days around the time of the due date. I am learning to accept what has happened to us over the past few years. I grieve for all the losses, with equal weight. I am coming to terms with our family as it is now. I won’t be doing any more IVF as it’s too much for me and for us. The counterbalance to grief can be a beautiful thing. It can bring a sense of peace and acceptance. That’s how I’m choosing to manage it, and I am living my life again.

In May of 2023 we conceived first time, not expecting anything and I discovered I was pregnant the day before our flight to our honeymoon which just couldn’t have been more textbook perfect.

I wanted to show him the positive so we went to some pharmacies….but none of them came back positive.

I told my husband on our first full day while we were on the beach but the test had run out of battery. I wanted to show him the positive so we went to some pharmacies over the next few days but none of them came back positive. A few nights later I woke up in the night in excruciating pain with lots of blood and that was that. G&T on the beach was consumed and we enjoyed the rest of our holiday while trying to process what happened.

Some time passed and it became clear we really wanted this and within 4 months, another positive.

at 9 weeks I was told the baby hadn’t grown since about 7.5 weeks

This time I was cautious of what could happen but I looked after myself, continued training at the gym and getting excited. I booked in an early scan as there was no way I could wait until 12 weeks so at 9 weeks I was told the baby hadn’t grown since about 7.5 weeks. This was as crushing as you’d expect except what followed felt almost worse.

3 weeks after finding out, and 5 since baby stopped growing, I was able to take meds at home.

My body wasn’t letting go and the NHS wanted a scan, then another scan to confirm, and then to wait before actioning anything in case it happened naturally. So, about 3 weeks after finding out, and 5 since baby stopped growing, I was able to take meds at home. These worked, which after hearing stories from others I was grateful for, but the impact this whole experience caused was colossal.

I couldn’t have done it without the TWGGEF Community

These losses plus a following year of unexplained infertility and lots of non-answers from tests, left bitter and confused tastes in our mouths but equally, opened our eyes to this new world, navigating these feelings, the healthcare system and resonating with all the unfortunate members of this girl gang.

I couldn’t have done it without you Bex & Laura and the TWGGEF Community! And will continue to need you no doubt… Thank you for everything.

Although completely shocked, we were overwhelmed with excitement. We were about to become a family of 6!

My story started on the 6th September 2024 when we found out we were pregnant. This was my third pregnancy, and we were excited to find out our family would be growing by one more.

I’d previously had two high risk pregnancy, as I had multiple blood clots in my leg and lungs in my first pregnancy, after our booking appointment we were scheduled to meet a consultant before our 12-week scan. It was at that appointment that we discovered we were expecting twins. Although completely shocked we were overwhelmed with excitement. We were about to become a family of 6!

At our 12-week scan our sonographer confirmed that our babies were growing perfectly. The sonographer said she could see a fibroid, which alarmed me as I had no previous knowledge of having any. During the scan I was in a bit of pain, which the sonographer picked up on. The discomfort was in my abdomen and in my lower back on my left. The sonographer thought it might be my kidneys so scanned that area, but everything looked ok. We left the hospital after taking some bloods for screening and I was still feeling some pain, so I had a nap for a few hours. When I woke up, I went to the toilet and was really alarmed to see I was lightly bleeding. I automatically thought the worst, but monitored the bleed for the rest of the evening and it appeared to reduce to spotting.

The next morning my stomach was really sore, and I was still bleeding on and off, so I called the midwives, and I was advised to go to A & E. Imagine my complete shock when, whilst being checked in, I was turned away because I was not yet 16 weeks. I explained that the midwife told me I should go to A & E, but I was told I was given the wrong information. I was directed to complete a referral online for the EPAU. Even though the form said I’d be contacted within 24 hours, I waited in the hospital, hopeful I’d be called in. I wasn’t. After a few hours, I took myself directly to the department, desperate to be seen. I explained that I had a scan the day before and had experienced a bleed, but I was turned away and told to return in the morning.

I felt like a number, not a human being.

All I could do was silently cry. I was stunned and confused. Did my twins not matter to them? I returned home and was called by the EPAU in response to the referral I had completed online. I was told that I could no longer come in the next morning as they would not scan me for another week. They said that if the pain and bleeding continued, I should return to A & E. There was no compassion, no concern, and no reassurance. We were fortunate enough to be blessed with a private scan that evening, which helped to settle my concerns, but I couldn’t get over being turned away. I felt like a number, not a human being.

The reassurance from the private scan, made us relax a little and we decided to share the news with our children. It took them a while to process that we were expecting twins, but they were so excited. It was such a special moment.

Despite having a rough first three months, battling with extreme nausea and sickness, I exhaled when I reached the second trimester. All the symptoms began to subside and I was enjoying experiencing the twins move from quite early on. I thought we were safe. I was still in pain, which seemed to increase as time went on. I thought that the pain was down to the weight of the pregnancy. Although, I had previously been pregnant, everything bout this pregnancy was so different. I had never carried twins before.

Due to previously going into labour before 37 weeks I was told my cervix would be measured at around 16 weeks. At the internal scan we were reassured that my cervix was fine, and the sonographer didn’t believe that it would need to be checked again. But we had an appointment the following week we were told by our specialist twin consultant that my cervix was borderline short, and I was prescribed Cyclogest.

As our babies grew, and their movements became more frequent the pain began to get more intense and became more frequent. I decide to buy a pregnancy belt to help relieve some of the pressure, but it didn’t seem to help at all. It was now December; we were counting down to our final Christmas as a family of four. We also had our 20-week scan booked for Christmas Eve. We were so excited with the prospect of telling our children the gender of our new babies as a special Christmas gift.

A week after seeing the consultant, I found myself admitted to the labour ward with extreme pain. I couldn’t walk, and the pain took my breath away. The twins were scanned, and their heartbeats were checked. They were perfect. Blood tests were done and a vaginal check and swab of my cervix. The doctor told me the pain was muscular. I had been given codeine, but the pain had not subsided at all. I was discharged and let the hospital still in so much pain. I was told to manage the pain with codeine, but I decided to keep my feet up as that was the only relieve that I had.

Less than 5 days later, on the 16^th December 2024 I went into spontaneous labour at home. Our first son came out abruptly whilst I was on the toilet. He came out breathing and moving. I called an ambulance who did the best they could to resuscitate him, but he died moments later. I was taken to the hospital, and I begged the doctors to save our other baby. I began to haemorrhage, and I had 2 units of blood transfused. My cervix was checked and the doctor let me know that I was miscarrying. I began to contract and 3 hours after delivering our first son at home, I delivered our second son. He arrived in his sac.

Even though this loss has been the most painful and traumatic experience of my life, I have decided that our sons’ lives, and story cannot be in vain.

I lost 2 beautiful baby boys at 19 weeks and 3 days. I was and still am completely heartbroken. We named our sons Micaiah and Isaiah. I realised that even though I had been pregnant before there was still so much I did not know about pregnancy. Although, I knew about first trimester loss and still birth and had no knowledge of second trimester loss. I also did now know that 24 weeks was when a life is legally considered viable. Even though this loss has been the most painful and traumatic experiences of my life, I have decided that our sons’ lives, and story cannot be in vain. I am going to do my best to share and bring awareness to second trimester loss and twin loss. My hope is that even if one woman’s pregnancy outcome will be changed, their short lives will potentially save another.

There are so many things that we are not made aware of and it’s important that we ask questions and ask for clarity where our care is concerned. My experience during this pregnancy has left me feeling that I have little hope and trust in the NHS with my maternal care. There have been many instances during each of my pregnancies where I have felt ignored, dismissed and not heard by the professionals who were responsible for my health and the care of my babies. It is really heartbreaking to know that a lot of these losses are preventable.