Three years ago

This may be upsetting for some people to read. It’s taken me three years to be able to write it down.

I know that nurses, midwives and doctors work long hours for comparatively little compensation. I am alive because of their hard work, and I will never cease to be grateful for that.

I know that miscarriage is very common. It’s something they see every day. It is completely reasonable that for them, it is an everyday part of their routine. But for the person in the bed, this is not and can never be routine.

On the 12th May 2016, I’d been spotting for about a week. We had already seen our baby’s heartbeat, and the routine twelve week scan was scheduled for the following week. I bled heavily during my first pregnancy, and K is nearly four years old now. But when the spotting increased to a light flow, I phoned the pregnancy assessment unit and they asked me to come in.

My little girl’s godmother looked after her for a few hours. She was only eleven months old, such a tiny little thing.

It was obvious from the scan image that our baby had died. The midwives were kind. They explained that I had three options. I could schedule a D&E procedure, which would involve a general anaesthetic. I could take medicine to speed up the evacuation process. Or I could allow the miscarriage to proceed naturally. They explained that if I took that route I must expect a lot of pain and bleeding, but because I was already bleeding, they believed that process would be relatively straightforward.

Perhaps because I need to take several medicines every day, I prefer to let things happen naturally when it’s safe to do so. There was no medical indication that it might not be safe. They told me if the bleeding became very heavy, or if I was worried for any reason, I should call the Pregnancy Assessment Unit during office hours and the gynaecological ward out of hours.

On the way home from hospital, we named our baby Gracie Wren.

The next three days were quiet and sad. I was bleeding and in pain, but it was no worse than a heavy period.

My husband went back to work on the Monday. I took my daughter to her usual toddler group. We had a prior arrangement to meet a friend for lunch, which we did. I remember that the friend had a little gift for my daughter, which she was delighted with.

We got home around half past two, and at three o’clock my mum called round. This was a regular arrangement. She came most days to play with my daughter for an hour or so whilst I caught up with chores. This particular day, the bleeding suddenly got very heavy and painful. I’d been told to expect it to get heavy and painful, so I took the painkillers I’d been given and got on with whatever I was doing.

Before my mum left, I needed to change my towel again. But the alarm bells still didn’t ring. The advice is always that if you soak through a sanitary towel in less than an hour, you may be haemorrhaging. But I can say from vivid experience that it’s very easy to think, oh, that was a quick gush of blood, or a lot of clots. That doesn’t count.

I sat on the settee, cuddling my daughter and singing to try to get her to sleep. She was reluctant to drop off. My husband got home just before five: he had a work meeting from 5-6 on a Monday and he used to come home early and dial in, so that he was home by six o’clock as usual. I handed our daughter to him and stood up.

There was blood everywhere.

I opened my mouth to scream. My husband put his hand on my shoulder and said it would be okay. Of course, it would be easier for everyone if I didn’t scare the baby by screaming!

I threw my clothes into the bath and sat on the toilet and bled heavily for an hour.

My husband (my hero) got the baby to sleep in her cot, which was rare in those days! He cleaned the settee. He phoned into his meeting.

I realised that I was bleeding too much. At the end of his meeting I told my husband so and phoned the gynaecological ward. I spoke to a doctor and described my symptoms. She told me to call an ambulance. I remember her saying, “We need to see you, but don’t get someone to drive you to hospital. Do you understand? Put the phone down and call an ambulance.”

I put the phone down. My husband called an ambulance, and then my parents. But the reality of living in a small rural town is that sometimes you have to wait for an ambulance to arrive. My husband helped me pack an overnight bag, but I didn’t think of a lot of things that would have been useful.

I was still bleeding very heavily and by now I realised that it was too much blood, that I was losing too much too fast. I have a vivid memory of looking back, as I got into the ambulance, and seeing my little girl pressed against the French windows reaching for me. I wasn’t completely sure that I would ever get to see her again.

My lovely mum came in the ambulance with me. It was a horrible journey. I feel travel sick at the best of times, so lying on a gurney, going backwards, with no window to look out of, wasn’t great. The bleeding was still heavy and the pain was bad. The paramedic gave me some gas and air, but she didn’t really explain how to use it and I briefly passed out.

It all gets a bit blurry after that. I know they took me straight up to the ward on the gurney. There was some waiting between seeing various people but I don’t know how long it all took. I had internal and external scans and the doctor said I needed to have surgery immediately, as without it I would carry on bleeding until there wasn’t any blood left.

An anaesthetist came to talk to me. It’s strange how vividly some things stand out. I remember that he asked if I’d ever had an anaesthetic before, and when I said no, he laughed and said, “But you’ve had a caesarian!” I couldn’t work out how to explain that because of my peculiar heart, the anaesthetist used an epidural to numb me rather than a conventional spinal, so I just said, “Yes, but it wasn’t a general anaesthetic.”

The next thing I remember is being wheeled along on a gurney (really not a good way to move around when you get motion sickness) and asking, “Have you done it yet?” several times. I got back to the ward and was moved onto the bed. Both my parents were waiting to see me and they’d been well looked after whilst they were waiting: the ward staff had given them some tea and sandwiches. Once they were sure the operation had been a success they went home. It was so kind of them to stay and so lonely when they went.

I would have loved a cup of tea.

I was hooked up to a saline drip so I wasn’t technically thirsty. It was the middle of the night, about midnight, and the night staff don’t really have facilities to feed the patients. But I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since about three o’clock in the afternoon, I had just undergone emergency surgery, I was beginning to take in the fact that the surgery was necessary because I would have died without it, I couldn’t sleep, and I was in a lot of physical and emotional pain. A cup of tea and a piece of toast would have made a huge difference that night.

In the morning, after I had at last had some breakfast, I expected someone to come in and tell me what I could expect to happen next. How long I might bleed for, how much pain I could expect, whether there were likely to be any side effects from the anaesthetic, whether there was anything worrying that I should look out for. When it got to eleven o’clock and nobody had come to talk to me, I started asking. Plenty of people came into my room to do various checks – nurses and support staff and a junior doctor. I said that I didn’t know what symptoms I could expect and I needed to talk to someone. I said please several times. I even cried.

Eventually someone came and said I could go home. My husband and daughter were there by then. I said that I still didn’t know what I could expect to happen and she said that if I was worried I should phone the ward or see my GP.

So I went home.

The next day I had a lot of unexpected pain in my arms and chest. When I rang the ward the doctor seemed impatient. “It’s just referred pain from the anaesthetic, it’s completely normal and expected.” When I said that nobody had told me to expect it she asked if I had any more questions.

I do not believe the medical staff at any time intended to be neglectful. I think I suffered because they didn’t think. I think they forgot that I wasn’t just a routine, albeit emergency, surgery. Diagnosis, surgery, quick march, very efficient, bed will be free by lunchtime.

I think they forgot that I didn’t have all the information they did. I think they forgot that I would have questions that needed answers. I think they forgot that the whole thing happened because my baby died, and I almost died, and no matter how frequently that happens, it is not routine. It’s extremely common, but that just means that a lot of people need a bit of consideration and compassion.

I bled fairly lightly for about three weeks and the pain wasn’t too bad. But I am still reeling from the trauma. I still have nights when I lie awake for hours. Would this be any different if someone had answered my questions when I begged them to?

I will never know.