At the age of just 15 I found out I was pregnant with our first baby. We couldn’t have been happier; we had our little family life planned once the baby was here. I couldn’t help myself but look at prams, clothes, toys, and all the other baby things. It was such an exciting time for both of us. Little did we know.
At 10 weeks I started bleeding. It was just a little at first, and I was told by a doctor it was a water infection and put on medication for that. Then, as the days went on, the bleeding got heavier and heavier. I knew something wasn’t right. I went back to urgent care, where I was told the same thing: it was a water infection. I was booked in for an early pregnancy scan on my 16th birthday. The morning of the scan, the bleeding had stopped, and that’s when I knew, deep down, that my baby had gone. Despite what I thought, I still hoped I would see a little person wriggling around on the screen and I couldn’t wait to get home and show my partner the picture of our baby. He was so excited. I took my mum to the scan. As we sat waiting to be called in, it seemed as though the whole room went completely dark, and as I walked into the ultrasound room, I didn’t feel right. First she used the jelly and started scanning. She then asked if she could do a internal scan, at which point I was watching the screen and I couldn’t see that perfect little life; all I saw was a outline of where my baby should have been with lots of dark spots around it. I was told there was no baby. I was then taken into a side room where she explained what had happened and told me I need to have a surgical procedure to remove everything.
The next day I was at the hospital early ready for the procedure. In the next few months I had to send off regular urine samples and blood tests. After 3 months I began have nightmares every night of seeing a baby in a crib in my room and he wasn’t alive. I bottled that up and kept it to myself, because I thought people would think I was losing my mind and seeing things. I ended up going and confiding in a doctor, who referred me to a counselor, which was a great help. I always felt like it was my fault, when in reality it wasn’t, it just wasn’t meant to be. Now I’m 3 years on and feel a lot better about everything. I can’t wait to start my own family.
I hope this helps anybody that is struggling. Please don’t keep it to yourself, speak to somebody.