My journey to motherhood

One thing I have pretty much always been sure of from a young age, is my desire to become a mother. So the first time I found out I was pregnant, as surreal as the moment was, I was overjoyed that my time had come.

Fairly early on in the pregnancy things started to go downhill. I was back and forth from the hospital having blood tests to monitor my hCG levels which were not increasing as expected. One afternoon, I had gone into the hospital for a scheduled scan and what I thought would be the first time I would be seeing my baby. I remember laying on the bed, surrounded by several doctors speaking to each other (not to me) and looking at the monitor which was concealed from my view. In that moment, I realised something was wrong.

The pregnancy was ectopic (this is when a fertilised egg implants itself outside of the womb, usually in one of the fallopian tubes) and that same day, I underwent a salpingectomy (the surgical removal of one or both fallopian tubes). Prior to this day, I had never heard of an ectopic pregnancy or salpingectomy. There are no words to describe how I felt in that moment when the doctor gave me the diagnosis and explained what would need to happen.  Although he talked me through my 'options', in reality, it felt as if I didn't really have any. A tidal wave of emotions – disbelief, sadness, anger, confusion. My entire world came crashing down around me. Not only was I trying to process the imminent loss of my baby, I also wondered if I'd ever be able to have children.

Losing a baby, no matter the stage of pregnancy, is a pain like no other, that continued long after the physical pain from surgery had subsided. I was in a dark place for a long time. I knew I needed help and was signed off work for several months with anxiety and depression. During this time I accessed counselling support through my workplace's Employee Assistance Programme, and my GP. It helped to process my emotions. My faith was also critical to me.

When I returned to work, I did so on a phased return. That first day back was harder than I imagined. I struggled to focus and 'get back to normal' which was exacerbated by an extremely insensitive comment made by my then line manager. I felt like I was expected to just carry on. Whilst my wider team had been made aware of why I'd been away in advance of my return, this didn’t prevent awkward questions from well-meaning colleagues that simply had no idea.

Not being able to pinpoint what had caused the ectopic pregnancy meant I had no answers as to what could be done to prevent it from recurring if I did manage to conceive again. My heart ached and although there were people around me, I felt so alone.

A year later I became pregnant again but had a miscarriage during the very early stages, diagnosed by the doctor before my body had even let me know what was happening. I was broken. I sought out therapy again.

On both occasions, I found that people around me didn’t really know how to approach me or what to say which added to the loneliness. Baby loss is deeply personal and difficult to talk about it so I understand why many do not speak about it openly. But for me personally, the lack of conversation around the subject made me feel so isolated. Whilst the counselling and psychological support helped me to get through these really difficult chapters of my life, I wish I'd had more people around me - to talk to about how I was feeling, vent or simply just cry. Not just in the immediate aftermath, but several months down the line too.

In 2017 my beautiful, precious, rainbow baby arrived. Throughout this pregnancy, I never truly relaxed, not wanting to get ahead of myself, taking it one day at a time. I moved along in incremental milestones, never allowing myself to look too far ahead. It was an anxious time. Outwardly, I appeared fine but I was battling several anxieties internally and felt like I was holding my breath the entire pregnancy, only exhaling in that moment when I finally held my daughter in my arms. I am now a mother of two beautiful girls.

Losing two babies brought a deep, gut-wrenching pain that changed me, my perspective and stayed with me, despite the years that have passed. Opening up about my experience has made me realise that baby loss (and other fertility struggles) affects so many of us and those individuals are a lot closer to home than you think. Many have suffered and continue to suffer in silence, when they shouldn't have to. This is such an important topic that touches so many lives and through awareness raising, open communication and education, hopefully more people will feel supported and less alone.