This post deals with miscarriage and may be triggering for some readers.
I knew as soon as I saw the flicker on the screen.
“That’s too slow,” I said to the sonographer.
“Hang on,” she said. “I can't see properly because your bladder is too full. Go and empty it and we’ll do an internal ultrasound.”
But I knew.
And she knew.
Watch: A tribute to the babies we've lost. Post continues below.
My baby’s heart rate was 62 beats per minute, when it should be more than double that. Anyone who hasn't experienced infertility might be hopeful that maybe things would all be okay, that it might ‘catch up’, but she’d been there before, and I’d been there before, and we knew.
“I’m really sorry,” she said.
And so I was sent away for a week - the only thing that can be done - to essentially wait for my baby’s heart to stop.
A scan eight days later showed no flicker on the screen.
It wasn't my first time on the ultrasound table with my heart in my throat, each second feeling like a minute.
On the road to having our son, my husband and I faced a fair few setbacks, including a missed miscarriage (which is when you don’t bleed but it is discovered that the baby has passed during a scan) and three full rounds of IVF, each of which was fruitless.
I documented our years of trying, and just when we had pretty much given up, I fell pregnant during a last-ditch effort on prescription fertility medication.
Regular listeners of our parenting podcast, This Glorious Mess Little Kids, have been following along as I share our journey to our maybe-baby number two and whether or not I’m tempting fate.