Honestly – I didn’t truly believe what that Consultant had told us. When we had thought so hard about what decision to make regarding the pregnancy, this wasn’t one of the options we had considered. We didn’t even think that this was a possibility. It felt like this pregnancy was just not meant to be and the big guy in the sky, was playing some sick joke on us.
The Consultant had mentioned that the procedure to reduce the pregnancy may have caused damage to our remaining identical twin’s sac, but in some cases, fluid could re-accumulate around the baby if the sac healed. That was what I held on to – that there was a chance our baby would be fine. Doctors don’t know everything, so I was sure that the sac would heal and that there would be more fluid next time. Dr Google became my hated friend … in desperation I searched for pregnancies or babies that had survived anhydramnios (no fluid). There were a few cases in the US where women were admitted and given lots of IV fluids and this helped, however I knew that this wasn’t protocol here. I started drinking more water, not huge amounts, but enough to make myself believe it could be making a difference. Funny how desperation can make you go from being a ‘guideline follower’ to thinking ‘eff it, I’m just going to try anything in case it works’.
Christmas and New Year came and went, and we spent that time with the handful of people that knew our sickening conundrum. Having hidden ourselves away, we decided that it was time to tell people we were pregnant. But what to tell people … we’re having twins? No, that just felt wrong. We wanted all three of our babies to be known, to be remembered, to be acknowledged. ‘Just say there are complications’ – No, that certainly wasn’t the answer. We needed people to be kind, but to know our pain, and to know that there had been three beautiful souls growing in me.
We settled on ‘We fell pregnant with triplets but lost one baby at 13 weeks, and now have two babies. One baby is very unwell and we’re not sure what’s going to happen. ‘. I was worried about telling people about our decision to reduce the pregnancy and thus having a termination for medical reasons. What would people think? Would they judge us? Would people think we’re murderers? Ricky and I, are Jain (although neither of us are particularly religious) and we are supposed to do no harm to any living souls – what would our religion have to say about this!? What would our family and community say? It has only been in the last few months that I haven’t felt ashamed to talk about this. To face up to that decision we made. I’m sure there will be people that disagree or judge us, but to those people, until you have stood in our shoes, you cannot know what decision you would make.
We told our closest friends, and our parents told our families, but made it clear to all that we didn’t want lots of questions. There was no social media announcement. No mass flurry of “Congratulations!!”. There was no mass flurry of anything really … and yes I appreciate we didn’t want questions, but we did want comfort.
The friends that we told, were there for us in such a way, that it will never be forgotten. They understood that sometimes we would want to talk, sometimes we would want to be distracted. Yes, sometimes we might cry, or even bawl – but that was OK. It doesn’t make you weak, or less of a man or woman to show your emotions. One thing became apparent though (during the pregnancy and afterwards), in our culture, people don’t talk about “awkward” or “emotionally painful” topics – and baby loss was one of them. For us, this has been one of the most upsetting things to deal with.
I won’t bore you with all the details of the rest of the pregnancy. There were more scans; more complications – Baby 1 is fine, Baby 2 – where is it’s bladder? Is there enough fluid? (this did improve marginally); more in depth discussions with Obstetrics and delivery planning with the Neonatal team. Lots more tears, lots of sobbing in that ruddy room in Fetal Medicine where you get ushered to after a sh**y scan result.
When I think back, there was a point however, where I actually began to enjoy my pregnancy. It may have taken 31 weeks, but I felt happiness. Yes, there was so much uncertainty. Yes, there were complications. But, I was blooming… I loved how I looked – I never once minded being big and rounded. I loved waddling around (apparently this was how I walked!!)
I could always tell which baby was kicking and I felt so connected and in love with them. I knew them. Especially Baby 2… he/she was a kick-er, and an elbow-er, always sticking his or her botty up and out, to let me know that he/she was defying the odds and going to prove those silly Doctors wrong.
Even the weather changed and the sun started to shine. Mum and I went to an NHS antenatal class, and although I didn’t divulge my complications, I soaked up the enjoyment of everyone’s awe at me carrying twins.
Ricky and I, went to North Norfolk – far enough to escape reality, close enough for Ricky to be able to race back to Luton & Dunstable Hospital if needs be. That week away was one of my favourite times ever. We were blissfully happy – no hospital appointments, just us and our babies, oh and the SUN (it was around the Early May Bank Holiday 2018, and it was crazzzzzy hot). For me, that was when I truly felt some peace. Tired, but happy and at peace.
I was admitted to hospital when we got back. Turns out that stress incontinence I’d been having for 3 weeks, was actually my waters leaking… Imagine how much of an idiot I’d felt like. There’s me, sunning myself in Norfolk, changing a few pads a day, thinking the babies were making me wee myself. Honestly, I despair at myself sometimes. Thankfully, neither they or me, had signs of infection and so after a few days of delightful hospital food (this is not sarcasm, I actually thoroughly enjoyed my mac n cheese meals), I was discharged home with a plan for induction at 34 weeks.
Things just got serious.
The babies are coming…