And thus began the darkest period of my life.  When I recall these memories, they are quite literally shrouded in darkness, almost with a black tinge.  Isn’t it odd how the brain processes things over time?

I was signed off sick – but I felt like a fraud.  My body wasn’t failing me and my brain worked, so why was I being signed off?!  I felt like I was letting patients down… my supervisor… my family.  It was rightly pointed out to me, that I needed time to think.  To REALLY think.  What would be the ‘right’ thing for us to do?  I was due to start a rotation in Neonates (working with premature babies), and the thought of working in that environment coupled with the pregnancy complications we were facing, terrified me.

But being off work didn’t agree with me either.  I felt alone and broken.  When Ricky would leave for work, I would still be in bed.  Most days, I would only get up in the early afternoon – and honestly, that was more to quickly shower, dress and to quickly do something so I had something to show for my day before Ricky got home from work.  I spent a fair amount of time on Google, trying to find out our chances of a healthy triplet pregnancy, searching for other triplet mums-to-be (see, they can do it! So can I!).  Once Ricky was home, we would eat, watch some mindless TV and go to bed.

Although we didn’t sleep.  The weight of everything seemed to hit me most when I lay down in bed.  I used to go over and over it with Ricky.  We would talk about our three babies until the early hours of the morning but it would always lead to despair and tears.  We just couldn’t see what path we would chose/be forced to take.  Every night was the same.  Me crying endlessly, Ricky trying to hold us together.   He always put(s) me first despite being in turmoil himself.

We had shut ourselves away from everyone.  I was clearly showing a baby bump despite being in my first trimester.  People noticing the bump and then us having to face questions afterwards was not an option.  Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to shout from the rooftops about the magic that was happening inside me.  I wanted everyone to know that I had THREE BABIES inside me.  But we had no answers and there were too many unknowns.  For me in particular, I was worried about people judging us should we decide to reduce the pregnancy.  But by shutting ourselves away, we were alone and suffocated in darkness.

We asked to be referred to Kings Hospital for a second opinion.  We so desperately wanted someone to reassure us that they had the expertise to keep our babies safe.  That it would all be ok.  At the very least, I needed someone to tell me what to do.  Healthcare professionals today, are taught to be patient-centred (empowering the patient with information so they can guide management), but I needed the opposite of this.  I needed someone to look at me and think “What if this was my daughter? My wife?  My sister? What would I advise them?!”.

We spent a whole day at King’s, being scanned by different people (getting more and more senior) and each time they found more complications.  Our identical twins were showing signs of twin to twin transfusion already – not good.  One twin had an umbilical cord cyst – which was rare and its significance was unknown at this stage.  Ultimately, it was explained to us that with the make up of the pregnancy and the complications found, it was likely I’d miscarry our babies if I continued with three.

Taking everything into consideration and after much deliberation, we were advised to reduce the pregnancy.  I hate that word “reduce” – so cold and clinical.  Granted, it’s probably slightly kinder than some of the other words that can be used.  We were offered Intrafetal Laser, a fairly novel technique which would give us a chance of continuing the pregnancy with twins each with their own placenta.  This meant that the laser would be performed on one of our monochorionic twins (identical twins sharing a placenta), but was also a big risk to the remaining identical twin.  In the subsequent two weeks after the procedure there was a 50% risk of the remaining identical twin miscarrying.  (I’m not sure if this all makes sense… apologies if it doesn’t)

We had to make some sort of decision.  The longer we waited, the higher the possibility I would miscarry all our babies.  We wanted to save as many babies as possible.  If there was a chance we could take home two babies as opposed to losing all three, then we were going to take that option.

It was done that same day.  Even thinking back to it now, makes me feel cold and sick inside.  That room was so clinical.  So cold.  We almost felt like we were in lab or some sort of Sci-Fi film (not helped by the fact we were watched by Medical Students through a one way glass.  Without our consent, I might add).

In a way, I felt some relief.  Relief that someone had guided us down what was thought to be the safest path for our family.  But we both also felt numb.  Numb because we’d chosen to start a family, but despite this we’d essentially had a termination for medical reasons.

I broke my waters that night.  The doctors had told me that this would be expected.  That’s when it hit us.  That gush of fluid, was the realisation that we’d lost one of our beloved triplets and it was all our fault.  Our top bunk bed was now empty.

We waited with bated breath and counted down the days until our next scan.  Neither of us are particularly religious, but we started praying every night for all our babies… even Ricky!  If I’d fallen asleep, he would say the prayers for both of us.  I swear time slowed down and that week went ridiculously slowly.  Nothing else mattered apart from the results of that next scan.  All our hopes were hanging on that – that there would be two heartbeats.  No more complications, just two babies with heartbeats.  We could go to twins clinic and be done with all the negativity.  We could look to the future.

The day came.  I lay there holding my breath as the consultant scanned me.  Ricky was by my side, as always.  I could see the scan in front of me on the second screen – I could definitely see one baby clearly and moving, but the other looked different.  I couldn’t figure out why.  My brain was  going into overdrive in the silence.

The consultant asked me if I’d broken my waters, and I explained what happened the evening of the procedure.  He explained that both my babies were alive, but that our remaining identical twin had very little fluid around them and that this was unlikely to re-accumulate.  It was likely that I would go on to deliver both babies, but that our remaining identical twin would pass away after birth due to poor lung development.  He was so matter of fact about it.

Just when we thought we couldn’t break anymore, we broke again.