Peripeteia

Turbo’s heart stopped in the early hours of Saturday.

I’ve known since Saturday morning. I didn’t post before today, because I didn’t think I could quite cope with the likely reaction following a flat statement that I knew this pregnancy was over when I couldn’t find a heartbeat with a foetal doppler at 8 weeks + 5 days. I didn’t want gentle admonishment about doppler reliability, and I didn’t want hope kindly prodded my way – simply because I knew there wasn’t any.

Once I’d finally figured out where the heartbeat was located, on Friday, it was entirely straightforward to find again – I am nothing if not an old hand with this doppler – and I listened in again, briefly, before bed, on a normal-sounding 175 bpm foetus. On Saturday morning, following a night of evil dreams, dopplering was like scouring the empty ocean. I spent hours – pitiful, trembling, weeping, increasingly panic-stricken hours – listening, searching in vain. By Saturday evening I’d accepted my findings, and stopped looking altogether.

On Sunday, I simply hoped that nothing would kick off until I’d had a chance to see the Prof this afternoon, and at least have an opportunity to discuss if there was anything we could learn from tests. There’s not a fat lot of karotyping you can do with a foetus that has disappeared into your septic tank, plus I had a selfish notion that I would rather like to be asleep and oblivious for this one. I’ve been awake, dilating, and sadly analgesic-free during expulsion of 7 and 8 week pregnancies before, and I anticipate absolutely nothing pleasant or painless about the propect of losing a nearly 9-weeker whatsoever.

My wishes are not, however – and as usual – going to be gratified. My distraught and ‘really depressed about this’ (!) Professor left clinic to talk to the Consultant who had the struggle of his career inserting the embryo transfer catheter through my S-shaped cervix, and they have both come back with an apologetic but decided negative. I am simply the wrong shape for a medical evac, and they dare not attempt it unless in uttermost end of need and I am about to cark it. I have spent an hour sat listening whilst my Prof filled in elaborate ‘Do Not Dare Take This Woman To Theatre Unless You Are The Night Shift Consultant Obstetrician Who Has Read Her Entire Set Of Notes, Spoken To Dr X, Failed To Keep Her Stable On A Drip, And Has An Ultrasound Machine To Guide His Every Move’ -type paperwork, and has sent it over to Gynae A&E. 

She gloomily predicted that I might be getting on with things myself fairly soon: I have an ‘enormous’ clot sat right over my cervix. I have requisitioned bedpans and a suitable lab pot for the pregnancy sac – she agreed that karotyping would be worth a try – in case I am caught embarrassingly short of the ward. Judging exactly when to make the 30+ mile dash to hospital is a decision I fear I will get wrong, and sure as God made little apples: it’ll be in the dead of the night.

To my gall, I will have to summon my MIL, who lives very close, to look after Harry if so. I am not quite sure what entitles her to make free with information that most certainly is not her own – apart, that is, from a lifetime’s industrious practice at breathtaking impertinence – but she has just informed us, upon hearing our news, that she has, today, told Harry’s nursery staff (the ones I am theoretically scheduled to meet and bollock on Wednesday) that I was pregnant, but that it was early days, and we’d had ‘lots of problems’ before. They all then had a lovely conversation about how Harry is evidently picking up vibes from the situation. (He isn’t.)

I have told John that I am confident he will take an early opportunity to invite her to apologise for her invasion of my privacy, which is dialogue he won’t enjoy. The poor man (who did not really buy into my doppler findings, and so has had a particularly bad afternoon) was even attempting to defend her empathy skills as we drove into the yard to collect Harry, after I grimly announced that I might as well come and hear her inevitable reverse-bon mot in person. I am sure I have mentioned here before that this is the woman who coolly informed me, after miscarriage number 3, pre-Harry, that John would be ‘so disappointed if you don’t have any little ones’. There are many just retributions in this life that I deserve: John’s mother is not one of them; although, who knows? Perhaps ousting grief with anger might even be vaguely beneficial to my emotions, although, assuredly, not to my blood pressure.

I had bloods done before I left, just in case everything goes about as wrong as it can go, and I attempt to bleed out. If nothing happens this side of Wednesday, I am to go back in for mifepristone, and back in again on Friday, when everyone senior is floating about, for misoprostol. Misoprostol is an absolute fucker that hurts like blazes, so I have ensured I am also written up for vast quantities of pethidine, a drug I previously availed myself of far too late in the proceedings for comfort. I don’t think this’ll run as far as Friday, but we’ll see.

And… I can’t think of much else to say. By yesterday, my uterus felt entirely different, and the cramping I have experienced since the off had subtly changed in nature.  The nausea and crippling exhaustion have, now, begun to recede a good deal. I think I would have guessed by this afternoon, even without the doppler; I’m glad, in any event, I didn’t have to endure the shock of a unexpectedly bad scan, and silent medical personnel. Today, I knew before they looked, although the ‘I’m afraid I think you’re right’ still wasn’t easy.

I did so, so want to be wrong.

Thank you for all the hand-holding. It does help, I promise.

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60 Responses

  1. Oh, my dear.

    Still holding your hand, but having a little cry, too.

    How wretchedly fucked up it is when you have to plan for your own miscarriage.

  2. Terribly sorry.

  3. I am so, so sorry and wish I had something better to offer you than mere internet *hugs*.

  4. My friend, I am so so so sorry and wish I could hug you and wipe your tears. No words can help, just know that I’m a phone call away if you need me.

  5. I am so so sorry. I was really hoping that turbo was going to hang on.

  6. Oh, no. No no no.

    I’m so sorry, sweetie.

  7. Oh no. You poor poor thing. And John too. Just awful for you. I’m so sorry.

    Can we all come round and after cups of tea kick your MIL into the middle of next week – no year or perhaps decade? Words fail.

  8. I love you, babe. I send only love and DVDs to mindlessly watch as the hours pass.

  9. i am so, so sorry.

  10. sorry and sad seem unbelievably inadequete words – not that any words would be adequete. x

  11. Oh. Oh, oh, oh. I am weeping for you and John and Turbo. The bedpans and lab pot are just the shitty icing on it all.

    Or maybe that’s your MIL, whom I would totally like to kick in the shins.

    (And I deeply regret my cheery post of last night, and apologize if I unintentionally twisted the knife.)

  12. i am so, so, so sorry.

  13. I’m so sorry, I’m going to take the dog out and have a cry. I can’t think of anything else to say so I’ll shut up (which is of course the correct course of action and one to be recommended to MIL’s everywhere)

  14. I’m not religious and I don’t know if you are but I lit a candle for turbo.

    So sorry x

  15. Deepest condolences to you and your family. I’m sorry your dance ended this way.

  16. I am so very sorry. Reaching a hand across the pond to you.

  17. Oh no.

    Can’t really say much more than that except that the misoprostol does indeed hurt (and the nurse had the gall to say “oh, miscarriages shouldn’t hurt that much), but although I had medical management with the first one when they didn’t think there was any need to do any testing, it would have theoretically been perfectly possible especially as it all happened on the ward.

  18. I’m so sorry. (And angry)

  19. I am so very sorry.

  20. Words are inadequate to express how sorry I am that Turbo has left you after such a brief stay. I know that he was very loved and very much wanted. You, John and Harry are in my thoughts.

  21. I can’t tell you how dreadful I feel about this. There is nothing fair at all about it. And I’m so sorry.

  22. Sorry doesn’t seem a strong enough thing to say… but I am so incredibly sorry for both you and John.

  23. I am so sorry. What a terrible, terrible thing to have to endure.

    (If I ever meet your MIL, can I give her a smack? No?)

  24. sorrow. support. empathy.

  25. Oh, how cruel and unfair. I am so, so sorry.

  26. Oh, rotten, lousy, awful. I am so so sorry, HFW.

  27. Oh, my poor love. I am just crushed for you.

  28. I am so very sorry. Hands still available for holding. Thinking of you all xxxx

  29. Oh God. Oh no. I am so sorry, so very sorry.

    I’m also sorry for the comment I left today on your last post, I will now try to remove my boot from my gob.

    Sleep well, Turbo, you were and are so very loved.

    • Oh, and I’ll set my MIL on yours, that’ll sort her out. She’ll be talked at so much, she’ll never want to open her mouth again to enjoy the blessing of silence.
      So sorry, again.

  30. I am so very very sorry. I was worried by the silence. It’s all goddamn *physical* on top of everything else.

  31. so, so sorry xx

  32. I’m so sorry.

  33. Huge hugs. So sad. Oh, my dear.

  34. Oh god. All our love to you. So terribly gutted to hear this. Typing whilst crying is rubbish, as I am sure you are only too aware. Let me know if you need anything at all. I can be there within the hour, even if it’s only to make tea and dig tiger traps round the house for you. Love, K.xxx

  35. So sad to hear your news

  36. Devastated. My love and thoughts are with you all (except for tact-free MIL).

    So very, very sorry. xx

  37. oh no no no! *hug*

    I wish there were something I could do.

  38. I’m so sorry.

  39. Oh shit! I’m so sorry – such an inadequate word under the circumstances. I did wonder when the posts stopped but stuck my fingers in my ears and hummed louder. Hopefully the inevitable will be both speedy and not too physically painful. The emotional fall out is devastating I know.

    Oh and MIL needs her arse kicked – just saying. . .

    xox

  40. I am so sorry!! Virtual hugs coming from across the pond……..

  41. You are so brave, and so eloquent even in the face of misery and physical pain and logistical nightmares and mothers-in-law, that I am awed. I wish your strength of character did not have to be tested and revealed, however. I’m so so sorry. Please take care of yourself and please know that I am thinking of you. xxx

  42. I’m so very sorry for your loss. More hugs.

  43. I am so sad to hear this. You don’t know me, but I have been lurking and hoping for you.
    I also sympathise re. your MIL. My Mum is exactly the same and we now follow a policy of mushroom management. She gets upset when she eventually finds out stuff that we have kept from her but refuses to recognise that the reason is that she is incapable of keeping schtum on our private lives.

  44. Oh bollocks. This was very much NOT the news I was hoping to see this morning. So very, very sad and sorry for you and John. Wishing you both much love and strength.

    May I also signing up to the MIL kicking up the arse workgroup? Unhelpful old cow (sorry John).

  45. Oh, Ann. I am so sorry. You poor girl.
    Look after yourself, won’t you? Stoicism has its place and it’s not here. I’ll be thinking of you.

    Many hugs.

  46. So very very sorry to hear the bad news. I don’t quite know how to word this as nothing sounds quite right but I hope things go as smoothly and painfree as possible.
    {{{BIG HUGS}}} from over the waters

  47. I’m so sorry. You deserve better than this.

  48. Oh, I don’t know what to write. More hugs from stateside, and my thoughts are with you and John. I hope John can muster up the courage to give his mother the talking to she so richly deserves.

  49. I am so, so sorry.

  50. GOD DAMMIT TO HELL, THIS IS SO BLOODY UNFAIR!!!

    I’m just gutted for you, friend, and I wish I was close enough to whisk Harry off and leave you chocolate and trashy magazines in his place until this is over with. You should at the very fucking least be able to wait for The Inevitable without worrying about childcare or your MIL.

  51. Thank you all so very, very much indeed; I am very grateful for all the support.

    Exactly nothing has happened yet.

    Twiddling my thumbs.

  52. Fuck, HFF, hell, and blast.

    I’m so very sorry.

  53. I am so, so sorry and I, too, wish I had something more to offer you than mere internet *hugs*. I had so hoped Turbo would beat the odds. You indeed do deserve better.

    Fucksocks.

  54. Crud. I am so, so sorry. I hope it is all over quickly, so you don’t have the added stress of a drawn-out affair. I’d offer to kick MIL’s shins myself, but being on the other side of the pond makes it rather difficult, so I shall send virtual kicks, instead.

  55. I am so very sorry…I hope the rest of the process goes as quickly and smoothly as possible.

    And, jesus, your MIL sounds like a piece of work. Great rays of dislike being lobbed in her direction as I write.

  56. Damn.

    I don’t really have anything else to say, so I’ll say it again.

    Damn.

  57. Have just read this. Am so sorry. I wish there were more we could do or say.

  58. Oh sweetie I am so very sorry.

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