And yet another 12 week miscarriage story

I was incredibly surprised when I missed a period. I'd only been going out with my now husband for about 6 months. I don't think it really occurred to me that I could be pregnant. Not at 45. We made love without protection because I was bleeding - at my age I was becoming less regular, so one every 2 weeks didn't seem outlandish. I realize in retrospect that I was ovulating.

So I took a test. It was positive. I was shocked more than anything. I didn't know how to break it to the young and lovely man I was in love with. We'd never spoken of marriage or any real commitment, we loved each other and that was enough.

But he took it very well, shocked that he was going to be a father, but otherwise pretty cool about it. As the weeks went by we got rather excited. I had bled slightly, but a scan at 6 weeks showed our little bean with a beating heart. It was suddenly all real. I wanted to get to the 12 week point (don't we all?) and as each day went by I breathed a sigh of relief. We spoke of marriage, I thought about nappies and babies and stuff that I didn't think I would ever see again.

I had one strange experience with a lovely friend who was a psychic. It was a beautiful day and she suggested taking my hand and telling me if it was a boy or a girl. I was 9 weeks pregnant and just beginning to show, I couldn't wait to hear what she would say. She took my hand and the smile totally left her face. She dropped my hand and said, well, it's difficult sometimes. And then she told me a long and very sad tale about her own miscarriage many years ago. I'm sure she knew somehow.

And so the tale winds to its inevitable end. We went away for the weekend to stay with Kat's sister and husband. I was 12 weeks to the day and felt like celebrating, although there was a nagging doubt - why did my morning sickness disappear so suddenly at 10 weeks? I remember sitting on the sofa and she asked how we were and Kat just blurt out "We're pregnant!" He was so excited. We went out for the evening and had a great time. When we got back I felt really tired and the other 3 decided to have a drink. So I said I'd go to bed.

I went to the bathroom and as I walked back to the bedroom there was a Whoosh and blood just flooded everywhere. I was absolutely soaked. I had no idea what to do, but grabbed some towels and tried to stench the flow. I sat on the loo and was horrified at the amount that went down there. I knew what was happening, but I somehow kept thinking it might not be, it might not be. I could hear them all laughing downstairs and I stood for some seconds knowing that I was about to ruin everything. I staggered down the stairs, trying not to make too much of a mess and put my head round the door. "Kat," I said, "Something terrible has happened. I need help."

And everyone rallied round. More towels. Stuff to wrap round me as I was going into shock and had lost a fair bit of blood. We got a taxi in the end as an ambulance would take too long. The wait in an empty hospital at 2 o'clock in the morning was awful. It was at least an hour before I was finally put on a ward and I wept and wept and begged God to make it stop, to make our little baby live. The next day was a Sunday and they didn't have anyone doing Ultrasounds so I had to wait. I seem to recall that the Monday was a Bank Holiday too, so I had a very long wait. But the bleeding continued and I passed out on the way to the loo, so it was clear they had to do something. They said a D&C would stop the bleeding.

I was in such a silly state and terrified of the General Anaesthetic, but once it was done the bleeding did slow down and I went home the next day. I hope this has not been too gruesome a read, but it might help someone else who has something similar.

We were both gutted and I felt like a hollow shell for a very long time.

And somehow you need closure. I had by now decided that there was no god. From that point on something said it's bunkum. So I needed another way to say goodbye. We went to Cornwall for a week's holiday as Artists in Residence at Camelot Castle (a mad, but magnificent hotel in Tintagel). We did a lot of walking and one of our walks took us to St. Nectan's Glen. It's a long walk through woodland that takes you to the most beautiful place. One can only describe it as magical. There is a stunning waterfall, crashing down the rocks; which is surrounded by trees strewn with ribbons, dancing in the breeze and photos and mementos of loved ones are everywhere. All around are piles of delicately balanced Fairy stones and pebbles. We went to the cave above where St Nectan lived (allegedly) and it was filled with candles and more photographs,with a book of memories to write in. We had no idea that we would find ourselves in this moving and incredibly spiritual place and I wrote a goodbye to our little one, who never made it, in the book. It seemed a lovely place to leave him.

But now we had realized we wanted a baby, we had to start down that long and winding road. I had a second mc at 9 weeks and this was not anywhere near as bad. I knew from week 6, as I felt things were wrong with no symptoms and the Dr very kindly arranged a scan which confirmed my worst fears. But it was ok. I decided to let it happen naturally and I had a very painful and heavy period, but it was all do-able as this little one had never had a heartbeat.

After that, I didn't conceive naturally again and we both decided after a couple of years to go abroad for IVF. That story is here Mad Margaret's Story

But we do have a happy ending. We have two year old twins, a boy and a girl. We are very lucky people.