Ive Had 3 Miscarriage Can I Get Pregnant Again
I stepped out of Oxford Circus tube into mid-morning crowds and cold, bright sunshine. The consultant's words were yet ringing in my ears. "Nothing." How could the answer be nothing? This was January 2018, six months since my third miscarriage, a symptomless, rather businesslike matter, diagnosed at an early scan. The previous November, I'd undergone a serial of investigations into possible reasons why I'd lost this babe and the 2 before information technology.
That forenoon, nosotros had gone to hash out the results at the specialist NHS dispensary we'd been referred to afterward officially joining the one in 100 couples who lose three or more pregnancies. I had barely removed my coat before the doctor started rattling off the things I had tested negative for: antiphospholipid antibodies, lupus anticoagulant, Factor V Leiden, prothrombin factor mutation.
"I know it doesn't feel like it, but this is good news," he said, while the hopeful office of me crumpled. We were non going to get a magic wand, a cure, a dissimilar-coloured pill to attempt next time.
At present, my husband, Dan, was back at work and, for reasons I tin't really explicate, I had decided to accept myself shopping rather than become abode after the appointment. I stood staring down the flat, grey frontages of Topshop and NikeTown and willed my feet to unstick themselves from the pavement.
I concluded up wandering the beauty hall of one of London'south more famous department stores. I let myself be persuaded to try a new facial, which uses "medical-grade lasers" to evaporate pollution and dead skin cells from pores to "rejuvenate" and "transform" your complexion. Upstairs in the treatment room, the class I was handed asked if I'd had any surgery in the past year. I wrote in tight, cramped letters that half-dozen months ago I had an performance to remove the remains of a pregnancy, nether general anaesthetic. When I handed the clipboard dorsum to the beautician, she didn't mention it. I wished that she would.
Equally I lay back and felt the hot ping of the laser dotting across my forehead, I thought how ridiculous this all was; that this laser-facial is something humans have figured out how to exercise. How has someone, somewhere, in a lab or the boardroom of a cosmetics conglomerate, conceived of this – a solution to a problem that barely exists – and yet no ane tin can tell me why I can't carry a babe?
At that place is no md who can reverse a miscarriage. More often than not, according to medical literature, once one starts, it cannot be prevented. When I read these words for the first time, three years ago, after Googling "haemorrhage in early pregnancy", a few days before what should have been our 12-week scan, I felt cheated. Cheated, considering when you're pregnant you lot are bombarded with instructions that are supposed to prevent this very thing. No soft cheese for you. No drinking, either. Don't fume, limit your caffeine intake, no cleaning out the true cat's litter tray. I had assumed, naively, that this meant we knew how to forbid miscarriage these days, that we understood why it happened and what acquired it; that it could be avoided if you followed the rules.
You acquire very quickly that the truth is more complicated. After a miscarriage, no medic asks you lot how much coffee you drank or if you accidentally ate any under-cooked meat. Instead you lot detect that miscarriage is judged to exist largely unavoidable. An estimated 1 in v pregnancies ends in miscarriage, with the majority occurring before the 12-week mark. Seventy-one per cent of people who lose a pregnancy aren't given a reason, co-ordinate to a 2019 survey by the baby charity Tommy's. You are told – repeatedly – that it'southward "but bad luck", "just one of those things", "just nature's mode".
Just, just, just. A fatalistic shrug of a discussion. But this is not the whole story. "There is this myth out in that location that every miscarriage that occurs is because there'southward some profound trouble with the pregnancy, that there's nothing that can be washed," says Arri Coomarasamy, a professor of gynaecology and reproductive medicine, and director of the UK's National Eye for Miscarriage Research, which was gear up up past Tommy's in 2016. "Scientific discipline is trying to unpick that myth."
Unfortunately, the roots of this myth run deep. It's an idea reinforced past the social convention that you shouldn't reveal a pregnancy until after 12 weeks, once the highest risk of miscarriage has passed. It goes unchallenged thanks to historic period-old squeamishness and shame around women'south bodies, and our collective ineloquence on matters of grief. The bloody, untimely end of a pregnancy sits at the centre of a perfect Venn diagram of things that make us uncomfortable: sexual practice, death and periods.
An impression persists that, while unfortunate, miscarriages are before long forgotten in one case some other baby arrives – that you'll get there eventually. It's true that the majority of people who have a miscarriage will continue to take a successful pregnancy when they next conceive (about 80%, 1 study carried out in the 1980s found). Fifty-fifty amongst couples who have had three miscarriages in a row, for more than one-half, the next pregnancy will be successful. Appropriately, the prevailing logic seems to be that not only is miscarriage something that cannot exist fixed – it doesn't demand to be fixed. There is little research or funding for trials, and only glancing attention from the healthcare organization. What is not being heard, in all this, is that miscarriage matters.
T here is a magical feeling that comes on afterward a miscarriage, I have found. A semi-delusional land that lasts for days, sometimes weeks, afterwards. After each one of mine (and in that location have been four now), I've caught myself assertive I am still pregnant, despite all bear witness to the contrary – the trips to A&E, the blood, the still ultrasounds, the forms labelled "sensitive disposal of pregnancy remains".
Information technology starts in the mornings. For a moment, stuck somewhere between sleeping and waking, I won't have remembered, and, briefly, I'm still happy. Pregnant. When the telephone rings, for a carve up second I'll imagine it is the infirmary calling to tell me there has been a mistake. A mix-upwardly. They've got the results: I am, in fact, still significant. Or my husband will say, casually, over dinner, "Oh do you desire to hear some good news?" and I'll think: he'southward going to tell me I'm pregnant.
Information technology is the shock, I remind myself, the trauma: it leads to disbelief. Like feeling that the loved one who has died is almost to walk through the front door any minute and sit in their favourite chair. This disability to have reality seems logical to me – inevitable, even – when there is no explanation for what has happened. The brain wants to solve bug, to make meaning.
There are very few specialist miscarriage clinics in the UK. Some people cease upward being seen by a general gynaecologist or sent to a fertility clinic. By and large, doctors will just agree to wait for a possible crusade of miscarriages once you accept had iii in a row. Even subsequently investigations, which in NHS centres tend to look for structural problems with the womb and for blood-clotting disorders, around one-half of people volition never exist given a reason for their losses. There aren't even official guidelines on preventing miscarriage – but on its diagnosis and "management".
With no answers to your questions – why did information technology happen? Will information technology happen once again? – you are cut adrift in a sea of recommendations from women on Mumsnet, private doctors, people offer fertility supplements, herbalists and nutritionists, and from cult all-time-sellers that promise to tell yous how to improve the quality of your eggs. It'due south been more than 40 years since embryologist Jean Purdy watched as a unmarried-cell embryo in a petri dish divided into 2, and so four, and then eight cells that would become the world'southward showtime IVF babe. Humans accept worked out how to arbitrate in order to create life in a lab, but not how to sustain information technology in the earliest weeks within the torso. The phase between conception and an ongoing pregnancy, visible on an ultrasound scan (at around 6 weeks) is sometimes referred to as the "black box" of human development.
Co-ordinate to Prof Nick Macklon, medical managing director of the London Women's Clinic and an expert in miscarriage and early on pregnancy, the reason there's been so trivial progress is that we've been request the wrong questions. "We use the term 'recurrent miscarriage' as if information technology were a medical diagnosis, withal there isn't one single medical cause," he said. Some women may have a claret-clotting disorder; for others, a contributing factor could be thyroid dysfunction. Many women who miscarry appear non to take an underlying health condition at all; instead, their bodies seem to be less able to discern what is and isn't a feasible embryo. Still studies of possible preventative treatments tend to recruit their subjects as if all recurrent miscarriages have the same cause.
This, in Macklon's view, is likely to explain why several large, quality trials of possible treatments to reduce the chance of miscarriage, such as heparin (a blood thinner) and aspirin, likewise as the hormone progesterone, take failed to evidence whatsoever clear do good, and take subsequently been dismissed by the medical community. Some of these treatments may in fact work for some women, but, Macklon says, "because of the way the study is designed, information technology comes out as not working overall".
A related problem lies in the mistaken supposition that nigh (if not all) miscarriages happen because the pregnancy was doomed to fail. In half of all miscarriages, the embryo will take a serious chromosomal abnormality that means it could never survive, but the other half are believed to exist salubrious embryos. Prof Siobhan Quenby, a consultant obstetrician at Academy Hospitals Coventry and Warwickshire, heads up a specialist clinic into recurrent miscarriage, one of four centres that course Tommy'due south National Centre for Miscarriage Inquiry. The key question, she believes, is establishing whether someone is repeatedly losing chromosomally normal or abnormal pregnancies. "Everyone from their third miscarriage onwards should take their miscarriage tissue tested genetically," she said.
Yet access to genetic testing is patchy. Not all NHS hospitals can do this kind of testing on site. If someone miscarries at home, the onus is on them to collect a clean sample of the tissue and take it to their infirmary within 24 hours. This may not be something they tin do – or fifty-fifty know near.
Quenby is a celebrity in the world of recurrent miscarriage patients. Her proper noun frequently crops up in the "miracle babe" stories that brand the papers, with headlines such as "Babe joy for couple who lost 13 babies to miscarriages". Her particular surface area of interest is how the lining of the womb behaves in early pregnancy – and how it might contribute to miscarriage. She is one of the authors of a study published in Jan 2020, which found that a repurposed diabetes drug, sitagliptin, could reduce the risk of miscarriage by boosting the number of stem cells in the womb lining. These cells are responsible for renewing the lining and reducing inflammation. "It's still only a small airplane pilot trial, but it is fantastically exciting," Quenby told me. "It's the showtime fourth dimension in a long time that there's been a potential new drug handling."
Quenby is convinced it's not so much the treatment options that are lacking, but the will to endeavour them. "It'southward the opposite of 'nosotros can't do anything'," she said. "At that place are tons of things we tin attempt now." Still, as a miscarriage patient, you run upwards against the dilemma that recurrent miscarriage is not a diagnosis in itself, so the difficulty is in establishing which treatment is most appropriate to yous. Even with the help of the nearly motivated of doctors, there is going to be a degree of trial and mistake.
Many people volition exist told, as we were, that the best treatment is no handling – simply attempt again. This is what we did, but to miscarry for a fourth time. We were under the supervision of the recurrent-miscarriage dispensary, all the same even after that fourth loss, the prescription remained the same: just keep trying.
It took the states a yr before nosotros felt prepare to roll the dice again. Shortly after I started researching this slice, in November, I found out I was pregnant for the fifth time.
T o be meaning again later previous miscarriages is to live at the fork of 2 alternative lives. You attempt to call back equally fiddling equally possible about what'due south going on inside your body, while, of course, thinking near it all the time. Alive or expressionless? Babe or miscarriage? In every possible scenario, you program for the two outcomes. To a sure extent, you are forced to buy into both possibilities simultaneously. You cannot truly believe it will piece of work out, but you lot accept to proceed every bit though you are pregnant anyhow, until a browse proves otherwise. Alive and dead. Schrödinger'due south foetus.
Yous treat yourself every bit your ain walking inquiry written report: a sample of one. Perhaps you take a different brand of prenatal vitamin. Or you practise different exercise. You lot exercise no exercise at all. You lot drink less caffeine. You drink no caffeine at all. You lot are more careful. You are less careful, because y'all've been unimpeachably careful before and look where it got yous. Mostly, though, yous just wait.
Why hasn't miscarriage medicine moved faster or farther? Why isn't there more certainty about what works and what doesn't? The first detailed depictions of a human embryo'south development, from three weeks to four months, were produced by the German anatomist Samuel Thomas Soemmerring in 1799, and the images are remarkably like to graphics used in week-by-calendar week pregnancy apps today. Yet a precise schema of measurements to date the stages of early on pregnancy – between vii and 16 weeks – wasn't established in modern clinical practise until 1973, with the advent of ultrasound imaging. Nosotros had put a homo on the moon earlier we could routinely run into, in real time, what was happening within a woman's womb.
Pregnancy research, in general, is underfunded. A recent research review, published in January 2020, constitute that for every £1 spent on pregnancy care in the NHS, less than 1p is spent on pregnancy enquiry. "Compared to other areas – such every bit infertility – miscarriage has certainly lagged behind," said Arri Coomarasamy, who sees patients in both fields.
"Miscarriage gets a bad deal," agreed Hassan Shehata, a consultant obstetrician and gynaecologist, who runs the Centre for Reproductive Immunology and Pregnancy, in Epsom, Surrey. "For a get-go, there is no specialist training," he said. When you train equally a gynaecologist, you tin can specialise in sub-fields such as infertility and IVF, merely there is no specific speciality in miscarriage, he explained.
There are as well practical difficulties to conducting studies. "Pregnancy is hard to research equally, past its nature, studying it might disrupt it," Nick Macklon told me. This ways you're often left with retrospective population data (easily skewed by multiple factors), or studying donated embryo or foetal tissue (tightly restricted for ethical reasons – and prohibited altogether by "personhood" laws in some parts of the U.s.a., which insist on burying or cremation of all pregnancy tissue).
Even when human trials of treatments are feasible, there is the claiming of persuading women who are desperate to avoid another miscarriage to sign up to a study in which they might be given the placebo. Every bit Ippokratis Sarris, a consultant in reproductive medicine and director of King'southward Fertility, a private fertility clinic in London, put it: "It's very difficult to practise a proper trial – people desire to accept something they call up might work. How do you tell them they can't have it until there is skilful evidence?"
Now that I was pregnant once more, there was one treatment I was desperate to try. Progesterone has long been the great hope of miscarriage research. This "pro-gestation" hormone is produced in higher quantities during pregnancy by a woman's ovaries (and, later on, by the placenta). It is essential throughout pregnancy and helps set up the womb lining, although scientists don't yet understand the precise mechanisms by which it does this. In May 2019, a large, multi-center trial of progesterone, given in early pregnancy – the Prism trial – found that for women with a history of recurrent miscarriage who had started bleeding during their side by side pregnancy, taking progesterone fabricated a significant difference to the live nascency rate, compared with a placebo.
I was prepared to debate the toss for progesterone with my doctors this fourth dimension around. I knew the new evidence didn't perfectly fit our circumstances. I wasn't bleeding in this pregnancy, for one thing. To my surprise, the female doctor we saw at the dispensary for our first appointment, in the first month of this pregnancy, agreed to prescribe it without and so much as a raised eyebrow. It was not the first fourth dimension I have asked about some speculative treatment, but it was the commencement fourth dimension the dispensary had agreed.
Equally Dan and I joined the queue at the hospital pharmacy, tucked abroad in a grimy edifice in Paddington, I felt I was holding on to something bigger than the printed prescription in my hand. For the first fourth dimension, we had something, after existence told that at that place was nothing.
So less than a week later on, at eight weeks pregnant, I started to bleed.
T here are therapies for miscarriage that accept been available privately for well over a decade, yet are no closer to condign mainstream medicine or available on the NHS. Where questions remain over the evidence, private clinics can get ahead and offer treatment anyway – something the NHS cannot do.
One therapy available at a handful of private clinics – lymphocyte immunisation therapy (LIT), in which a woman is given a transfusion of white blood cells from their male partner before she becomes significant – has been banned in the Us, outside of a research setting. Such treatments belong to a field known as reproductive immunology, and stem from work in the 80s and 90s by an American obstetrician, Alan Beer, who once summed upwards his theory in the post-obit way: "Finer, women go serial killers of their ain babies."
The idea is that miscarriage can be caused by a hyper-vigilant allowed system that misrecognises the symptoms of pregnancy as a threat. In these cases, treatment may involve suppressing the immune organisation using steroids or intralipids (substantially an emulsion of soybean oil and egg yolk, given intravenously, sometimes referred to as the "mayonnaise" or "egg-yolk" drip). Clinics charge upward to £l,000 for such treatments. However, all but 1 of the experts I spoke to expressed scepticism about their effectiveness.
Funding high-quality trials is particularly difficult when it comes to treatments that target the allowed system, because, according to Quenby, in the past at that place has been a trend to over-hype the results.
Quenby believes our understanding of miscarriage would amend if we considered it as a public wellness issue, as we do stillbirth and neonatal deaths. Both of these are more common where there are high levels of social deprivation, and it's likely the same is truthful of miscarriage rates, as well. Though, currently, hospital trusts are not required to report the rate in their area.
But like periods, female pain, the menopause and weather such as endometriosis, which also want for skillful inquiry and understanding, it'south difficult not to conclude that miscarriage suffers from a lack of knowledge and interest because it happens to female person bodies. What'due south more, the underlying assumption tends to exist that miscarriage is e'er down to something a woman's body is or isn't doing.
In 2019, researchers at Imperial College London found that partners of women who have had three or more than miscarriages tend to have higher levels of damage to their sperm'south DNA. The trial was minor, comparing the sperm of 50 men whose partners had had miscarriages with 60 men whose partners had not. The results will need to be replicated. And before any possible treatments can be trialled, researchers need to found what causes such DNA damage.
Still, Quenby said, "The fact that we're even looking at it is really important." Traditionally, men and their contribution to the pregnancy take been largely left out of the picture. In the by three years, while I take been scanned and probed and pricked for multiple phials of blood, aside from completing a form outlining his basic medical history when we were referred to the recurrent-miscarriage clinic, Dan has not been required to so much as cough and say "ah".
Westward hen I discovered I was bleeding, I did a drastic search online for answers. I decided I was either having my fifth miscarriage – or, merely perhaps, the intermittent, brownish spotting was a side effect of the progesterone. I knew I should phone the recurrent miscarriage clinic, or my GP, or endeavour to get an appointment for a scan at my nearest early pregnancy unit. Simply I couldn't bear to. I was not fix to talk practicalities just still, and at that place was no one at the dispensary to phone call for the sake of talking. Likewise, we were due to go dorsum for a scan the post-obit calendar week.
In the following days, the bleeding didn't stop, but it didn't get worse, either. Nonetheless, I couldn't shake the thought that, at eight weeks pregnant, this was the exact same indicate I had miscarried the last three times. Dan and I made our contingencies. It was early December, and we were due to move firm in a few days, and we discussed how we would fit surgery around the move, if information technology turned out to be bad news. I bought sanitary pads and wine. Nosotros pretended nosotros were sanguine. We pretended we knew how nosotros would cope. "We're pros now," we joked. I barely slept the night earlier the date.
On 4 December, my mum came with us to the hospital and managed to continue up a steady patter almost her cycling, her knitting and the roadworks on the A14 while we waited. I knew she wanted to distract me. Just the only words my brain had space for were the ones I was convinced I was nearly to hear for a fifth fourth dimension: I'k and then sorry in that location is no heartbeat. I'yard so deplorable at that place is no heartbeat.
When we were finally called in for the scan, I explained to the sonographer that I was anxious. That I'd been bleeding. I tried not to look at the print on the wall of the room – the aforementioned room we were in final time – of a scarlet heart, printed in swirly imitation-brushstrokes. I tried non to call up what I thought final time: how fucking inappropriate that is. A heart, for when there is no heartbeat.
I lay down on the bed and unbuttoned my jeans. Dan held my hand. I was braced for the words: And so sorry. So lamentable. Except they didn't come up. The sonographer was telling the states that everything looked fine. She turned the screen towards usa, and she was pointing out the flickering heartbeat. She was telling us that I was measuring in at nine weeks and i mean solar day. The baby was moving. And I was crying.
D id I dare to believe that the progesterone was actually working? The possibility loomed in my mind that our miscarriages really had been "just" bad luck all along. At least one of our losses was downwards to a chromosomal abnormality known every bit a triploidy: essentially an extra set of chromosomes. One crusade of this is an egg being fertilised past two sperm at one time – as random and unavoidable equally that.
About two weeks after information technology started, the haemorrhage waned and our clinic suggested it was time we transferred to our local hospital for antenatal care and the 12-week dating scan. (This is normally the outset browse people have on the NHS, at the end of the first trimester, and information technology's used to check the foetus's health and estimate the due date.) On the one hand, this felt like an achievement – we had never made it this far before – but on the other, it meant leaving the relative security of the specialist dispensary, where everyone understands why you don't want to remember further ahead than the next engagement.
Feeling similar fledglings pushed from the nest, we had to brave the official NHS booking-in appointment, which involved giving our medical histories to the local midwifery squad and some routine screening tests. We have done this twice earlier, during previous pregnancies, when we knew and worried less. Two days afterward the second 1, I bled out the tiny embryo on our bed at home. I hadn't dared make this particular date since.
We got our earth-shaking date for the dating browse, a little over two weeks away – delayed slightly by the Christmas suspension. Fourth dimension passed twitchily. Nosotros congratulated ourselves for not miscarrying on Christmas Eve, on Christmas Mean solar day, on Battle Day.
On xxx December, half dozen hours before the scan, I read a annotation from the hospital that said you take to pay £5 for a re-create of the browse photo. Fleetingly, I debated getting some cash out, but decided this would be jinxing things. At the infirmary, I squeaked my proper name to the receptionist. We were early. This may have been our 12-week browse, but it had taken us 48 weeks of pregnancy to get here. I really wasn't sure if I could wait some other xx minutes.
I had my spiel prepared for the sonographer – "a bit anxious" … "4 miscarriages".
"Thank you for telling me," she said, as I lay down. There was the briefest of pauses. "OK, hither's your infant."
Whereas in previous pregnancies there had only been clangorous black on the ultrasound monitor, at present there was wobbling motion; the grey outline of a head and a tiny, round tummy – a waving, wondrous bounding main beast emerging from the night.
"They're a wriggler," the sonographer told united states, smiling. I gripped Dan's hand and we watched equally the infant – I will try to phone call information technology a infant from now on – somersaulted for us. For the get-go time, nosotros left an antenatal unit with a browse photograph and stepped out into entirely new territory.
On 14 March, nosotros hit 24 weeks, which is deemed the signal of "viability" – that is, when a foetus is theoretically capable of surviving outside the womb. Whatever was going to happen to usa from now on, information technology would not exist classified as a miscarriage. Keeping this baby alive would no longer be down to my body alone. Should anything happen, doctors would accept to at least endeavor to intervene. These were not comforting thoughts exactly, merely they were something.
10 days afterward, the whole of the Britain went into coronavirus lockdown. The weekend we had quietly celebrated reaching viability also turned out to be the last weekend I would see anyone only my husband or a healthcare professional for a long time.
T he initial days of confinement were softened past activity and preparation: batch-cooking, arranging deliveries, cancelling plans. I comforted myself by reading the official Covid-19 guidance from the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists over and over: "There is no testify to suggest an increased take chances of miscarriage … Pregnant women are still no more probable to contract coronavirus than the general population."
Slowly, though, as I watched the number of reported cases and deaths ascent, marooned on the sofa at home, fear seeped under the door. Not a mean solar day has gone by, since finding out I was pregnant over again, that I have not worried that my baby might dice. Simply at present, during a global pandemic, those nebulous anxieties hardened into something nameable. The shadow on the nursery wall had taken a solid shape.
I woke up ane night in the first week of lockdown feeling hot, my throat tight. This is information technology, I thought – I've caught it. I had barely been outside for a fortnight, though I did get my pilus cutting a few days before lockdown was alleged. And so the taunt went round and around in my head, as I stared at the ceiling unable to sleep: your baby could die, and all for the sake of your split ends. In the rational lite of day (and feeling fine), I concluded it had probably been heartburn.
The world shrank. I baked bread and planted herbs. I silenced notifications and deleted social media accounts from my phone. I tracked my daily steps and counted my baby'south kicks using an app. Mixed in with the fear and stress of doubtfulness, in that location was too a guilty kind of sadness for the things I would not get to practise – things I had dreamed of for so long: a "last" vacation as a couple, showing off my bump in my first maternity dress, coming together new "mum friends" for coffee.
People phoned to ask how we were coping, but it felt selfish to admit to such modest sadnesses, when at that place were bigger worries: for my brother, who had to postpone his wedding; for my cousin, who is a nurse; for our four grandmothers, who all live alone. Then in that location were the worries of people I don't know, merely who could then easily have been the states: those who have had their fertility treatment cancelled, or who volition be told they have miscarried during browse appointments they accept had to nourish alone, in order to protect other patients and NHS staff. At the time of writing, hospitals were being brash not to offer extra scans in early pregnancy, even for people with a history of miscarriages.
On 17 April, week four of lockdown, I attended an date for a 28-week routine growth browse by myself, while Dan, following the new rules, waited in the car. A security guard at the door checked my name off a listing. The sonographer and midwife I saw wore masks and visors, while the doctor conducted my appointment from the opposite end of the consulting room. I projected my voice, similar a bad stage actor: "No, no family history of diabetes", and and then on.
On some days, information technology has felt every bit though the pandemic has brought my feel of pregnancy closer to the curve of normality. For and so long, I had felt as if I was just playing at pregnancy, like a small girl with a cushion up her jumper. I couldn't trust that I would get to exercise things other pregnant women take for granted. But and then, all of a sudden, no ane else was going to antenatal classes, throwing babe showers or browsing department stores for the perfect pram either.
The temptation, when you lot get to where we are now, still pregnant after so many losses – and in the shadow of loss on a global scale – is to first talking about miracles. Only I don't believe in miracle babies any more than. I believe we should exist able to put our faith in the bear witness, in knowledge of how our bodies piece of work – or don't work. That waiting and hoping isn't plenty. Yet, as I sit down here, in my fifth pregnancy, in the third trimester, wearing my very first pair of motherhood jeans, feeling our babe kick inside me, it is difficult not to consider it a wonder that any of us gets to exist here at all. Especially when there is still so much we don't know.
Source: https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2020/may/05/my-four-miscarriages-why-is-losing-a-pregnancy-so-shrouded-in-mystery
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