'I woke up from anaesthesia, empty': Mother haunted by miscarriage shares her journey to parenthood

"I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat."

I'm haunted by these words and the vividness of the scenarios playing out in my mind over and over, even after six years – every single day.

Before marriage, you assume falling pregnant will happen without any effort. You see women having healthy pregnancies and giving birth effortlessly.

But no one tells you about the struggles they faced. The years of trying to conceive. The miscarriages.

Oh, the miscarriages!

I was never one to keep track of changes in my cycle. Missed periods, late periods – all normal to me. After three years of no baby dust success, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS), a hormonal irregularity which causes infertility.

With little knowledge of this condition, Google told me I would never have children (Hellooo! Google is our virtual doctor and we make our own diagnoses).

With my first pregnancy in late 2013, I was in disbelief. I fell pregnant "naturally". I could not wait to tell the world.

I was ecstatic but this excitement was short-lived because I started spotting at about seven weeks.

We rushed to the emergency room, where it was established that there was, in fact, no foetus – just an empty, hollow sac.

Try again

I read up and found it was quite common for first pregnancies to end up in miscarriages. Great! We'll just try again. Little did I know this was only the beginning of an emotionally and financially taxing roller coaster.

By the end of 2013, I had changed gynaecologists. At my first appointment with the most amazing doctor ever (I'll recommend him in a heartbeat) we started Clomid (ovulation-inducing medication). After just two weeks of being on Clomid, my pregnancy test came back positive. With my first scan at six weeks, my "bean" had a strong heartbeat.

In my heart, I knew it was a girl. 

On my first day into the second trimester, I bought the cutest pink onesies.

I tried to ignore the horrible comments, like "it's too soon" and "what if something happens".

In all honesty, those comments got to me.

Fast-forward to the second week into trimester two. I started spotting very lightly, with no cramps that would send one to the emergency room. I immediately made an appointment for the next morning just to be safe and to set my mind at ease.

Devastation

My doctor did a trans-abdominal scan and I just knew by the look on his face which words were to follow. Devastated, I was admitted to hospital for a dilation and curettage that evening.

It was a blur.

All I remember from my time in the maternity ward – the maternity ward of all places – is that I cried in anguish, and the bittersweet sound of newborns crying, until they took me to theatre at 23:00 that night.

I woke up from anaesthesia barren, hollow, empty.

Of all three miscarriages I've suffered, that one shattered my soul. It is still the most painful thing I have ever experienced.

We decided two months later, after my body had healed, to do another round of Clomid.

Rainbow

Lo and behold, a few weeks later, another positive pregnancy test: I was expecting twins, fraternal twins! To this day, I'm 100% sure they were conceived on different days.

I had to take extra progesterone as a miscarriage precaution. Every single visit to the bathroom was anxiety inducing because I always expected to see spotting.

I was paranoid about every minor cramp or weird discharge. 

I felt like a little fragile porcelain doll for the entire six and a half months of my pregnancy. I went into spontaneous labour at 29 weeks, but thankfully I had already been admitted for monitoring and bed rest.

My rainbow babies, the absolute loves of my life Ayaan and Yaqeen, were born mid-November 2014. Their due date was late January 2015.

Real-life warriors, they spent two months in the newborn intensive care unit.

In 2017, I had another surprise pregnancy, which also, sadly, ended in a miscarriage. But now, almost six years after the birth of my boys, my house is always abuzz, with storytelling, twin boy fights (it gets really messy) and, best of all, the random "I love you, mommy" hugs and cuddles.

This right here, is perfect for me. No more, no less.

Draw the line

What I do know from my journey to parenting, is that I am terrified of falling pregnant again.

I should mention that with the financial and emotional strain and the PTSD, I was diagnosed with major depression and bipolar affective disorder recently. My diagnosis was a relief to myself and my husband.

I had neglected myself during those years of struggling. My moods and depressive episodes were swept under the rug and eventually caught up with me in 2019. 

It was also the year I was supposed to graduate. The roller coaster just continued after I failed a dean's exam.

This was when I decided to draw the line. For the sake of my family and my well-being, I spent two weeks in a clinic – possibly the best two weeks of my life.

I am coping well now and my medication has been a blessing.

It's easy to lose yourself along the way. Remember, your mind and body are of no use if you don't take care of them.

Words by Naseegha Carriem

Edited by Elizabeth Mamacos

Read more in the series here: Finding Family | Nine mothers share the defining moments of their rocky path to parenthood

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