The weeks went by in a blur of appointments, ultrasounds and tests. To our relief a strong heart beat was found at my 15 week midwife check up and the ultrasound at 20 weeks confirmed no abnormalities. It also confirmed that we we're having a little girl. A complete set! Sam was going to be an amazing big brother and I couldn't wait to see what our daughter would look like. There was one thing worrying me, however, so I asked the sonographer if growth looked ok. She reassured us that everything looked fine but it was too early to tell about growth; third trimester was when fat reserves were laid and that would make the difference "between a six pounder and ten pounder", to which I muttered under my breath "or a two pound thirteen ouncer!".
We came out of the hospital and I couldn't stop looking at the scan photo - my precious little girl. I couldn't believe how lucky we were. That evening I went out and bought a tiny purple dress and a pair of pink tights. Every time I needed cheering up I would go up to the baby's room and take them out of the wardrobe just to look at them. A week later, Faye found out that she was having another little boy. She turned up with a huge box of tiny pink clothes from her sister that she had been holding on to 'just incase'. I sorted through the box and lovingly placed the clothes into the baby's wardrobe - hats, tights, sun dresses, knitted dresses, cardigans and baby grows. I couldn't wait to dress my daughter in the beautiful clothes.
We met with my consultant at 21 weeks before going on holiday. It was such a relief to see our beautiful little girl again. We could see her sucking her thumb and swallowing. These are such precious memories of when she was so full of life. Of all the photos we have of her, the pictures from this scan are my favourite as I remember seeing those signs of life. We trusted, and still trust, our consultant completely and were very reassured when she said she was happy with the way things looked. I was still worried about the size of my bump and thought about this the whole time but we had in front of us photographic and written proof that everything was ok. We went on holiday the following week safe in the knowledge that this would be our last holiday together as a family before our lives fell apart 10 weeks later.
We had a really lovely holiday together but for me it was plagued by exhaustion and nightmares. I had dreams about tiny micro preemies and giving birth to a non viable baby that was unrecognisable as my baby. There were a number of times that I was certain that the baby's movements had slowed down and would want to lie still for however long it took for me to be comfortable with the fact that she was still moving. I was worried about what would happen if I needed to go into hospital. Neither John or I speak French and I had written down a number of phrases I had found online about obstetric problems, reduced fetal movement and premature labour, just incase. I found myself wanting to check if any of the residents at the gites in which we were staying were midwives so that I could get thoroughly checked over. Most of all I was obsessing about what would happen if my little girl was delivered at that gestation of 24 weeks - particularly without the hospital that I knew and trusted so well on our doorstep! We arrived home two weeks later still in one piece and relieved that people started to comment on the fact that my bump had grown!
At 25 weeks I had another check up, this time with a different consultant. He was very happy with how things were going and even felt that there was a chance I could go full term. An appointment was made for me to see a specialist consultant midwife at 29 weeks to discuss delivery. I was adamant I didn't want to risk going to 40 weeks and was hoping for induction or a c-section at 38 weeks so that I wouldn't have to endure the stress of 'going over' and the added risks that that held. A week after my appointment I began experiencing cramping and wasn't happy with the baby's movements so called the hospital and was advised to go in for a check. They seemed happy with everything and the CTG confirmed not only a strong heart beat but also picked up fetal movements. The midwife tried to reassure me but I really felt that something was wrong. She explained that I had been through a traumatic experience with Sam and of course I would feel on edge but that I needed to try and relax as everything was fine. I went home but still couldn't get out of my head the possibility that something was wrong. My next appointment was at 29 weeks so I tried hard to relax until then, at the same time spending each day allowing time to lie still simply to feel the baby moving. I would take warm baths to feel her kicks in the water and would prod my stomach gently to feel her response. As long as I could still feel her moving I knew that everything was ok.
The weeks went on and my following appointment confirmed that things were still going well. I was still having the cramping which was becoming increasingly uncomfortable but there seemed to be no probable cause. I was torn between wanting my baby to stay inside me for as long as possible and just wanting the pregnancy over. I felt awful and was permanently on the verge of tears. I just couldn't accept that I was going to have a baby until she was safe in my arms and constantly compared the way I felt, looked and acted with other pregnant women including Faye and other friends who were pregnant. It is as these times that you begin to realise how patient your friends are. I don't remember anyone once telling me not to be silly or shunning my fears. They stood by me and reassured me as much as they could.
One of my last memories before Emilie's death was dropping Samuel off at the new playgroup that he had started. As I stood waiting for the doors to open I got talking to another mum. We exchanged small talk before she asked me how long I had left of my pregnancy. I told her that I had about 9 weeks left and immediately saw the concerned look cross her face. "You're very small," she exclaimed. I began to justify myself and the situation with lots of rumblings about how I just carry small and that I've been seen at the hospital and everything is ok. Her words, however, stayed with me all day. Later that afternoon I went to the dentist for a check up. Sat in the waiting room another lady asked me how long I had left. I decided to try a different tact this time and tell her that I was 31 weeks. Her reaction was the same as the playgroup mum's reaction and I was very relieved when my dentist called me into his room and congratulated me on the pregnancy rather than commenting on my size. 10 days later I would agonise over what may have been different had I just shared the concern of those ladies and gone to the hospital to get checked out. Would my baby have survived? The reality of the situation is probably not. The problems that she had would have been so advanced by that week, and the onset so sudden, that had she been born, she would well have died in SCBU or endured severe brain damage. There is no way of knowing for certain but for months afterwards I took comfort in the thought that there was probably nothing I could have done differently to prevent what happened.
The week leading up to Emilie's death was difficult. John was in London with work, Sam's behaviour was struggling - possibly from the tiredness of starting playgroup and towards the end of the week I had developed a stomach bug. Strangely enough, I don't have many other memories from the week other than that. I remember feeling really poorly and going to the doctors on the Tuesday as I had had a nasty rash for a few weeks that was worsening and was exhausted. I was given antibiotics and advised to rest as much as possible. I put the stomach bug down to this. I'd love to be able to remember more of the week; how much could I feel the baby moving? Was I experiencing any puffiness? Had I had a bump or fall that could have exaggerated things? Sadly I can't remember any of this. In all honesty I can't remember the last time I felt the baby move. All I know is that over the course of the weekend I became certain that she wasn't moving any more.
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