My Missed Miscarriage

Another baby who does not get to develop, grow, thrive, live.

Another pregnancy ending in surgery.

____________________

At the end of June I was delighted to discover I was pregnant! This baby was so wanted, so tried for, and conceived naturally. We were over the moon.

It didn’t take long for the nausea to kick in, or for that exhaustion that feels like it is seeping in to your bone marrow to arrive. My boobs were tender and enlarged, my tummy bloated with what appeared to be an early bump.

The pregnancy hormones were riding high creating this new little human, and so was I.

__________________

I enjoyed being pregnant, despite the unpleasant symptoms.

Creating a new human felt so special, and I was determined to not complain about any discomforts so grateful was I to be pregnant again.

Martin and I talked to my tummy and gave it kisses.

I dared to wonder what my baby would be like. I loved them so much already.

In my mind I allowed myself to cuddle my newborn to my bare chest, feel their skin, smell them, take in every part of their chubby little body.

I was – I am – my baby’s Mummy.

_________________________

I dutifully took my folic acid and aspirin every day (the latter to reduce the risk of preeclampsia). I reduced the intensity of my gym workouts, and stopped doing certain moves that had the potential to harm my unborn baby. I had lots of rest. I ate as well as I could bearing in mind the nausea, and avoided any foods that might do my baby harm.

_______________________

I estimated my due date: February 25, 2017. Just five days after Hugo’s third birthday.

Hugo was born 16 weeks prematurely because I had the rare, life-threatening pregnancy complications HELLP syndrome and preeclampsia. An emergency Caesarean section under general anaesthetic, a stay in intensive care for me and a lifetime in the neonatal intensive care unit for my precious boy.

That lifetime was all too short, with Hugo Boss dying in my arms aged 35 days.

After the initial shock of the coincidence of the birthdays we decided to take it as a sign: of healing after the heartbreak of how my first pregnancy ended, and Hugo’s death.

Yes, another pregnancy would be fraught with stress and anxiety: would HELLP syndrome strike again, and when? All the experts could tell us was that it might not happen again, or it might – and if it did, chances are it would strike later, and less severely. We would have the best care, and lots of monitoring appointments.

Hope.

__________________

The first of those monitoring appointments came on Wednesday July 13. An early scan, at 7 weeks, arranged by my amazing midwife.

My midwife is a specialist bereavement midwife: she cares for women like me during the immediate aftermath of loss, and during subsequent pregnancies. She is there to help women like me navigate ‘the system’, arrange appointments, and be a listening ear for all the anxieties and extra paranoia about every symptom.

Bladder full, Martin and I had a chat with a different kind midwife to take some details and we waited to be called for the scan.

Name called, we enter a darkened room. Staff introduce themselves, I lie on the couch, lift up my dress, have gel applied to my belly. Probe looks around inside, I grip Martin’s hand.

An egg sac and gestational sac can be seen, says the sonographer, but no baby.

I am asked to go and empty my bladder and return to the room for a transvaginal scan.

Still nothing conclusive, says the lovely sonographer. She says she needs another pair of eyes.

Martin and I are guided to a quiet room while a colleague is sought.

In about 10 minutes we try again with the colleague. More gel on my belly. That’s no good, so it’s knickers off and the vaginal probe again. Fists under my bum to get a good angle, I can’t hold Martin’s hand.

I can see an egg sac and a gestational sac, says the new sonographer. With difficulty, she finds what she calls the ‘foetal pole’ – my baby.

Baby measures just 5.6mm, too small for the gestation.

And there is no heartbeat.

My legs are akimbo, my knees raised. The sonographer puts her hand on my knee and gently says that I will need to return next week for a repeat scan. My dates might be wrong, it might be difficult to see the baby at this early gestation with all my organs in the way.

But, she says gently, I think we are likely to see the same thing next week.

Tissues are handed to me as I begin to sob.

Martin and I are guided back to the quiet room.

Bloody quiet rooms. Rooms of doom. We have spent far too much time in effing quiet rooms hearing bad news about our babies.

Why us?

After a time another midwife comes in with a student. She kindly listens to us, she knows our history. She makes another appointment for us the following week, reassuring us while making no false promises. My dates might be wrong, she says. About 50% of women have a heartbeat on the next scan. It’s impossible to say.

Impossible odds.

It might, it might not.

In the meantime, if the baby has died nature might take its course.

I feel like a walking timebomb.

We return home for the longest week’s wait.

____________________________________

At home, the first couple of days of that week pass in a numb blur.

In our excitement and joy about our pregnancy we had told close family and our closest friends. We’d agreed that we wouldn’t make a formal announcement until after the 12 week scan, but considering how anxious we were likely to be we would need the support of our nearest and dearest.

So, we set about telling them our news.

Comfort, kindness, virtual hugs.

Prayers and hope.

_____________________

Hope came in a physical form, too: my nausea persisted. I still couldn’t stomach a cup of tea. I was continually tired. Looking in the mirror, I marvelled at my bloated boobs with enlarged veins and areolas.

Surely they must be positive signs?

I tried not to get too stressed, thinking that it would be bad for the baby.

I tried to hope that we would be in the positive 50%.

I tried to remember that whatever happened during the second scan, we had survived so much already and would again.

But surely we deserved some positive news?

____________________

People don’t get what they deserve.

Bad things happen to good people.

Losing one baby does not grant a protective forcefield for subsequent pregnancies. There are no get out of jail free cards.

Signs are bollocks.

Awful things happen to us all.

_________________

Scan number 2: Wednesday July 20. I am 8 + 5 weeks’ pregnant,

After a wait that felt like forever we were called in to the room.

Lie on the couch, dress up, gripping on to Martin’s hand, gel and probe on the belly.

We need to do a transvaginal scan, says the sonographer.

Knickers off, legs spread, knees up, fists under the bum. I am unable to hold Martin’s hand as the sonographer softly says she is sorry, but there is no change.

There is no heartbeat, and most compellingly the baby still measures 5.6mm.

The baby has not grown.

The baby has died, at about 6 weeks.

I am numb. I cast a glance at the screen, where the sonographer points out our baby, a tiny little seed with no life.

We are taken back to the quiet room.

I sob.

I still feel pregnant, but my baby has died inside of me.

The midwife comes in to the room to talk to us. She tells us how sorry she is, that she understands how devastated we must be especially after Hugo. I am so grateful she has taken the time to actually read the notes, to understand what they mean, to empathise.

We ask what is next.

We don’t have to make any decisions that day, she says, but we have three options:

To wait for nature to take its course, to have the miscarriage managed medically, or to have it removed surgically.

Options implies choice. I didn’t want to choose any of them. I wanted to grow big and round and have a bouncing baby in seven months’ or so time.

But that choice was taken away from me.

Nature doesn’t seem in any hurry to take its course, and I hate feeling like a timebomb. Who knows how long it might take, and when it will happen?

Medical management sounds horrific: a drug taken orally and a pessary to make the womb shed its contents. It makes you feel really ill. Insult to injury.

Surgical management is a D&C under a general anaesthetic as a day patient. I don’t want surgery – I have PTSD relating to traumatic events from Hugo’s birth and who really wants people poking around their lady parts to remove their much-wanted baby? But after hearing that options one and two might result in the surgical option anyway because there’s a chance material might be left behind. Let’s minimise the trauma, I think, by being completely out of it, controlling it by knowing when it is going to happen, and going through it all only once.

The next availability for the procedure is two days’ time, Friday July 22. My birthday. We agree that’s not a good day, and we will need to wait for a couple of days for the new surgical rotas to be released before I can be booked in.

In the meantime, I go through the pre-op prep: blood tests, weight, MRSA swab up my nose.

A doctor arrives to ‘consent’ me. Such a funny concept under the circumstances, like when I ‘consented’ to the emergency C-section when I had Hugo. I am told what will happen during the procedure, and what the risks are. I sign.

I explain my anxieties, and am given a prescription for Diazepam.

_______________________________

We go home.

We feel empty, bereft, heartbroken.

Another chance shattered.

We tell people the news.

They are so sorry.

My birthday comes and goes in a bit of a grey fog. I receive a call from the hospital: my procedure will be on the Monday. The kind secretary who calls me apologises for calling me on my birthday about such a matter, and checks I have all the information about fasting before a general anaesthetic.

________________________

I try to keep busy.

We go to the garden centre, and buy lots of new flowers for the garden.

I spend a content few hours planting them all, rearranging them, putting up new fairy lights.

It looks pretty, and feels good to be doing something productive and constructive.

I go to the gym, I box, throw things.

I think about how nature can be such a bitch because I still feel pregnant even though I know there will be no baby.

It is a missed miscarriage, the progesterone continues to pump through my body giving me the pregnancy symptoms.

I try not to think about how I still feel pregnant but I have a dead baby inside of me.

Technically, an six-week old embryo.

Technically, my baby, my new life that I already loved so deeply.

_____________________________

On the Saturday night, the nightmares about surgery begin. The PTSD, the hangover from Hugo’s birth. I am grateful for the Diazepam.

I try to look for the silver linings: miscarriages are sadly relatively common, and I do not feel so alone as when Hugo died. I have friends to call on for advice. Sadly, they understand the pain and sorrow.

The positive that I got pregnant naturally, no medical or pharmaceutical assistance whatsoever. I really can’t resist – it deserves a big fat f*ck you Mr Fertility Consultant, so adamant were you I wasn’t ovulating, that I would not conceive without IVF, that I would not receive this treatment until had lost lots of weight through a slimming club, with no consideration of my psychological wellbeing.

But then there is the sorrow, being the recipient of more sympathy when I was so looking forward to congratulations, being the focus of joy for once.

Hugo now has a little brother or sister who has joined him in the stars.

I try to console myself with the positives. We have survived so much. I have proven I can do so much. One in four – 25% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. So much heartbreak. We’ll never know why. But I know it is not my fault.

I will always wonder what might have been with this little one, just as I will always wonder with Hugo.

For now, we will keep on keeping on.

70 Comments on My Missed Miscarriage

  1. Helen -Gardening With Boys
    October 11, 2016 at 1:25 pm (1 year ago)

    This could have been describing how I lost my first baby, except that I was booked in for the surgery the next morning and in the night the miscarriage happened naturally, it was as if my body let go once we’d had confirmation. I remember thinking it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me, yet at my 12 week scan for my second pregnancy, we were told the baby had a problem with the brain which turned out to be a genetic condition and we had to terminate at 16 weeks. Not sure why I’m telling you all this, especially after what you went through with Hugo, but I suppose what I mean is, any baby loss is devastating and I think it’s beautiful that you’ve added a charm to your necklace to recognise this baby. I wish you all the best for the future. Helen xxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:29 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you x

      Reply
  2. Colette
    July 28, 2016 at 5:11 pm (1 year ago)

    Sending much love xx

    Reply
  3. Jessica
    July 27, 2016 at 9:47 am (1 year ago)

    Thank you for writing this. I had 3 missed miscarriages, the first being the worst. It was my birthday and I’d started bleeding, I got an emergency scan and it was confirmed that my baby had no heartbeat. Baby was measuring 8 weeks and should have been 11. I was having terrible morning sickness (I get hyperemesis with viable pregnancies) I was taken to the room of doom and I chose to go for natural management. After a few days the physical pain started and a couple of days later I was taken by ambulance to hospital bleeding too heavily because of incomplete miscarriage. I ended up with medical management. I was so naive after a wonderful first pregnancy. It was such a shock. The worst experience of my life. I now hate to celebrate my birthday but I choose a day somewhere around it so that my children and family can celebrate. I buried my 3rd miscarried baby in my garden last June and planted lilies with him/her the flowers opened this week x

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:31 am (1 year ago)

      I’m so sorry for your losses, Jessica. There’s no good day for this to happen, but being on your birthday can’t but tarnish the day for you. The lilies are a lovely idea. Thanks for your comment xxx

      Reply
  4. E.G
    July 26, 2016 at 10:05 pm (1 year ago)

    Thank you so much for sharing this. I went through the exact same thing and my due date was 26 Feb 2017 and I had my SMM on 25 July. It was like reading my own story and it broke my heart as this was my second miscarriage. I’m so sorry you had to go through this but your courage to share your story has given me more support than you can imagine. Even though it is statistically more common than we would like, it still doesn’t take away the pain or the sadness that you feel and unless you have been through it, people can’t understand the emptiness and the sense of loss…

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:32 am (1 year ago)

      I’m so sorry for your losses. That it is relatively common really doesn’t make it any easier, does it? The emptiness and sorrow… Thank you for saying that sharing my story has helped you too. I’m sorry I’ve had to write it and that it’s resonant for you. Sending love and strength xxx

      Reply
  5. Lisa
    July 26, 2016 at 7:39 pm (1 year ago)

    Thankyou for writing this, I’ve had 9 missed miscarriages and just feel completely numb, it’s comforting to read others experiences and know we are not alone, life can be so cruel X

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:32 am (1 year ago)

      I’m so sorry xxx

      Reply
  6. Carol Bird
    July 26, 2016 at 7:37 pm (1 year ago)

    My 10 year old asked me this morning how sad I was on a scale of 1-10 when we lost our baby (18 weeks before it got picked up since I was late booking in and 8 years ago). Without hesitation I said 10, which seemed to surprise him. How could something like this not rate as a 10? What makes it worse is no one understanding really unless they have been there themselves. Finding yourself somewhere you really don’t want to be but having no alternative but to deal with it.
    I am truly upset to hear what you have gone through. You are a brave, resourceful person and one day things will be better, but just not yet.

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:33 am (1 year ago)

      That’s an interesting anecdote, and so true – no one can truly understand it unless they’ve been through it themselves. Thank you for your kind comment xxx

      Reply
  7. Elizabeth
    July 26, 2016 at 5:23 pm (1 year ago)

    I hate that bad things happen to good people, and that sadly you can’t just say “that’s enough now” and for it to be enough, to give you a break. Sending love, from someone who knows what existing in that weird space time continuum after finding out you’ve had a missed miscarriage is like (I’ve had it twice) and to know the agony of a premature birth and a life far too short. Thankyou for sharing xxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:34 am (1 year ago)

      I’m so sorry for your losses and heartbreak. Thanks so much for your kind words – if only there was an ‘off’ switch for the crap that gets thrown at us in life xxx

      Reply
  8. Isabelle Gilmour
    July 26, 2016 at 2:27 pm (1 year ago)

    Hello Leigh & Martin,
    I am so so sorry to hear your news.
    My thoughts are with you.
    Love
    Isabelle
    X

    Reply
  9. Tracy
    July 26, 2016 at 8:03 am (1 year ago)

    Leigh I am so sorry this has happened to you. Life is so unfair sometimes. X

    Reply
  10. Emma
    July 25, 2016 at 7:57 pm (1 year ago)

    This isn’t fair. I hoped so much for you both, you deserve so very much more than what life is giving you right now. And it doesn’t matter what anyone says about staying positive, keeping hoping, having faith that it will happen for you… I believe it will- and all of the above are still good things to do… but that doesn’t make this any better. It hurts, I know it does. And I’m sending you so much love. Xx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:35 am (1 year ago)

      thank you my lovely xxx

      Reply
  11. Mae
    July 25, 2016 at 3:50 pm (1 year ago)

    At 36 with my forever person after a decade of solo parenting an only child i (we) tried and got happy news on xmas morning : one week later I was fighting for my life with a ruptured Fallopian tube. No baby . 2 months of recovery time and then on month three another surprise . Pregnant again! Hopeful yet terrified week after week attending scans and blood tests only to be told “blighted ovum”. Needless to say my heart understands your pain . Liking down at the scars on my belt where laparoscopic surgery removed a LTR+ or blood from my abdomen , I relive the rawness of broken hope. I cringe at pregnant women and pictures of birth on social media and realize I am still grieving for what could have been and was and what is . Stay strong and know you are alone in your pain or your journey .

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:36 am (1 year ago)

      I’m so sorry for your losses, Mae. Sending love and strength to you. Thank you for your kind comment xxx

      Reply
  12. Louise
    July 25, 2016 at 12:30 pm (1 year ago)

    I’m so sorry you’ve had to go through this. Although our stories are not the same, I can totally relate to the terrible limbo you’re left in and the PTSD as a result. Each loss has changed my life irreparably and I’m now struggling with the aftermath.
    Missed miscarriages are a very cruel trick of the body.

    Sending love and light to you x

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:36 am (1 year ago)

      Missed miscarriages are a terribly cruel trick, a cruel trick on top of a cruel loss. Love to you too xxx

      Reply
  13. maddy@writingbubble
    July 25, 2016 at 12:21 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh, I’m so very sorry to read this. Thinking of you, especially today. Lots of love. Xxx
    maddy@writingbubble recently posted…moving onMy Profile

    Reply
  14. Toni
    July 25, 2016 at 11:22 am (1 year ago)

    My missed miscarriage was ‘diagnosed’ at 11 weeks 5 days. My baby had died at about 8 weeks. We’d booked the scan so that we could put the photos inside calenders for our mums that we would give them on Christmas day. The scan pictures would be stuck to the 15th of July 2016 with the caption ‘Due today!!!’ That was the plan. Instead we had to tell everyone that there was a baby but it had died. I plastered a fake smile to my face and tried to make Christmas as lovely as possible for our 4 year old. She didn’t know about the baby. The hospital wouldn’t agree to medical or surgical management until after the holiday. I ended up miscarrying naturally, alone and terrified, in what ended up being scarily like my birth experience with my daughter.
    I am so sorry for your losses. Losing your son followed by this baby must be heartbreaking. You are not alone in your grief, though. Thank you for sharing your story. I’m now 14 weeks pregnant again and still find myself sobbing for the baby I lost. I could never have had them both, but that doesn’t stop the heartache. Good luck to you x

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:37 am (1 year ago)

      I’m so sorry for your loss. Best wishes for your pregnancy, thanks for your kind comment xxx

      Reply
  15. Helen Westwood
    July 25, 2016 at 9:35 am (1 year ago)

    So sorry to read this Leigh. Sending love to you and Martin.

    Reply
  16. Aunty Maggs
    July 25, 2016 at 9:05 am (1 year ago)

    I am so so sorry to hear your very sad news, Leigh & Martin. Sending you love and hugs. I can understand how you feel too, I had this happen years ago when Richard and I got together.

    Keep on keeping on and one day, you will have your baby. Thinking of you both with love xxxxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:37 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you xxx

      Reply
  17. Tara
    July 25, 2016 at 4:42 am (1 year ago)

    Crying along with you, Leigh. So, so sorry to read this. With love to you and Martin.
    Tara recently posted…My Sunday Photo – Week 29.My Profile

    Reply
  18. Mrs H
    July 25, 2016 at 1:52 am (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh, I am reading this with tears in my eyes. It all seems so brutally unfair. Cruel. Unjust. I wish it had all worked out for you. But Mother Nature can be a real bitch. Missed miscarriages are the cruelest. When your body continues to feel pregnant and you are awash with pregnancy hormones but for no reason. I will be thinking and praying for you tomorrow beautiful lady. Lots of love Lucy xxxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:38 am (1 year ago)

      Oh yes, a total bitch. Cruelty on top of cruelty. Thank you my lovely xxx

      Reply
  19. Adam Weller
    July 24, 2016 at 10:40 pm (1 year ago)

    I am so sorry for you and Martin, why does the bad luck happen to the nicest people. Sending you all our love from NZ.

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:38 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you Adam. Love to you guys. We’re doing our best to kia kaha. xx

      Reply
  20. mardykerrie
    July 24, 2016 at 10:28 pm (1 year ago)

    So sad to read this Leigh. There are surely no words that can console you. All I can say is I am thinking of you all.
    xxx

    Reply
  21. Lizzy
    July 24, 2016 at 10:12 pm (1 year ago)

    Leigh and Martin, I am so very sorry to read this.Your pain is tangible but so is your hope. I’ll be thinking about you tomorrow. With so much love and best wishes, Liz xxx

    Reply
  22. Lisa (mummascribbles)
    July 24, 2016 at 10:10 pm (1 year ago)

    I am so sorry that you are going through this Leigh. Sending get you and Martin lots of love xxx

    Reply
  23. Kim Carberry
    July 24, 2016 at 9:53 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh no Leigh…I am so, so sorry! Sending love and the biggest of hugs! Thinking of you x

    Reply
  24. Ting
    July 24, 2016 at 9:24 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh. I’m so sorry for you both. Biggest hugs. All my love xxx

    Reply
  25. Kirsty Hijacked by Twins
    July 24, 2016 at 9:08 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh I am so sorry to read this. All I can say is I am sending you big virtual hugs xx

    Reply
  26. Naomi Pickett
    July 24, 2016 at 9:07 pm (1 year ago)

    I am so so very sorry to read this, we lost our third baby at 23 weeks mid June, a little over a year after losing our second son at 23 weeks. My heart aches for you, I’ve been following your blog hoping for a happy outcome after Hugo. Sending much love xx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:39 am (1 year ago)

      I’m so sorry for your losses – absolutely heartbreaking. Thank you for your kind comment, love to you too xxx

      Reply
  27. Yvonne
    July 24, 2016 at 9:00 pm (1 year ago)

    I am so very sorry to hear that. Life is so cruel sometimes. Sending thoughts and love x

    Reply
  28. Dawn
    July 24, 2016 at 8:58 pm (1 year ago)

    Leigh my heart breaks reading your story. I wish you love and healing, and to believe in the hope of what is yet to come. Love & hugs xxxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:39 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you xxx

      Reply
  29. Jenna
    July 24, 2016 at 8:58 pm (1 year ago)

    I am so sorry to read this, Leigh. Miscarriages are shit. Totally and utterly shit.

    Sending you lots of love. xx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:39 am (1 year ago)

      You’ve said it right, lovely Jenna. Thank you xxx

      Reply
  30. Katy ( What Katy Said)
    July 24, 2016 at 8:54 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh. I can’t believe it. But you are right to look at the positives- that nasty excuse for a consultant got it wrong- you proved him wrong. Nature let you down this time but now you know your body is fighting for you to have a baby you will do it again! You are just the most amazing woman Leigh, cry and cry as you need but lift yourself up and you will get there again I just know it. Sending so much love. x
    Katy ( What Katy Said) recently posted…Happy Days: Freedom, Generosity And The School BearMy Profile

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:40 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you sweetie xxx

      Reply
  31. Honest mum
    July 24, 2016 at 8:39 pm (1 year ago)

    My darling, I am so sorry again. I am here for you and am reading this in tears. I wish I was close to hug you xxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:40 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you lovely xxx

      Reply
  32. Lizzie Roles
    July 24, 2016 at 8:35 pm (1 year ago)

    Leigh I wish I could give you the biggest hug and if my hug could take away the pain you’re feeling I would get on a train and give it to you. I don’t understand why! So sad, so bloody unfair. You deserve a beautiful baby to have in your home forever, my prayer and hope is that will happen for you. feeling hope with the fact you concieved naturally. Praying for you both xx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:40 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you lovely Lizzie xxx

      Reply
  33. Joelle
    July 24, 2016 at 8:35 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh, I’m sorry to read this.
    Life can just be so cruel sometimes.
    I know that words are little comfort but please know I’m sending my love and strength to you and Martin xxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:40 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you xxx

      Reply
  34. Harriet
    July 24, 2016 at 8:30 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh Leigh, I am so very sorry to hear this – please accept my sincere condolences. A missed miscarriage feels like such a horrible trick played on you by your body (at least this is how I felt when it happened to me) – the having to wait is ghastly too. Sending love and best wishes to you and Martin xxx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:41 am (1 year ago)

      So sorry to hear you’ve been through this too, it’s a horrid cruel trick isn’t it. Thank you for your kind comment xxx

      Reply
  35. Hannah Budding Smiles
    July 24, 2016 at 8:25 pm (1 year ago)

    I can’t send you enough love, or sympathy, or anything. You’ve made some incredible, inspiring and positive changes in your life darling lady and one day you will have a newborn – your newborn – in your arms. Love you lots and you know I’m always here for you xxx
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    Reply
  36. Sian @ The Foodie Fables
    July 24, 2016 at 8:19 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh my lovely. Sending massive kisses. I’m not sure what words to say, but wanted you to know I’m thinking of you. Much love xxx

    Reply
  37. emma amoscato
    July 24, 2016 at 8:16 pm (1 year ago)

    So sorry to hear you are going throught this. I have had a missed miscarriage too so understand that pain but cannot begin to understand how it feels after going through the loss of Hugo. Thinking of you x

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:42 am (1 year ago)

      So sorry you’ve had a missed miscarriage too. Thank you for your kind comment xxx

      Reply
  38. jennie henley
    July 24, 2016 at 8:12 pm (1 year ago)

    I am so sorry. This is exactly what happened to David and I when we conceived after Tilda died. I wish I could give you a huge hug right now. Keep on keeping on x I know you know x I know you do x Lots of love x x x x x x

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:42 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you sweetie xxx

      Reply
  39. Karen (@karenjwhitlock)
    July 24, 2016 at 8:09 pm (1 year ago)

    I’m heartbroken for you Leigh. Sending you and Martin much love – will be thinking of you if that is any comfort whatsoever x

    Reply
  40. Menai
    July 24, 2016 at 8:05 pm (1 year ago)

    Oh darling you – I am so sorry. This is so the story of our miscarriage – and I am right there with you. Much love to you all at this time and all the time xx

    Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:41 am (1 year ago)

      So sorry and thank you xxx

      Reply
    • Leigh
      August 4, 2016 at 9:41 am (1 year ago)

      Thank you xxx

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