All my lost ones...

Bog Boy

There’s a bit in the movie Marley & Me where they go to the doctors because they have ‘not’ been trying to have a baby and Jen is nearly 10 weeks pregnant. They’re having an ultrasound and he’s goofing about wanting to know the sex of the baby and he says: “I don’t mind what sex the baby is, as long as he’s OK”

The sonographer says that the heartbeat will sound a little fast but that’s normal and then, then it's not so funny for you don't hear the thrum of the heartbeat, there’s no sound at all and she gets up to go out and the main doctor man comes in and you just know it’s going to be bad.

I know that feeling.

It happened to me.

And so now seeing it all, and knowing what the character is going through, I start to cry.

I hear my little boy pipe up from the sofa where he’s engrossed watching to say: “They don’t get a baby this time but she goes on to have three Mum!”

And still the tears drip down my face.

I remember every one of mine, the ones I didn’t have but it’s OK I had two, two glorious boys but every now and then I wonder about my lost babies.

It got to the stage when I didn’t go to the hospital when I miscarried. I just carried on. The hospital couldn’t do anything about it and I hated it there. I hated the atmosphere, the sterile empathy, the fact that I had failed and there would be no baby. I used to glower at all expectant mums-to-be, I was so angry I wanted to know why me? Why not someone else. I am sure some of the women who saw me metaphorically crossed themselves to ward off the evil eye. But I wouldn't have wished it on them really, not really. But I was so jealous.

I had seven miscarriages in total. Three before The Boy and four before Bog Boy.

In fact after the last miscarriage I said that was it, no more. And then of course I got pregnant and do you know what? I didn’t want to be pregnant. I hated it.

I railed to my friend, who so desperately wanted another that I couldn’t stand to go through it all again. I was scared I’d lose it and I was angry that I had got myself into a situation where I could be hurt.

It was a hideous pregnancy, I was as sick as a dog for the first couple of months then I got pneumonia then they thought it was likely to have Downs Syndrome. Do you know they wanted me to have an amniocentesis - with my history of miscarriage??!!!

It was simply awful and the pressure I felt under to make me have the tests which could lead me to miscarry was enormous. It was if they felt that it was better to suffer the collateral damage of losing a healthy child than to bring a potentially disabled one into the world.

Luckily we stood firm and when they allowed us to have a scan with their new 'soopah doopah' all singing and all dancing scanning machine they could see that all was fine and ‘normal’.

For us that was not the point, we'd talked it over, we didn’t mind, we were just happy finally to be having another child.

And what a child he is…

Is the medical profession losing its humanity?

Of all the people we come across in our lives probably the ones we hold in most esteem, in awe even are those who dedicate their lives to keeping us alive. They are positively venerated and in many cases are held in high – they are almost godlike.

They see us at our most vulnerable and see much of us that others will only ever guess at, in fact probably only want to guess at, but like the man who works in the abattoir because he sees so many of us the enormity of his task means that he becomes desensitised without ever realising it.

No-where is this more apparent than when dealing with the harsh facts of nature’s ruthless efficiency; in fact one could say that man has become but a tool carrying out its job with more alarming cruelty than even nature intended.

And that is where danger lies.

I sometimes feel that we are not yet ready emotionally for the technological advances that are on offer to us and it behoves the medical profession to understand this and to look at the choices not from omnipotent ability but from the point of frail humanity.

I heard that a friend of my sister’s, whom I happen to have known for many years, has just had an abortion on the grounds of medical necessity. Not because her life would have been in jeopardy but that the 22 week old foetus she carried was extremely likely to die shortly after birth or even before it reached full term. The professionals in charge knew this thanks to the amazing pre natal screening now on offer to the vast majority of the population.

I have no doubt that every woman should have the right to choose what happens to her what I have issue with is the way in which the choices are portrayed. I have an awful feeling that the medical profession in this country is a tad too efficient for its own good and I begin to feel that there is less humanity as technology advances.

My sister’s friend was told heart breaking news; news no expectant mother ever ever wants to hear. My issue is why was she “persuaded” to have an abortion.  When she was told the news, her baby was alive; there was a 'chance' it could have been born alive. Yes, there was a 'risk' it would die before it could get to full term and it was highly likely it would never have survived even being born but why did it have to be killed off at 22 weeks gestation? Could not nature be allowed to take its course? Could my friend’s sister not have a 'chance' to have a live baby even if that baby was likely to die within hours?

Instead she had an abortion, and then was given the tiny frail little body to grieve over knowing that she had killed it herself. It is bad enough surely to have a still birth but the added guilt piled upon this woman for the sake of medical necessity is barbaric.

What need was there for all this? For she had not asked for an abortion on hearing the news, she was told it was a choice she could take, that it would be better; it begs the question better for whom?

It was certainly more convenient for the hospital, probably more cut and dried and cheaper than going for the rigmarole of a ‘proper birth’ and all the attendant bureaucracy. But I think it cruel and unnecessary.

Five years ago I came under tremendous pressure to "make sure" that the foetus I carried did NOT have Downs Syndrome (click here to go to post) even though the consultant knew that with my medical history I had a greater risk than average of miscarrying  a perfectly healthy baby. It was a risk the hospital was willing to accept, luckily not one either  my husband or I were prepared to take. 

Some will say because of that experience I am biased, perhaps I am but look at the words used: there was a "risk" my child would have Downs not a "chance" but a "risk". Funny that I am,  I percieve that 'risk' is far more threatening than 'chance'...

Downs Syndrome: what would you have done?

I have just been watching my favourite soap, my indulgence, my little fix of Yorkshire now that I live “Down South”: Emmerdale.

One of the storylines has been about a mother-to-be being told she is carrying a child with Downs Syndrome. And it brings back to me very vividly this time five years ago when I was told that I too could be carrying a child with Down's syndrome.

I got a call on a Sunday afternoon from the Midwife to tell me that my tests, the ones you do without really thinking these days, had come back and that I had a very high probability that my child could have Down’s syndrome. I was 39 years old, a geriatric mother in medical parlance I had a history of miscarriages but was blessed with one beautiful son already.

I was advised to go to the hospital to discuss the problem. I noted than that this was a “problem” and something at the back of my mind twitched. I don’t do “problems” and I don’t do the medical profession every much either so two of my greatest bug bears were about to collide.

We went to the hospital concerned as might be expected. There were loads of questions but mostly fear, fear of the unknown, fear of what will happen or not as the case maybe. I needed options.

At this stage when a mother is told the tests have come back funny, she is given another scan then off to see the consultant. The scan was reminiscent of the one where I found out that my first baby had no heartbeat and was dead and that I had been carrying it around like that for nearly two months. This scan was inconclusive but the general feeling was bad, more tests needed to be done.

We waited to see the consultant for nearly an hour; it was a busy day and there were lot of us. I remember glancing at all the women their tummy’s bulging and thinking so many “what ifs”. I couldn’t help it, my hopes were not high and I was angry, angry that it had taken me so long to get pregnant again and that it was so bloody unfair. I became very morose and scowled at anyone who caught my eye, nipping in the bud any hint of joyfulness. Several women enfolded their gravid bellies as if to protect the babies within.

Once called in fear and anger fled and I was just blank as I listened to my options. It was almost as if I really wasn’t there and I was looking down on myself. My Husband said I was very rude and I remember looking at him with hatred. “How dare he!” were my thoughts.

Patiently as if talking to a particularly thick child the consultant explained I would have to have an Amniocentesis. I think she was fairly shocked when I asked: "What are the dangers of such an invasive procedure?" I am sure she expected me to nod like a bovine and agree to anything she said. She explained that there was a 33 per cent risk that I could miscarry or as she so charmingly put it “abort” Quick as a wink I asked: "What are my chances of carrying a Down's syndrome baby?" She said 30 per cent.

The odds did not stack up. I felt under a huge amount of pressure to say there an then I would have the amnio but I refused and asked if there was anything else they could do to check, to either confirm or deny, to be sure.

There was a lot of fuss made about the fact that I was already 17 weeks gone. If I was to have a termination I had to go as early as possible I had to make decision quickly. And I did not want to. I was told that I could have a scan using their new scan machine that allowed you to look in even more detail at the unborn child but that it would not be available until the 23^rd of December when I would be 20 weeks gone. I clutched at straws and entered the worst three week of my life.

Of course I looked up and read everything I could get my hands on and of course I thought the worst. And I questioned myself deeply, laying bare just the sort of person I was. My husband couldn’t understand at first not until I started to make plain what it was we were going to have to face.

On the presumption that our worst fears came to fruition we would have to make decision quickly, decision that would affect us for the rest of our and our families lives. My husband is a half full kinda guy and he’d never really thought in these terms before.

My first worry was could I cope? I already had depression. Would this be a step to far either keeping or terminating? What were the ramifications of having a Down’s syndrome child? Were we selfish in thinking of having one? Were we bad about thinking about an abortion? What about our other child? what would he think? Could we really do this at our age knowing that quite possibly our Down’s syndrome child would outlive us and thus be a burden on his/her brother when we were no longer about?

Finding the Down’s Syndrome Association website helped enormously. It answered so many questions one I wanted and one’s I never knew I needed to ask. It made our decision easy. Whatever happened we would keep the baby, yes we were old but we were also well off. But more importantly there was a great community out there ready and willing to support us. Just as well because we called the parents both mine and his to inform them of our decision prior to the scan: their reaction horrified us. They couldn’t believe that we would even consider the task. We were called everything but stupid. I don’t think they grasped that for me having a child was not easy. For starters when they were my age their children were at university and neither of them had ever had to go through the number of miscarriages I had had. It was if we were talking to strangers.

Despite that we did not waiver. There again we were never tested. The scan showed the baby I carried did not have Down’s syndrome.

I love both my children. My angels. My blessings.