I promise this blog won’t be taken over by our previous loss but these days in October are always hard to understand away from it.When you’ve suffered a loss in pregnancy (early miscarriages, late ones, still birth or terminations for medical reasons), if you’re lucky enough to fall pregnant again, it becomes a surreal experience. Hopefully I’ll be able to explain it correctly.

Pregnancy for most women and couples are all about life. Creating life. The life to come and shape. For those of us having gone through the trauma of losing a baby, pregnancy is at the same time what you long most for and a reminder of probably what the worst time of your life was.

I spent my entire pregnancy unable to understand I was going to take home a baby, never mind three. Everyone kept talking about nursery items and baby stuff and all I could think about was “IF we make it that far”. Don’t get me wrong, we were as positive thinkers as you can get but it was all a day at a time. A Scan at a time. A blood test at a time.

I guess I’m trying to say that after a terrible loss in pregnancy the overarching feeling is the fear of death again rather than the hope for life. I just hoped each scan to hear “so far so good”.

I have to admit that until my babies were home, it still hadn’t clicked that we were bringing them with us from NICU. I suppose it’s a way of protecting myself from further grief. Even now I have to admit that I have an irrational fear of losing them. It’s for sure a light version of PTSD. But I know it’s irrational and it’s manageable with the help of Mr. H who is a master at putting things into perspective.

When they told us we were expecting triplets I panicked. The 24 hours between the scan and the OBGYN consult were spent thinking about odds of losing the babies and about what to do if we were offered or suggested a reduction. After terminating a much wanted pregnancy on week 20 because of a chromosomal issue I was thinking I would be unable to terminate a healthy baby. I was barely recovering from losing Emma and that decision was taken with a diagnosis in hand, how could I take again the same decision and come out the other end with a drop of sanity left in me?

Thankfully, our OBGYN was extremely tactful with this and guided us through the whole conversation knowing full well my triggers. In the end, all the odds were the same (with reduction and without it) and after being told that what happened to Emma was “one of those things” and a “one in a million thing”, odds don’t matter anymore.

And they really don’t. Look at us and our beautiful family. Sod the odds.

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