Kathryn writes about the range of emotions she felt when pregnant after 4 miscarriages.
I hurtled between fear and elation.
The word was there in digital. PREGNANT. I screamed. With excitement. Yes, I was excited. We’d hit the jackpot and I was pregnant. Again.
I spent the day floating around in a lovely bubble. I had to step out of it a few times to make telephone calls to the GP; because this wasn’t a pregnancy where you wait until eight weeks for a booking-in appointment with the midwife. This was my fifth pregnancy and I was under strict instruction to get booked in with the obstetrics consultant ASAP.
The appointment arrived one week later. That was when my bubble burst. Seeing the consultant who helped me with prior miscarriages made reality crash over me in bone crushing waves. I was terrified. I sat physically shaking whilst he explained what he was going to try to help me get a successful pregnancy this time. He offered a scan. I declined. I didn’t want to see reality and I was only five weeks. He booked me in for a viability scan two weeks later then asked if I had any questions. I shook my head then I became a sobbing, hysterical wreck. I had to sit with a midwife in a side room whilst I calmed down. A fortnight later, I was sobbing again, waiting for a scan. I was terrified there would be no heartbeat. However, there it was in all its tiny, flickering glory.
My hurdle was to pass eighteen weeks. The longest I’d ever been pregnant. I had a lot of scans. Terrifying. I got to see my baby every week. Amazing. I hurtled between fear and elation. Combined with being pregnant, it was exhausting. At sixteen weeks, we moved to fortnightly scans. I was still experiencing a massive range of emotions. From excitement to fear; from positive thoughts to fearing the worst. But the pregnancy was progressing and I was reassured by the excellent medical care I was receiving. As the weeks passed and I grew bigger I began to feel hope. The negative thoughts appeared every now and then but I was determined to stay positive. I had to believe I would hold this baby in my arms.
Was I fearful of labour? No. I was excited. Turned out I had no time to think when the time came. My daughter was born after just eighty-two minutes of labour. It was a shock to say the least. I peeped at her as they checked her over and she was perfect. Then the midwife practically threw her into my arms and all I felt was shock. I’d done it. She was here. She was fine. There was no rush of love at that moment. I was just shocked and bewildered.
However, every second of that day, the day I became a mother, my love for her blossomed like the flowers in Spring.