I'm sorry but there's not heart beat.

Walking around on a day like today, when the sky is heavy and low and grey and the rain won't let out, when It doesn't stop, at all and it just keeps going. Sometimes it's pours and other times it just "spits" the sort of rain the fluffs the hair and drenches you, yet somehow you're also kinda dry.

On those days when the weather is like this and the rain is spraying onto your ankles with every step you take and one sock is half way down your foot trying to get away from you, trying to sneak off quietly as you take each step. On those days, I can just about stop myself from screaming.

I imagine each moment the sock stops and holds its breath and waits there, as you suspiciously look down at your foot. "is it going to come right off" but you don’t pull it up, not yet, so you take another step and another and the sock sneaks a teeny bit more further away quickly until you pause again.

On those days when your trainers are rubbing because they are years old and the back has worn down to show a bit of plastic and it's wearing away at your ankles, on those days usually I feel hard done by.
Why my socks? Why my trainers? Why am I not in my comfiest of clothes and better yet why am I not at home. In my PJs, dry?

But I’m privileged. To have the day wondering around Notting Hill looking for the donut time shop.
Some people would have to go back to work after the morning they'd had. Some people would not be able to seek out deep fried sugary rings and let all their emotions sink into each tooth rotting bite.

Most days that I can bunk off work, be it in the pouring rain, it’s a true sign of how much I do love my life. And I do so very much and I want that to be clear before I continue. I want you to know that I am grateful, I do love my life and I know I will be OK.

But...

The last 18 months after one thing and then another. All I want ls for life to be on cruise control, but instead I'm driving in 1st gear in an old banger who's clutch doesn't work anymore. I'm moving forward. But it's long and tedious and fucking painful. It's exhausting as the car chugs and stops and starts and gives me. Whip. Lash. With. Every. Chug. of. the engine.

Great I think. I've got a car. Thank you. Grateful for that. I'm even going forward in it. It sort of works. Hashtag blessed.

But truth be told. I just want a car that works and gets us there quickly and safely.

”It's all about the process” I say to my clients. Over and over.

“Its not the destination. Its the journey.”

Well fuck me, I talk a lot of fucking bollocks.
Because walking around on a grim day with rain splashing up my legs and a sock half way down my shoe and my hair fizzing like a new born duck, half tipsy off the 3 cocktails you can now finally drink, with a dead baby inside of me. For the third time.
I think to yourself.
This journey is fucking shit. And I don't wanna be on it anymore.

I'm so sorry. There's no heart beat.

I saw the doctor struggling to find what we were hoping for, was an 8 week old embryo. To be honest. 9. But the previous scan had set us back a week.

Those previous scans we had had, hadn't been what you see in the movies, or even on those YouTube channels titled "Our first scan: Our pregnancy journey"

Nope. Our scan at what we thought was 7 weeks, turned out to lead to a week of anxiety after the doctor rubbered up the long plastic wand and inserted it into my fanny to find my gestational sac and “please god let there be a fetal pole and if we are really really lucky. Please show us a heart beat.”

Gestational sac. Check.
Oooo fetal pole. Check.

“Hmmm 2.5mm,you would be 6 weeks” the doc says “not 7, but that is possible.”
And I think about my dates and its not. I know exactly when I ovulated.

But "the time it takes for the sperm to get to the egg and we don't know when it implanted so..."
”Ah OK then” I think. Let's go with it. 6 weeks could be right. I’m optimistic. He sounds like he is trying to be and I want to be for my sake to. For Js sake. It is best to be optimistic.

He keeps moving the wand around whilst J holds my hand nervously. He's smiling. There is an embryo. 2.5mm of a baby.

And yup. “OK there is a heart beat.”
The doctor says.
But he doesn't leave the gap afterwards too long. He doesn't want us filling that space with tears of joy and smiles and happiness like in those YouTube videos. He quickly let's us know. "it's quite slow"

OK then. He's a bit sleepy. I know Js thinking that's not a big deal.
And if I hadn't been in this seat over 6 or 7 times with the wand up me and sonographers trying to sound empathetic, optimistic and kind as well as cautious, safe, level headed, whilst they have your legs spread on the cold plastic surgical bed with a pillow under your bum… if I hadn't been on Mumsnet for the last 18 months reading forum upon forum of chat with Susiemumof3 talking about her early scan and “Is slow growth OK and is there any success stories about a slow heart beat, is 90 beats per minute too slow.” With KellyTTC5thtimelucky replying that “unfortunately she doesn't have a success story and that she's lost 4 babies”

Maybe, I would have been blissfully naive too.
Maybe I'd have said “OK then. A slow heart beat. It will probably fasten up right?”

But the doctor said, “let's see how we go, have you come back in in two weeks (perfectly normal thing to say)
”and if you believe in that sort of thing. Pray.”

And there it was. The not so perfectly normal thing to say.

Pray.

As we got into the car J exclaimed “we had a heart beat. Our very 1st heart beat” and he was positive. This was a good sign. “Our doctor seemed not to worry.” He said. “There's a heart beat and that's what we should take from it right now. A heart beat. Faint and slow but one all the same. That meant we had a living baby growing and that was more than we had ever got before. Further than we ever got before.”
Before, we had never had a heartbeat, before, knowing the pregnancy was "not viable I'm afraid" was as far as we had ever got.

But I'm devastated. I felt the doctors tone. He wasn't hopeful.
Not like you do read in some forums...
"it's not a good sign babe but don't give up hope. My friends neighbours niece’s baby had a slow heart beat and then at the next scan it had fastened up and now her DD is a bratty snotty 6 year old that loves Arianna Grande."

The next scan. We just have to get through to the next scan.

I wasn't waiting two weeks. I don't know who our doctor thinks I am but, patient, is not one of my best qualities.
I call the Early pregnancy unit the next day. I tell them I'm 6 weeks pregnant and having cramps. (I'm not having cramps)
They book me in for the following Wednesday. OK I just need to get through the next five days, I think. I just need to occupy myself for five days.

It's a long, slow, painful five days. But the day has arrived and I am hoping to come out with one of those stories. Where we laugh at diner parties in five years time about how mental I was for those five days and how I nearly lost my shit but then the second scan showed a normal heart beat and the rest of the pregnancy was perfectly joyous and beautiful and our youtube channel was really popular.

We've just gotta get through this scan.

My legs are spread open again, feet together in a frog position as she lubes up the condom on the plastic wand and she inserts it into my “retroverted uterus” I say. “So sometimes you have to have a prod around.”
It’s sixth or so time, so I’m as helpful as I can be.

I tell her that I think I'm miscarrying and that I don't think I'm having a viable pregnancy. I tell her about the slow heart beat and that I doubt she will have one today.
Silence.
I say, “I'm assuming the crown rump length hasn't grown since last week.”
”What was it last week” she asks?
”2.5mm I say.”
Silence.

I crook my neck to get a look at the screen. The NHS don't seem to show you the screen like they do privately. I guess privately you pay for the pleasure of seeing your uterus on full display in all its glory, but the NHS don't oblige you so you wait for the lady with the wand up your vagina to say something. Anything. Or, I crook my next to see if I can see what she's silently looking at.

”Well it's 6.5mm now.” The sonogrphaer states.
”Sorry?” I wasn’t expecting that.
”The crown rump length has grown.”
”But not a mm a day”I say with caution.
But she says. “That's not all babies. All embryos (she corrects herself) grow very differently. At different rates. Plus is very early to get the size exactly right.”
”So it's grown 4mm” I say. “In 6 days?”
”It would seem that way.”
”And the heartbeat?” I cross my fingers and toes.
”It's there.” She says, then quickly adds. “It is faint but it's still there.”
”OK” I say. OK. I breathe calmly.
”How slow is it?” Please be over 100 beats per minute.
”I can't tell” she says. She won’t use the dopler, “but there is growth and a heart beat so I can't say you're not having a viable pregnancy as currently you are.”
I breathe again.

I'm on my own this time because as well as the NHS not liking you see your uterus, they also don't like your partner being in the room with a chance to infect anyone (it is covid times of course) and so J is outside. In the cold. He's been there 2 hrs already because again. With the NHS you don't have the luxury of your appointment starting on time.

I'm told to wait outside for a nurse to call me.
I head to the loo to wipe the lube away from my fanny before waiting another Forty five minutes to get a report and a small picture of my "never been this big before” embryo.
6.5mm. Apparently she says. 6 weeks and 2 days. The same gestational age the doc gave me, last week.

But the CRL is 4mm bigger and so if I was 6 weeks and 2 days last week I put myself at 6 weeks and 5 or 6 days today.
On track I think. OK slow heart beat but he's still growing. He or she is still trying.

Now I just have one more week until I'm booked back in for a very expensive scan again.

I'm not usually the type that would be able to afford private fertility care. Not at two to three hundred a pop for a 15 minute consultation. But my mum left me money when she died and apart from our house, a bit of a new wardrobe and a bouji hotel get away, I think what more would mum want than for us to get the fertility help we need.

It feels insane. To spend so much money on private care when we have the NHS. And I feel bad. Having both. Being able to have both when some people don't have the luxury of either.
”But some people have the luxury of staying pregnant or not losing their mum” my husband reminds me and we agree. Let's not let this be any harder than it is. Let's make it a bit easier on ourselves.

And so. I wait one more week until the next private scan.

Until the next moment when J IS allowed to hold my had and watch the monitor as the wand goes up me for the umpteenth time and we hold our breaths together again.

I should have sensed that the doctor was nervous. Cautious. That he wasn't expecting good news. But this last week I had gotten more positive as the days had gone on. I was feeling sicker and sicker, I was having more naps each afternoon, I was weaker in the gym and honestly couldn't bring myself to eat a green vegetable. I was overjoyed.
I was pregnant. I had a viable pregnancy and so the morning of the scan when I woke up to a sharp belly button pain and then a flutter in my belly. An actual flutter, I jumped on “Mumsnet” and “What to expect when your expecting” and the more legitimate “Tommy's” to read that, “Yes. It was possible to feel a "flutter" at 8 weeks and it was probably the baby moving or passing wind. And that sharp belly button pain was totally the uterus expanding and getting bigger.” No horror stories. All positive reassurance that I was still pregnant and it was all going to be OK.

It was all going to be a funny, long drawn out story we would tell the midwife on the night my waters broke, in between contractions at how we thought we were having our 3rd miscarriage after a really long hard 18 months but look, here I was, bent over in a luke warm pool, cos even though I hate luke warm water this is what the cool earthy parents do on Youtube. I’d be riding high on gas and air but nothing else, no drugs, whilst we told the midwife that this was our rainbow baby. Our double rainbow baby and we were going to name him or her (cos of course we hadn't found out, we like surprises) after my mum.
It was going to be a glorious story after a really rough couple of years.

Until I couldn't see a crown rump length on the monitor and I couldn't see a yolk sac. Why the fuck do the let you see the monitor I thought.
”Give me a second.” The doc said. I have a retroverted uterus so sometimes you can't see. I thought. Let him poke me some more.
He's going to find it.
We are going to hear a...

”There's no hear beat I'm afraid.”

“There is or there isn’t” J asked. I think he heard right, but he really wanted to make sure. I really wanted him to make sure.

“You're right. It was really hard to find but there is the embryo. It's 5mm. Its not grown enough since our last meeting.” the doctor clarifies some more.

”It's shrunk.” I say. “Since the scan last week. It's shrunk.”

I hear J cry quietly as I squeeze his hand.

”Are you sure?” I ask. Because I felt a flutter this morning. And Mumsnet reassured me this was a positive sign.

”I'm really sorry but there isn't a heart beat.”

Silence.

He leaves the wand in me for a bit longer as he takes some measurements of our dead baby and saves them to his hard drive.

Danielle Tabor Smith
GA 6 weeks
CRL 5mm
Non viable pregnancy.

For the 3rd time, in 18 months.

A 6 week embryo, no more than that. Ever. For the 3rd fucking time. No longer a fluke. No longer just bad luck. Something is stopping me from growing a baby past 6 weeks. And now we have to go through the long rigmarole of more tests, more pain, more waiting. More bumpy car rides.

So we head out of the room and go walking in the rain looking for donuts. Because what else do you do.

I'm really sorry, but there isn't a heartbeat.

It’s been one year since I last wrote a blog post.

In that year, I have finally had my honeymoon, my mum died, the world went into a global pandemic, another black man was killed by a white police officer in broad day light, and I lost another baby.

When I tell you that my heart is heavy. I mean. My heart is sinking and I can’t imagine it ever feeling light and airy like candy floss ever again.

That being said. I know there will be fun times ahead. I know there is happiness and laughter and hope. I know I am not writing off the life I want and know I can live. But I am full of fear and sorrow and anger.

I am in acceptance that I can be angry and accepting of the circumstances at the same time. I can cry and laugh on any given day and I can and will ask why, whilst also knowing deep down… things happen for us.

Today after a weekend of realisation about the world we live in, the system I have been complicit to, the heart ache other people have just for the mere colour of their skin, left me feeling like a little girl who was screaming and crying because her party got ruined. I wanted to rewind time. Back to my naive bubble when I had not realised the things I cannot unsee. I cannot go back to a world where I believe I am untouchable, the world is fair, racism was abolished years ago, having a baby is piss easy and people dont die. Not the ones you are closest to. They don’t get sick and just die.

The idea that I cannot go back to 2018 and I cannot go back to my naive, protected, privileged world, hurt me. Not as much as George Floyd was hurting on that road with a knee under his neck, and so I am trying to shut the fuck up. I am not dismissing my pain. I am not belittling my own heavy personal hurt that I am feeling. But I am acknowledging that my rose tinted glasses were knocked off at the ripe ol age of thirty four. Some people never got given the rose tinted glasses. Some people got given boxes to live in and live from, that kept them separate. Kept them believing they were separate. Kept them believing that they were not entitled to the same life I thought I was having and the same system I thought was protecting all of us. It was not. It is not.

So yes. Gosh yes I want to book a flight, buy clothes I don’t need that do not cover my bum, to wear round a pool whilst I drink cocktails and get drunk and read chic lit mind numbing books about nothing but love and bubble baths. I WANT to check out. I WANT the light hearted, pain free, numbness of lying on a lilo with the smell of sun cream on my skin that was never dark enough to offend too many people and never light enough to make me think I had any privilege.

Accept I did. I have mixed privilege. I have soft curly hair privilege. If there was racism directed at me, I was privileged to not noticed it. I was privileged to say things like “I don’t even notice the colour of my skin. Or your skin for that matter. One race. One love” right?

I did not realise I was not validating your skin tone, my skin tone, theirs. I did not realise I was invalidating different experiences. And whilst I still want a world where we all just get treated the same, I want a world where we acknowledge our differences. Same souls, different stories. I want a world with same privileges but it doesn’t exist because history exists and we cannot re write that.

I have so much to learn. But my 1st lesson is this.

I am brown. I am mixed. I have privilege yes, but I have an experience unique to my self and I need to learn about it and what it means to me.

My 1st lesson is that I know nothing, until I know my story.

I am heart broken. I am miscarrying. I am grieving.

I am going to come out of this wiser, better, alive. That is a fucking privilege and I will not take it for granted.

Hi guys

I haven’t written in this space for a while or very consistently. I notice I do it for me, when I need to, rather than on a content schedule. Not good for growth, but far better for my soul.

I have also been spending some more time over at www.iloveyoumorethanmarzipan.com where myself and my mum have been sharing how we feel about mums Stage 4 lung cancer. Emotions have been on pause on that also for a while. Sometimes life just carries on and you don’t have a second to figure it all out. Sometimes life just happens so quickly and you do not have time to blog it, vlog it, podcast it, instastory, caption, youtube it. Sometimes you just gotta live it.

But today, today I need to disect some things and get my emotions down on paper before I forget them as its already been a week.

I have shared a lot of the actual reality and practicals of whats happened over the last month over on Episode 1 of my Podcast “Fuck Fuck Fuck: This is Life” (I will post really soon) I decided to record a podcast for women that do NOT have their shit together and see what comes up. But for today, here is a safer space to perhaps get a bit deeper in how I feel.

On the 31st of March, Mothers day, I did two pregnancy tests with my mum in tow and we found out I was pregnant. Fuck. I was pregnant. It was a happy day. Such a glorious day where we all just smiled. A lot. In what has been a hard, dark year for our family, it was so joyous to have this news.

We had begun trying (albeit once) and the news was clearly a little miracle in a dark time. The whole family felt good and we buzzed off this for the next month and got ecstatically happy. We called it lentil (like the annoying parents to be do) and we begun making plans. Plans to move to a bigger place. Plans to have hypnobirthing. Plans to babymoon/honeymoon.

Then last Tuesday, one month after finding out and 8 weeks pregant, we found out we were miscarrying. We were 10 weeks to the gestation day. We were blissfully happy with our little miracle and we were devastated to learn we were no longer pregnant.

People don't talk about miscarriage a lot I’ve noticed. When looking online for “How I should/might/could feel” or “What to expect” or “unlikely thoughts you have when losing a baby” there's just not the info out there. It’s like it’s taboo to discuss it, which in turn makes you feel like it’s unusual or weird or that YOU are fucked up in some way that you coudn’’t stay pregnant and that if you do talk about it you are attention seeking. Like I have this overriding sense and worry that people just think 🙄 "it's basically a period why you upset?" I know I know deep down people aren't thinking this. But there is this weird feeling I have to not be "too much" about it. An old silly thought pattern that rears its head when I am vulnerable.

In searching for similar feelings or people that have at least gone through it to find out how they experienced it, you come across alot of "formal" sites that tell you what to expect (in vague) terms about how long you "might" bleed for and how much pain you "might" feel and when you "maybe" should start trying again... But despite 1 in 5 women miscarrying, there's just not a lot of people discussing it. What it feels like. What thoughts it brings up. What emotions you become aware of and what attachments you make to silly things like having a Xmas baby or being gorgeously fat during the summer wearing maternity dresses. Perhaps romanticized ideas about pregnancy as reality may be that I am throwing up in a tracksuit at home every trimester. But still. You grow fond of your ideolised ideals of what pregnancy is gonna be like for you and I had got so excited I just kept saying "I want a bump, I can't wait till the scan, Eeeek, I Don't mind if it's a boy or girl (girl please) as long as its healthy"

We had planned it yes and despite thinking it would take months and hoping it might, it took one time and when it happened it felt like Christmas eve every day.  

You hear that people feel it's their fault and that even though it’s not, you may over think that dead-lift you did a few weeks ago or the times you got drunk when u ddidn't know u were preggo yet.

You question. Fuck was that what did it?

But I rationalise. I know it was just a simple set of chromosomes that didn't vibe together.  

And, despite that my body "seems" like it let me down. I know it hasn't. How clever of it to know it wasn't the right time. The right baby for us. The right puzzle fit of teeny tiny cells. How amazing that the body knew that something went wrong & it let us part ways, now, sooner rather than later. The body knew how to get us ready for our family that "does" come when it comes, at the right time, when everything is aligned. 

There's so many ways to perceive a situation. I read a quote today that felt fitting.

I'm not saying its easy for everyone to make peace with what feels like a cruel circumstance. Im not saying everyone "should" but I am so aware that I have a choice. And I really choose to see how lucky we are. Lucky to fall pregnant so quick. Lucky to be able to get pregnant. I may be feeling very differently if we had tried for years. But I can only share my story. From my view point. If you're here for it. This is how I feel.

I am just so grateful to have J. So grateful for mum to be alive. So grateful that my body is doing what it's doing (it's best) I am so aware that what I focus on is what I will get in abundance. Don't get me wrong. I used to hate people that spoke all this grattitude lark. They triggered me. They bought up something in me about my own negativity and my own moaning. And don't get me wrong. I've cried. I've wallowed. I've had a moment. But emotionally, that was going to drain me (us) and I wanted to be in as best position mentally to get through this and then be well enough to move on. 

So emotionally I feel good. I feel I (we) have made peace with what's happening. But wow I feel physically shit. My body feels like it’s done 10 rounds with Mike Tyson (showing my age, couldn’t think of that young boxer everyone fancies lol) Anthony… yes Anthony Joshua! I feel like I am going through the worst period I’ve ever had and I know it’s going to get worse. The doc informed me, “oh no, this won’t feel like a period, it will feel a lot worse” Ah great. That’s good then isn’t it. Because despite the fact that we lost the baby at around 6 weeks, we havent actually passed the pregnancy. So you wait. You wait to "actually" lose the baby.

Yet life still continues & you are going about your business and yet you are losing your baby. Seems mad. Seems mad that I am posting on Instagram and talking about my body and I am yet to discuss what is really going on as we speak. I find that difficult because I  (over) share, a lot :) I feel like I speak to whoever watches insta stories, daily, I ramble and bumble away and it feels like I am lying and skipping over something so serious that is going on with me this very second.

I am miscarrying our baby and I want to speak about it.

Some would say this is cruel. Cancer AND a miscarriage in the space of a few months. I don’t know. Of course I had that thought on the day. A bit like “really universe? Really?” but I don’t believe it works like that. I am not being punished. It’s just life. This. is. life. For some reason this was not the right time or baby for us. Ya know how in all those corny films the parents of a new baby say “thanks for choosing us to be your parents.” Well i guess, we weren’t chosen this time. And that’s OK.

You do have these thoughts that perhaps it’s our fault somehow. You do wonder what you could have done different. I felt for 5 minutes that J may blame me secretly or that he would wonder if it were me, if he thought I shouldn’t have gone to the gym or I shoudn’’t have missed taking my folic acid on one of the days. Of course, he didn’t think that, not once, or if he did, he knew it was probably irrational and not to share it.

We both have had those insecure worrying thoughts. But we have moved passed them pretty quickly. They didn’t serve us well. So instead we are being positive about the future and our little family that we hope to grow.

The moments of impatience are now there. Before we fell pregnant I was in no rush. The baby would come when it came and I had no expectations of how long it would take us. It was a shock it had been so quick. But now. Oh dear, now I feel it. The rush. I want to be pregnant now. Oh how I would really love to be pregnant now. And if I can’t have my Christmas baby then a Christmas bump would be amazing. But that kind of pressure is nuts. I don’t want to lose the ease we had with trying last time. I don’t want it to feel forced. I hope we can let go of the “need” because we do not “need” to have this baby “now” We need to just be well, and content and happy. We need to just love our lives.

It has bought us closer together. Its a sadness that only we share. Not even the sadness about mum can J really relate to the same as me. It feels like my pain and that has been rocky at times. Whereas this feels like “our” upset. “Our” loss. “Our” moment in time that will forever connect us. He has been nothing short of the wonderful human I always knew he was. Hes watched the doc put a long dildo shaped object covered in lube and a condom in me whilst the miscarriage was confirmed to have happened a couple of weeks back. Hes done my vitamins every night (or I’d forget) he’s grabbed me pain killers, let me ball, let me throw my breakfast on the floor. He’ s held me, made me laugh, watched copious amounts of Game Of Thrones with me, cooked dinner for me and he has been with me in making peace with what has happened.  He has truly been my favourite person and the husband that I needed this week.

So now, now we wait. Whilst my body goes through this and it takes the beating because that is how amazing our bodies are. They are resilient. It’s easy to forget just how amazing our bodies can be when Cancer has taken over and that resentment draws close. But really, we forget what wonders the body can do. It knew when something was wrong and it will allow me to pass this pregnancy and hopefully it will allow me to get pregnant again. We cannot do anything else now other than just let this go and move forward, I am really not saying everyone should or can nor am I saying it’s easy to let go in a short space of time, but for us, this is what we feel and this is what we want to do. Move through this one step at a time. As calmly as possible, in gratitude that we have each other to go through it together. Gosh I sound like I’m trying to be Oprah lol. Forgive me. If you need to go scream into a pillow for 3 months. Do. Do what you need to do. There is never any judgement here. But you aren’t alone. Thats all I wanted to say really. If you stumble across this blog and are going through this. You are not alone. This is not your fault. Your body is amazing, it is not your fault and this is normal!

Love Fanni xxx

My body undergoing some serious stress and miscarrying. This is life and this is my body and I am not ashamed one bit!