My name is Michelle Kightley, I am the founder of Vera's Wings and a mother of three.  Fortunate to be the granddaughter of Vera, mother of Sebastian (lovingly referred to as Beanly when I carried him), and honoured to be the mother of two angels.  This is my journey.

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In 2015 my husband and I discovered with delight that we were expecting our second child.  Sadly, shortly after, I began to experience some vaginal bleeding.

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I was sent by my GP to the Early Pregnancy Unit (EPU) where I was given a scan and a blood test and discharged.  I remember the day so well as it was Good Friday and that evening we received a call from the EPU stating that the HCG in my blood was too high not to be seen on a scan and that I must present myself to A&E as soon as possible as there was every chance I had an ectopic pregnancy.  Needless to say, I was terrified.

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We arrived at the hospital very late in the evening, the doctor was not interested in my emotional state and very bluntly explained that I was being admitted for forty eight hours as I had an ectopic pregnancy and that is was likely to rupture.  Our son was one at the time and my husband had to go home to care for him.  I was transferred to a ward and told to go to sleep.  I didn't really feel like sleeping.

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The next morning I was asked to provide yet another urine sample for a pregnancy test which was of course positive, the waves of morning sickness and my sensitive chest were all the confirmation I needed to know that it would be positive.  The morning passed and then I was visited by the Registrar who told me I was going to have a portable ultrasound scan.  The scan was performed and she told me that the baby could not be seen and therefore must be somewhere hidden in a fallopian tube.  She went to make a phone call and returned to tell me I was nil by mouth and that I would be going to theatre as soon as a slot was free. The baby and tube would have to be removed immediately as my HCG was rising so quickly.

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I called my husband and told him the news.  The time seemed a blur and then the Registrar was back at my bedside telling me the Consultant had requested that I not be taken to theatre and that I remain on the ward to be seen by her.  She did not arrive until much later in the afternoon and suggested that as they could not do a 'proper' ultrasound, I still had pregnancy symptoms, and my HCG was rising, that this could indeed be a healthy pregnancy with some breakthrough bleeding.  It was an emotional rollercoaster.  A scan was booked for a few days later and my husband given strict instructions to watch me closely.

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The anticipation of the scan was an awful experience but then we had the scan and at 6+6 we saw a small but strong heartbeat.  Sproutly was a fighter.  We went home with new hope and eventually the bleeding subsided.  In a cruel turn of events, weeks later, the bleeding started again, but this time it was heavier.  I was asked to go straight into the EPU where I was examined and told that is was extremely likely I was having a miscarriage.  There were no scan slots available until the following day.

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My husband was taking care of our son and I remember walking into the dimly lit scan room alone and seeing the same sonographer, the same bed and knowing that this time the result would not be the same.  I knew inside.  The scan began and it was obvious, the image wasn't right, no heartbeat flickered and then my worst fears were confirmed.  I was taken by a nurse to a small room for some privacy whilst I waited for the doctor to come and see me, she closed the door and all of my strength left me, tears poured down my face and I stared out of the window hoping with desperation that it was a bad dream.  I called my husband, one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, to tell a father that his baby didn't make it.  I had to be re-scanned to confirm the baby had passed away as is hospital legislation.

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The doctor arrived after hours and told us our options, due to an awful birth/surgery with our son, we opted for natural miscarriage.  I hoped that my body would continue to do what it needed to.  We weren't really advised on exactly what to expect and I was told to take some paracetamol and to do a pregnancy test a week later.  I bled, I passed clots, I cramped, I cried but I continued because I thought all of this was normal.  The nausea remained, the test was positive, my heart sank.  I called the EPU and they assured me there was no need to worry, the HCG can take time to go down and that I should do a pregnancy test a week later.  Five weeks later, life continued, the symptoms never changed, the test remained positive.

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My body was tired but psychologically, I was exhausted.  There was no closure, everyone around me that didn't know me intimately thought I had lost a baby weeks ago, nobody really understood that I was still pregnant and carrying a baby who had passed away after just seven weeks.  Another scan revealed the baby was still inside the uterus and I was scheduled for surgery the next day.  An Evacuation of Retained Products of Conception (ERPC), one of the most inappropriate medical terms I have ever come across.

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I sat in a waiting room of people having random ops feeling like the world was going to end.  Nobody warned me about the pessaries that would start mild contractions, or the bleeding they would cause, my surgery was then delayed and I think would have been cancelled had the anesthetist not seen the horror in my eyes when he came around to check on me.  I was sore but recovery wasn't too bad and I was relieved that my family could start to move on.  I was instructed to take a test in two weeks and then it would be over.

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Fear prickled inside of me as I took a test, the nausea remained, my breasts ached and my gut knew.  The test was positive.  I called the EPU and they were absolutely convinced it must be a new pregnancy, I knew without doubt that this was not the case.  Back to the hospital I went, I was scanned yet again.  Sure enough there was the lining, thicker than it should have been and a shadow embedded that was presumed to be the baby.  I waited for the surgeon to come and see me.

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She walked into the room, looked straight into my eyes and took my hand in hers.  She spoke to me with tears in her eyes, and her voice shook as she explained how sorry she was not only for my loss but for how long I had had to bear the physical loss for.  I smiled as tears ran down my face, no medical professional had seen my heart, most of them spoke to me like the NHS number I was to them but she was different, she felt it with me, and I will always remember what she gave me in that moment.  Confirmation that my grief was justified and strength to continue the journey, affirmation that my bravery would serve me to the end of this path.

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I was scheduled for ERPC number two a few days later.  We were still in shock, and I was terrified of yet more surgery with no guarantee of a successful outcome. The surgery was done but my body didn't respond as well this time and I came round on oxygen in a different area, recovery was slower and my tummy was covered in bruises.  The surgeon sent me a message to confirm that I would now have the closure I deserved.  I wanted to believe him but I did a test to confirm.  After 17+2 weeks of carrying Sproutly, I got a negative result.  I was changed forever.

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