Just over a month ago, I was pregnant with our second baby; with Remy's little brother or sister. Our baby was going to arrive at Christmas, our Christmas baby.
I felt like I was having a little girl. Somehow I just knew it. Maybe it was because this time was so different than when I was pregnant with Remy. I had nausea, sure, but I wasn't throwing up on the pavement like I was with him. I didn't need to carry airsick bags with me.
I was getting a tummy. Jules would talk to my tummy and tell the baby how much we loved her and wanted her. I started making some maternity clothes because I knew my other stuff wasn't going to last too long.
I was at the baby store on a Tuesday afternoon when I went to the toilet and saw blood. Lots of blood. I panicked. I shut the shop and ran over the road to my doctors' surgery. I saw my friend Thomas, a doctor, in the waiting room and started crying.
He took me into his room and I told him about the blood. He was worried, but told me that while it looked bad, it could all be ok.
I went home and went to bed. I cried. Mostly it was fear, not knowing what was going to happen. Hoping that our baby was going to hang on.
But I didn't have a lot of hope. I'm not stupid. I knew that it didn't look good.
The next day we had a scan; the woman was blunt. It was bad news. The baby was gone. It was now a matter of waiting for everything else to pass.
We went home, numb, crying, shocked.
That night the pain was too much. I lost consciousness, I was in agony.
Jules called an ambulance and we went to hospital.
Days passed. Weeks started to form around us. Life carried on.
But I was in so much pain every day. Something was wrong. I couldn't sit down easily, picking up Remy was painful, lying down at night was something I came to dread. I bled and bled and bled. I was so emotional; crying one moment, angry the next. My patience with Remy was short and I felt so guilty.
I visited my doctor. Always the same answer. You don't have an infection. I don't know what's wrong. I'm puzzled. Go away and see if it gets better.
I missed a follow up scan. I couldn't face all that intrusion. Not again. It had already been a medical problem with no medical answers. My baby was dead and no one would talk about my baby. They talked about pregnancy tissue. They referred to products of conception.
The pain got worse. Daily life was hard.
I got a letter from the hospital for another scan and I put it on the fridge. It made me angry - the date of the scan was exactly one month after I started bleeding. Why the hell would they bother with this if there was nothing wrong with me? Did they need me to comply so that they could complete the paperwork?
I wasn't going to go. I did. But I have no idea what made me go this time.
It was the same woman as last time; she was blunt. It was bad news, there was something wrong.