I spent my entire first trimester expecting to miscarry.

I knew I was at high risk, given my history, and my autoimmune disease. And the fact that I had numerous episodes of spotting didn’t help to quell my fears.

The time that wasn’t spent worrying about miscarriage was spent dealing with dreadful morning sickness. At first I welcomed the nausea and vomiting, thinking “hey, this is great! It means my hormone levels are nice and high and the baby is healthy!”. So jolly I was not, however, by the time I was being prescribed Zofran and being admitted to hospital for rehydration.

Then for some reason my bladder decided to go on holiday, leaving me hospitalised with a catheter. That was a particularly “what the dickens”couple  of days, I can tell you.

And then there were the infections, and the allergic reactions to the antibiotics I took for said infections.

But you know, I got through it. Every scan showed a beautiful healthy baby, despite whatever the hell my body was doing. Eventually the morning sickness eased. I had the all important 12 week scan and was deemed low risk for any nasty pasties. And we told Master D. We told our families and friends. We told  the world.

Then a week later I woke up and quickly realised I was soaked in blood.

A lot of blood.

By the time we got to the hospital I was hysterical. I couldn’t believe it was happening. In my second trimester. Days after a perfect scan. After the risk for miscarriage was supposedly wildly reduced. After we had told EVERYONE.

Then the doctor switched on the ultrasound machine…one very active bouncing baby, and a healthy placenta.

Another “what the dickens?!” moment.

It turned out I had a blood clot in a place that was of no threat to the baby. The fact that I was on heavy duty blood  thinners at the time did not help matters. I stayed in hospital for about four days, took medication to try and stop the bleeding and put on bedrest. I may also need a cervical stitch put in (oh, yay) depending on the results of the next few scans.

So now I am back home again, and struggling emotionally.

I know there was nothing I did that caused this. That it is just a freak thing that could happen to anyone. But this all happened just as I let my guard down and trusted in my body, and my ability to carry a pregnancy. How can I possibly let my guard down again? How can I trust that everything will be ok, when me being admitted to hospital (for one reason or another) is like a broken record?

I’m taking each  day at a time, and I’m grateful every moment of every day for the beautiful little human that, against the odds, continues to thrive.

But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish things could be simpler.