The nausea, the emotional rollercoaster, the headache. Sore boobs and ready tears.  All signs – good signs – that my baby is thriving.

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That bundle of dread in my chest drops into my stomach and my heart takes on a mind of its own.

I look, over and over and over again.  There is no mistaking it.  There is colouration on my toilet paper.

Over the next hour or two I religiously pace between the bed and the bathroom, checking over and over what is left on the toilet paper.  Coffee Stained, tea coloured, pink tinged, more of, less than… all descriptions that run through my head.

It’s night time in the country.  I can’t do anything, and there is not a lot to really stress over, so I curl up in bed and will my body to sleep.

Morning comes and I rush to the bathroom.  I wee, keeping my mind as busy as possible, but I struggle.  The dread is bouncing around on my bladder.  Once again, slowly, I wipe.  Dark Brown.  Oh Shit.

Pacing. More pacing over and over.  I find the ultrasound phone number and stalk the phone until 8.30.  Busy.  ARGH!  I call back over and over and finally get through.  I try and hold back the tears and the anguish, but it is an uphill battle.  I explain the situation.  I am 10 weeks 2 days pregnant and have some discoloured mucus and spotting varying from barely even noticeable, to a couple of tiny clots, to some pink staining.  She books me in at 12.30, but tells me I need to organise a referral from a Dr (who is in Sydney) otherwise I cannot get in. Or alternatively, present to casualty.  Great.

Being on holidays during this moment is not easy.  I call the Drs in Sydney over and over, and no one answers.  Eventually I realise I can call the High Risk Clinic at the Hospital.  I leave a message asking for someone to call me quickly.  The call comes back and I speak to the midwife with whom I have spoken to each time since I peed on that stick late one afternoon.  She knows me, and my entire situation. She knows about Avery. She knows of Little Bird.  She knows of This Baby.

Go straight to the Emergency Department she tells me.  Do not pass go and do not collect $200. And good luck.  That pit of dread bounces again.

I look at hubby and tell him.  Practical, he looks at me and says, right, let’s go now.  Just go.

Packing a bag – undies, “A Mother’s Tears” book, my journal, my phone, my charger, my purse. And Avery’s Sling I wore around him.  Bounce the dread goes…

I tell mum. And force the tears back.  Trying to keep hope, and that pit of dread from dropping lower.  She will look after Tara.  Shit, Tara.  She doesn’t do hospitals well.  She didn’t know about this.  Oh! Daddy’s tummy bug.  I have daddy’s tummy bug!

We eventually get to casualty and we are seen to super quickly at triage.  I am given all the information I already know. But I read it anyway. Anything to keep my mind from straying.  I start eavesdropping on others checking in to the hospital.  The man with a police escort whose posse brings a puppy into the hospital make for some mind numbing time passing.

They call my name.

My nurses are lovely.  I am seen so quickly.  They take histories – listening rather than reading,  I tell them about Avery.  I tell them about this pregnancy.  I tell them about Tara.  I tell them about Little Bird.  Gravida 4. Para 2 (stillborn 1) is written on my notes.

They try (sometimes in vein) to draw bloods. The Dr ends up taking over using the smallest paediactric needle.  At 12.30 they come back in the room and I ask whether or not I should go to my appointment in Ultrasound.  They had misheard me earlier.  Yes – YES! go to ultrasound.  Other processes can wait.  I take my hospital blanket and Avery’s Wrap with me and walk up to Radiology.

At ultrasound, after getting lost, I explain the situation.  They get us in quickly.  A young woman is doing the scan today.  She explains in detail what is going to happen.  I consent to it all.  And then the probe goes onto my belly.

Instantly, I know.  I search the screen frantically. It’s on an angle, but I can still see it and I look everywhere.  But I know it is not there.  The wand moves all over my stomach, around my belly button, down across my swollen bladder, over my hips.  Warm gel is squelching and moving all over the place. But the screen still shows the same picture.

A vague outline of a bulbous head, some shadowy lines where the body would be, and a vacant, non moving or flickering chest area.

There is no heart beat.

She takes image after image and every single one of them is missing that flicker.

The tears are falling and I am holding my breath.  I can feel the room spinning.

She looks at me and says she is sorry, but it does not look like there is a heartbeat.  But suggests she show the specialist the images so not to worry about the vaginal wand, as the scan so far is conclusive.  She leaves the room and I just look at him.  His face is grey.  I’ve broken his heart again.

She comes back in and says the specialist would like to confirm with the vaginal scan if I consent.  I consent. I want to be certain, even if my heart already realises.  I need further proof.  No doubt.  No second guessing.  I’d seen an instant heartbeat at 7.5 weeks.  I should be seeing one now.

She inserts the probe and she takes her time, talking to me gently, reminding me I can stop at any time.  I feel pain, but I feel nothing.  My eyes are gripped only on the black and white computer screen.  Top-of-the-line-better-than-the-best-machine.  Specialist told me last week.  Brand new the last couple of months. Private company. Hospital couldn’t afford such a thing.  But even with all of that technology in front of me, and waving across my bloated stomach is the screen filled with black and white noise images that is not moving.

Perfect uterus.  Perfect sac.  And a motionless outline of nothing. 8w2d weeks measurement at 10w2d.

It’s confirmed.  My baby has gone.

Baby ‘Colt‘ – Discovered 29th of November, Farewelled 12th January.  Lived and died somewhere in between.

(now is when you go back and refresh your memory with The Dream Part One)

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…. More to come as I process this all…