First Trimester: An Unexpected Turn

In my last post, I shared that I had gone through a successful medicated IVF cycle and, after what felt like a very long two-week wait, found out I was pregnant. It was the best news to close out 2025.

Early in the New Year, I attended my seven-week scan, and everything appeared to be progressing as expected in terms of growth and development.

Because the cycle had been medicated, I continued taking medication and attending weekly blood tests. As I approached the twelve-week milestone — the end of the first trimester — anxiety quietly crept in. My previous loss had happened around the same time, and I found myself counting the days. If I could just reach twelve weeks, maybe I could finally take a breath.

In February 2026, I reached that milestone.

Arriving at that point changed something for me. Until then, only a very small handful of people knew where I was on my IVF path. Now it felt safe to let a few more people in and allow myself to feel some excitement again.

At the same time, my body was starting to remind me I was pregnant. Fatigue began to increase, much like in my previous pregnancy. Working from home made a huge difference. I’m an early riser, so most of my focused work happens between 5am and late morning. If I need to lie down in the afternoon, I can — something I feel incredibly thankful for.

Aside from the fatigue, I discovered round ligament pain — a new and fairly uncomfortable experience. Other than that, I was feeling well and grateful to be in this position again.

I was looking forward to my upcoming thirteen-week scan, where I would hear the heartbeat and see how the baby was growing. Things felt steady and on track.

Then, a few days before that appointment, I felt something strange in my stomach.

I stood up — and blood suddenly poured everywhere.

It was immediate and heavy, followed by light cramping. For the first few minutes, I was in shock. This felt very different from my previous miscarriage because of how suddenly it began.

I phoned my local hospital to ask whether I should come in or wait things out. During my previous miscarriage, my specialist had advised that bleeding — especially when you are further along in pregnancy — should always be assessed to ensure everything progressed safely and without the need for medical intervention.

The hospital I called was the same one I had attended during my previous miscarriage — an experience that hadn’t left me feeling particularly supported. Still, it was the closest option, so I called.

The response felt much the same.

After explaining that I was just over twelve weeks pregnant and experiencing heavy bleeding, I was placed on hold and then advised to contact another hospital about thirty minutes away because they were better equipped.

So I did.

This time, I spoke with a lovely nurse who listened carefully as I explained what was happening. When I told him I had probably lost about a cup of blood, he advised me to go straight to emergency. He sounded surprised that the closer hospital had redirected me and offered to send a text message confirming I should attend, which I could show on arrival if needed.

After hanging up, I called Mum, who came straight over. We got into her car to head toward the hospital and stopped on the way so I could buy feminine supplies because of the bleeding. But when I stepped out of the car, it quickly became clear I wasn’t going to make it inside the shop.

I got back into the car while Mum went in for me.

By the time she returned, I felt completely frazzled and emotional. My clothes were ruined, and the thought of sitting in a busy emergency waiting room in that state felt overwhelming. I asked Mum to take me home so I could change.

Once home, I decided not to go to that hospital straight away. The idea of sitting in that waiting room, already feeling dismissed before even arriving, felt like too much in that moment. Instead, I asked Mum if we could wait an hour and see how things progressed.

Within that hour, the bleeding began to settle. It was still there, but much lighter. By later that evening, it had reduced further, so I decided to stay at home.

The next morning, I phoned my obstetrician, and her team arranged an urgent scan at a local ultrasound clinic closer to home.

Those hours in between felt incredibly long. In my mind, I had already accepted that I was miscarrying. I wasn’t waiting for reassurance — I was preparing myself to hear confirmation of loss.

I’ve said before that I’m not someone who falls apart immediately in these moments. I usually move into practical mode first and feel everything later. Even though I felt awful, I focused on simply moving through each next step.

Mum came with me to the scan.

When we entered the room, and I lay down, the sonographer asked why we were there. I explained that we were checking how a miscarriage was progressing. She was incredibly kind as she began the scan.

As the image appeared on the screen, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at or whether it meant I would need medical intervention.

Then she paused.

“There’s your baby,” she said. “And there’s the heartbeat.”

Time almost stopped.

Tears streamed down my face. Mum stood up crying, and came over to hug me. It was one of the most emotional and confusing moments I have ever experienced — moving from expecting confirmation of loss to hearing that everything was okay.

The sonographer explained she believed she could see what had caused the bleeding, but that a specialist would review the images and send a full report to my obstetrician.

In that moment, none of that mattered.

The only thing I needed to know was that my baby was fine.

Mum and I left the clinic shocked, emotional, and completely relieved. We called the small group of family members who knew what had been happening to tell them the baby was okay. They were just as shocked and relieved as we were.

Driving home, all I could feel was gratitude. Love, relief, and disbelief all existed together at once.

The next day, I had an appointment booked to understand what had happened.

But that was tomorrow.
For that day, it was enough to know the baby was okay.