# 19 Our fighter has fought, but the doctors can do no more.

When I started writing my blogs, back in 2019, I wanted to share my tips, advice and support of the journey of IVF. I dreamed of being able to share my experience which led to me having my baby one day. I guess the dream has turned into a nightmare and I’ve lost track of what this blog of my experience's was meant to be. But it’s become MY support and my 'therapy' getting it all out...so thank you for still reading.

After we left Liverpool women’s hospital on the 22nd February, I’ve been reliving the scan and the conversations, I couldn’t get my head around the fact that we went there to plan our baby’s future concerning it’s heart, but left being told it’s lungs were not growing due to the small size of the chest. I did my research and couldn’t find any success stories of babies that survived this condition. If babies did survive, they still died of respiratory problems within a year or two later. This left me distraught, so distraught my husband didn’t know what to do with me. It hit me that I’m sitting trying to grow my baby that’s unable to survive. It’s torture.

My anomaly scan was booked in for the 3rd March at 3.30pm, the day once again seriously dragged. I sat on the sofa very teary that morning, my husband came to cuddle me and our dog soon followed. With both their hands on my belly, it was the realisation that this is the closest feeling I would ever experience to the term “family cuddles”. I wouldn’t be getting our baby, my mum and dad would be receiving his wings instead!

We pulled up to the hospital and as the cold corridor was so busy, we chose to wait back in the car. As we sat there in silence, a couple were getting into their car next to us with their new born baby. I burst into tears again. That would NEVER be us. When we finally got called in, we were greeted by my midwife from the hospital and not the sonographer as I was expecting. In fact, when we got to the room, there was a consultant and another nurse too. She sat us down and told us today is what we wanted it to be. We could ask any questions we want and we could have a reassurance scan. My tears started as soon as I tried to open my mouth. “Is my baby going to die?” They all looked at me with sorrow as the consultant nodded her head and said “it’s highly likely”. We all decided to start the scan. There was our baby. Heart still beating, curled up in a ball. After what felt like the eeriest, quietest scan yet, my belly was still covered in jelly when we were told that even though the fluid appears to be going down, the chest still hadn’t grown. I turned to my husband and got lost in his red teary eyes.

The hospital rang Liverpool to see if the exome results were in, but as it was only day 9, we knew they wouldn’t be. I then asked the question of “why are we waiting for the results? Will the outcome remain the same? Will my baby still die if it’s genetic or not?” The answer was the same again, “yes it’s highly likely”, the lungs are not going to be able to manage, I’m currently providing all the oxygen right now, to which I then replied “can I not grow them until they are 18!?!” Trying to lighten the dark mood, which only got darker when the conversation turned to our options...I will have to go to Liverpool to have another needle through the belly to stop our baby’s heartbeat if we choose to terminate. Then I will have to take the medication to start the labour process at our local hospital. Or we could try to go full term and have a chance to possibly meet our baby before it’s lungs give in, but they couldn’t promise our baby would survive, or even how long we could possibly get them. The possibility that I could even go into labour early and the baby’s complications could mean it could really suffer! We will also need to start to think about whether we want a funeral, burial or cremation.

Only a couple of months ago I cuddled my husband, kissing him saying how exciting the coming months were going to be. For the first time in 15 years I could celebrate Mother’s Day in March, it’s my birthday and our 10th wedding anniversary in April, it’s my husband’s 40th birthday in May, it’s Father’s Day in June and our baby is due in July.

Now, how things have changed. We are now considering selling our house to put some money back in the bank by downsizing, or if we are not too ashamed to start an ‘IVF go fund me’ page one day, so that we can try and have our dream. Time is seriously ticking, whilst our friends can make a baby during a fun moment of passion for free, it has cost us thousands to know what it feels like to be parents. All of this whilst our poor little miracle is still wriggling around inside of me having no idea of it’s fate one day. I can't carry them forever, if I could I would.

So, today I’m 22 weeks. Here we are now waiting for the genetic exome results still, so that the doctors know what to put on all the reports and whether our DNA caused this or if it was just “bad luck” as the consultant said. Liverpool also want to have one more scan to check everything over before any decisions are made.

10 years of trying, 1 round of IUI, 3 rounds of IVF, finally celebrating our miracle, but it looks like heaven will take another of my angels, instead of this living hell we find ourselves in.