The second time, we waited three years before considering another attempt at pregnancy and having a baby.
After the first miscarriage the hospital did a further few scans but nothing too intensive. At this stage we knew that I had a double cervix but the uterus itself remained a mystery. The fact is, nobody really recognised the condition or knew how to assist me further.
I wanted to spend time caring for my body, understanding what was going on and essentially, arming myself with information about the possible conditions that I might be battling.
By this time we’d relocated to London and embraced a new life together. We felt stronger, more mature and prepared to tackle the obstacles again.
After successfully conceiving for a second time, I went through the motions of morning sickness, aches, tiredness and rejecting just about any food that my boyfriend patiently prepared. I contacted my GP and was referred to a midwife who walked me through the first trimester expectations.
I informed the midwife of my medical history and was told in no uncertain terms that she was unable to verify my word against my medical records and therefore insisted that I wait until the 12-week stage for a scan.
At eight weeks pregnant I started to experience spotting. I returned to my GP and midwife, insisting that they refer me further. I showed copies of letters and documents that I retained from my previous experience with miscarriage in my home city, yet I was sent home, distressed and incredibly frustrated by the whole process. At the time I felt overwhelmed with the process, the restrictions of the NHS that ensured that I wouldn’t be seen unless I was referred by a GP.
One week later my boyfriend and I returned home after a weekend away to find that I was bleeding heavily. I contacted NHS Direct and an ambulance was sent. After being rushed to hospital and examined I was asked to return the following day to the early pregnancy unit.
The following day my worst suspicions were confirmed. I’d miscarried again. I recall feeling distressed. I had tried to control the situation but the reluctance of my hospital to listen to my concerns and the lack of detail on my medical records meant that I went ignored.
I was determined to remain strong and insisted that I wanted to be processed as quickly as possible, desperate to feel like myself again. Knowledge really was power in supporting my confidence at an otherwise distressing time. Days later I was admitted to the hospital for another process of medical management, also known as a D&C.
I recall coming round from the operation in a recovery room where I experienced high blood pressure and awful waves of sickness. When I returned to the ward, the nurse came round and called the surgeon who came over with a smile and announced that I was correct, I had two cervixes and a womb condition that they wanted to examine further.
He confirmed that he’d read about it and had come across just one patient with a similar condition but this was his own experience of dealing with it first hand. I felt like a medical experiment. His joy at having a ‘medical mystery’ in his care versus my own anxiety conceded to a journey of seeking straight answers and a defined step of the next stages of my condition.
I was booked in for a later date to undergo a series of scans and a hysteroscopy – painful to say the least with two cervixes to be investigated whilst I lay there, wide awake and surrounded by a handful of junior doctors keen to learn more. The hysteroscopy had confirmed that I had the uterine condition, uterus didelphys. Cue returning home for more research but feeling confident that we could possibly be finally getting somewhere.
Nothing more could be done as having shown that I can conceive, the main issue was getting through a pregnancy or risking it with a third miscarriage before any further investigation could go ahead.
So commenced the start of another two year journey before becoming pregnant again.