Meg Mansell’s darling second daughter, Miller, is not quite four months old, but the fact she’s here at all feels like nothing short of a miracle to Meg. This week, she’s reflecting back over her pregnancy with Miller – it’s a year this week that she got that first positive pregnancy test. But the pregnancy took a sharp turn at 14 weeks when Meg began fearing the absolute worst…
Trigger warning: Miscarriage / Pregnancy Complications
Welcome to Am I The Only One with Meg Mansell, our regular Capsule columnist. Meg is one of our favourite members of the Capsule community, bringing us smart, warm and thoughtful pieces on mental health, body positivity, motherhood and more.
This month, Meg writes about her pregnancy with Miller, and how a suspected miscarriage at 14 weeks led to a very nervous wait until her birth. Meg’s story is one of hope and heartbreak – and how complicated pregnancies can be, but how little we often share these journeys.
This week, on November 14th to be exact, it was one year since I found out I was pregnant with my second baby.
I remember it was a unique way of finding out: I was on the couch watching TV with my husband and I kept thinking, ‘I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant‘. It was far too early for any sort of symptoms, but that can’t-put-your-finger-on-it feeling that you get, you know what I mean if you have experienced it before.
So I told Guy and he said ,“Isn’t it way too early for a test?”. I said, “100%, it’s far too early”.
He lovingly rolled his eyes and, knowing me all too well, said, “off you go then” and I went to pee on a stick.
I came back into the lounge laughing at myself with my negative pregnancy test and showed Guy who took it to put in the bin. He looked at it, then looked at me and said, “Meg, you’re pregnant”.
Turns out, I thought one line meant negative.
It’s an incredible feeling, finding out you are pregnant and the immediate tidal wave of emotions flicking at the speed of light through panic, excitement, doubt, anxiety and overall – responsibility.
The moment you find out you’re ‘with child’ is the moment your body no longer feels it belongs to you.
I was lucky enough to love being pregnant my first time around, even with all the symptoms. But it was still incredibly daunting looking at the nine months ahead.
We had a wonderful Christmas, got our first scans, made our announcement and then I woke up at 14 weeks at 1.30am to the bed covered in blood and fluid.
I remember it smelling the same as when I gave birth – amniotic fluid and blood has a very specific scent – I started to shake.
Guy was in bed with our now four-year-old toddler in the spare room and as I made my way to him, every movement I made, I felt another wave of fluid come out and in my head I thought, ‘I’m losing my baby’.
I woke him gently crying and said, “I think my waters have burst”.
Because we didn’t want to wake Daisy and with no local family to call on, I put on three pads, a towel down in the car and drove myself to the hospital.
It’s incredibly surreal driving yourself to the hospital, it made the whole experience feel so formal and not at all like I was in the midst of one of the worst experiences of my life.
I texted my Mum who booked the first flight out to Auckland and I sat in a hospital bed and waited.
It was a busy night and I didn’t see anyone for a long time, so I bled through my pants and onto the sheets, the nurses kept forgetting to bring me pads. I knew people were in far worse states than I was so I didn’t push it, but I felt terribly lonely in those hours.
When I went to the bathroom and was trying to clean my clothes, I caught a glimpse of my back in the mirror and remembered that my daughter had covered it in stickers before she went to bed. It gave me incredible comfort and I smiled despite my situation, it felt like her way of hugging me.
When Guy made it to hospital, we eventually saw a doctor who confirmed my HCG levels had dropped and I was beginning to miscarry.
We waited eight hours to get a scan, as the final step to confirm that there was no heartbeat. We spent the whole time crying. My mind raced. Would they be able to tell the baby’s sex? Would I want to know if I lost a second daughter or my only son? Would we name them? Would we try again? Could I go through this again?
Our scan time finally got called in and we walked through to the waiting room. I clearly remember seeing a woman who was agitated waiting, checking her watch, sighing loudly, tapping her foot.
We sat behind her, but got called in first – I saw her take a breath to say what I’m assuming was that she should’ve been next, until she turned to look at us. I think our faces gave her the insight not to complain.
We walked down the hallway and into the room. The sonographer was beautiful, smiling and visibly pregnant. I wanted to die at that moment.
I found that I couldn’t bear to look at the screen and see it. See the lack of that flickering beat. So I looked at Guy instead and decided that finding out the confirmation through his face and emotions was the most comforting choice for me.
Which is when I saw it.
Instead of seeing tears fall down his cheeks as they had been all day, I saw him tilt his head as he studied the monitor and he leaned in closer.
“There’s a heartbeat”.
My head spun and sure enough, there she was – bobbing around.
It was later found out that my records from my first pregnancy had been mixed up with this one and the lower HCG levels my blood test showed – they were actually compared to when I was pregnant with Daisy and further along.
I still don’t know how it happened. I was sent home and told my pregnancy was to be taken “week by week” until I hopefully reached 24 weeks for viability.
I bled every day for the next 32 days.
I would be on air, go to the bathroom in an ad break and wipe – terrified to look down and see blood again. But sure enough, there it was. So I would put another pad in, give myself about 30 seconds to cry and lean into the sink before shoving it all down again before my next voice break.
I remember it feeling like when you were a kid and you would try and shove your sleeping bag back into its carrier thinking surely there just wasn’t enough space for all of it, but somehow you always managed.
I was bleeding during my most recent photoshoot for my show’s marketing and billboards. I made it very clear to everyone that it was of the utmost importance to me to make sure you couldn’t see my bump in the outfit and shots – I played it off as “who wants to be pregnant for two years in their marketing” but it was really because I knew if I lost the baby, it would be a reminder of it every time I saw tummy on a bus that drove past.
I was admitted to hospital two more times before I reached 24 weeks. Even after the bleeding stopped, the fear didn’t.
Guy and I both had a wall up with the baby and pregnancy, that was inevitable really after being told so many times that it was most likely over.
We did feel immense relief once we passed the viability date and we celebrated every week we made it through, all the way until the end – 38.5.
I didn’t let myself believe it was real, until the very moment that she was on my chest.
I know not every story like mine ends the same way and I don’t take that lightly.
One year on from when I first saw that positive test, my awe for women and pregnant people is monumental. My experience is not rare and if it’s not a loss or a scare, it’s complications, it’s symptoms, it’s pelvic pain, it’s exhaustion. It’s the overall mental load of caring for another’s life 24/7 and having that pressure of being the only person in the world who can count for kicks while still sending that email, organising that presentation or like me, smiling through that photoshoot. And it’s so easily looked over and assumed to be a walk in the park because women do just get on with it, because we have to.
So, this is my love letter to you, if you are pregnant right now.
I know the struggle, I feel the pain, I see the guilt for complaining when you know others would do anything to be in your position. You deserve to be worshipped, you deserve all the praise, you deserve to have your feet up, with a fan and your favourite snack. Because for all that’s asked of you, you keep showing up every day and that strength you have isn’t celebrated enough.
