19 Weeks Pregnant: Back Under the Consultant’s Wing

On Monday 8th July, I walked back through the familiar doors of Worcester Hospital for my consultant appointment — now 19 weeks pregnant. It’s hard to believe the wedding was already six weeks ago. Life had shifted quickly since then. We were firmly back home and gradually settling into the calm after the chaos of our wedding and honeymoon.

Both Graham’s and my houses were sold, with completion just around the corner. We were full of excitement as we prepared to buy a beautiful Grade II listed family home in a local village — the kind of home that seems made for noisy breakfasts, muddy wellies by the door, and children running through the halls. It already felt like the perfect space to raise a family. The idea of bringing our baby boy home there in November felt incredibly special.

But first, came the hurdle of this scan. The 19-week consultant appointment. A chance to get a proper look at how our little man was growing — and, most importantly, to check his heart again after that sneak peak we had back at week 17. This was the moment we were hoping to finally exhale, to let ourselves believe that this time no matter what, we really were bringing our baby boy home.

My second son, Louis, was born in 2020. He had a congenital heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot. While it was a condition that could have been surgically repaired after birth, Louis also had extremely low amniotic fluid throughout the pregnancy — which meant his lungs never developed. The combination of those two complications was ultimately unsurvivable. Louis lived for just a few precious hours.

Louis wasn’t Graham’s son, but Graham has been an incredible support through my pregnancy with him, my friend back then — patient, loving, and steady. He knows how much is riding on each appointment, each scan, and he came with me to this one as he has done all of them so far, both of us hoping for peace of mind.

Sadly, my usual consultant wasn’t available that day. I’ve formed such a strong bond with her, and she’s walked with me through every step of this journey. The stand-in consultant was kind and professional, but that deeper emotional connection was missing — and for me, that made the whole experience feel a bit more clinical, a bit more fragile.

As the scan began, I stayed quiet. I’ve learnt how vital these scans are, how much they can reveal — and how much hangs in the silence between each spoken word.

She carefully worked through the anatomy check, taking time to show us our baby boy’s heart and the way the blood was flowing. After a while, she said what I had been waiting for

“His heart looks fine.” Although we had the scan a few weeks back which set us up for this good news, it was nice hearing it officially at the scan where the thourough look was taking place.

Then came another sigh of relief — the amniotic fluid around him was still at a normal level. Something so simple, but after Louis, so significant. Two of the biggest hurdles… and we were clearing them.

She continued with her checks — brain, cerebellum, bladder, kidneys — and then she reached his little feet. That’s when she paused. A long pause. I knew immediately what she was looking to rule out club foot.

Baby boy had his feet crossed and absolutely refused to move. She jiggled my tummy, poked gently, tried everything — but he was not having it. Eventually, she was able to see the left foot and said it looked completely normal. But the right foot? He just wouldn’t show her.

She was clear with us: this didn’t mean there was anything wrong — just that she couldn’t see the right foot well enough to confirm. But for someone who’s experienced the trauma of loss, even words like “we just couldn’t get a view” can be enough to send you spinning.

I kept telling myself, “Even if he does have a poorly foot, we can fix it. He’ll be okay. He really will be okay.” But there was a moment earlier in the scan that kept playing in my head — when she asked, “Is this your first scan this pregnancy?” It left me wondering whether she had seen something that concerned her. And that little seed of doubt, once planted, is hard to ignore.

Eventually, I managed to talk myself down. Nothing had been found — just not seen. All I had to do was make it through the next few days until the 20-week scan on Monday 14th July, when hopefully, we’d get the reassurance we needed.

Because beyond that scan lies a dream I’ve held onto ever since we got that positive pregnancy test back in March.

To have a healthy baby.

To stay low-risk.

To have the water birth I’ve longed for.

To finally walk out of those hospital doors with my baby boy in my arms.

And to bring him home — really home — to our forever family house, where he belongs.