The Early Scan at Peek a Baby Bromsgrove - 6 Weeks Pregnant

On the 25th of March 2025—just nine weeks before our wedding day—I found out I was pregnant.

I can still feel the rush of emotions from that moment. The second those two pink lines appeared, everything paused. For a split second, it was just me, the test, and the memory of what a positive pregnancy test truly means... and what it doesn’t always mean.

Graham was over the moon. His joy was instant and unshakable. But for me? I was cautious. I've learned the hard way that a positive doesn’t always promise a happy ending. The ache of Louis’s pregnancy and the heart-wrenching goodbye we were forced to say still lives close to the surface. His presence, his strength, his loss—it’s all shaped how I now navigate pregnancy.

But despite everything, I stayed calm.

There was a quiet sense of trust this time. My anxiety, surprisingly, held back. I chose to believe that peace was possible, and I summoned all the positive, healthy energy I could to our tiny, growing baby. Our baby. Baby Carter.

Even before I told Graham the news, I had already called the doctors. That will make him laugh when he reads this, I’m sure! Things had changed slightly since Louis’s pregnancy—there was now a self-referral system for midwife care. I filled in the form, and before long my first appointment was confirmed.

I estimated our due date to be the 8th of December 2025, although based on my last cycle, late November was also a possibility.

My first midwife appointment came on the 7th of April. I had a spring cold, my voice was barely there, and Graham sadly couldn’t make it due to a big work meeting. He was gutted, but I promised to call him so he wouldn’t miss out on any of the important health questions—it’s our first baby together.

At the appointment, I gave a urine sample, had my bloods taken, and did a carbon monoxide test. I blew a 1—likely from car pollution, they said. I was also introduced to the new Badger Notes app, which has now replaced the paper maternity notes. I must admit, it felt strange not carrying that little folder around!

In those first few weeks, I managed to hold off booking a private scan. But eventually, the curiosity and need for reassurance got the better of me. I told Graham, “I need to know what’s going on inside of me.” And so, I booked an early scan at Peek a Baby in Bromsgrove for Saturday 19th April 2025.

I didn’t realise until we pulled up outside—but I’d been there before. It was the same place we’d had Louis’s gender scan. The one where we were told he was very poorly. That moment hit me like a wave. Familiar building. Familiar fear.

I’d been guzzling water all morning, absolutely bursting for the loo. The sonographer was running late and told me to “let a bit out—count to ten then stop.” I think I did that about three times! The nerves were properly setting in now. Up until this moment, I had felt relatively calm. But this... scans are where things had always gone wrong before.

When we were finally called in, I lay down, they applied the gel, and the Doppler met my stomach. Instantly, a gestational sac appeared. For a terrifying moment, it looked empty. My heart dropped. Please not another missed miscarriage.

Then, there it was—a fetal pole... and the tiniest flicker of a 6-week-old heartbeat. A real, strong beat. Our baby. A brand new little life.

Graham’s eyes welled. Mine did too. There in front of us was our creation. The little person we had made together. A baby that would be coming to our wedding, and even tagging along on our honeymoon.

It felt real now. We left Peek a Baby beaming—me in awe, Graham already besotted. I was pregnant. We were having a baby. And this time, we allowed ourselves to start believing... I knew I was a way off being convinced yet, but it was a start.

The pregnancy fatigue had really kicked in early, I would say right from thye first positive test. My chest has been sore (and surprisingly warm to the touch!), and naps have become a regular part of my day. I’m sleeping whenever I can, surrendering to the changes my body is going through.

I still have my moments. Quiet fears that creep in. But mostly, I’m choosing hope.

Hope for what’s to come.

Hope for a healthy little Carter.

Hope for a love story that continues—with a new chapter on the way.

A Kind Message from Worcester

Then, on 22nd April, I received a text that truly touched me. It was from the bereavement team at Worcester Hospital. They had seen my name on the system and kindly reached out to offer support, knowing that pregnancy after loss can bring its own quiet storm of emotions.

They offered me an early reassurance scan over at the hospital on Monday 28th April, and of course, I gladly accepted. I needed to know that our baby was growing and that heartbeat was still strong.

Graham met me from work, and together we returned to the Early Pregnancy Unit—a place I knew all too well. It was in that very unit that, back in July 2019, I had been told I was suffering a missed miscarriage.

But this time, it was different.

Our little splodge popped up on the screen, measuring 8 weeks gestation, and everything looked perfect for their age. The sonographer was happy. We were happy. Our hearts, for a moment, felt light again.

Looking Ahead

Our official 12-week scan was originally booked for 8th May at Evesham Community Hospital, but based on my dates and previous scans, I knew I would only be around 9 weeks at that point.

I really wanted to make sure we had the nuchal translucency measurements done within the proper window of 11–14 weeks, so we had the scan rearranged for Monday 19th May.

Just days before we were due to fly to Santorini for our big day... and then head straight on to America for our honeymoon road trip adventure across the States!

A Complete Miscarriage

On Thursday 1st August Luke and I made our way back to Worcester Royal for my appointment.

A week ago I made the same journey filled with such hope, I thought I was going to see my baby’s heart beating on screen for the very first time. I thought that all of the worry of the last few weeks, of that last hospital appointment was all going to be forgotten. 

Only that wasn’t the case. I had gone away with the knowledge that my baby didn’t have a heartbeat. That my baby had shrunk.

That my baby was dead.

That my pregnancy had failed.

That it was all over.

The miscarriage had already happened naturally on the Tuesday (30th July), but I hadn’t had the heart to ring the hospital and talk it through with them. I don’t think I could have, not without being a big blubbery mess and not making much sense. I decided to keep my cards close to my chest and just go along today and tell them before the scan.

We arrived and sat in the same waiting room I had sat in exactly 7 days before. I watched a pregnant lady walk in with her notes. I looked down at the floor, reality gripped me and wouldn’t let go. I tried to hold back the tears. 

I didn’t want to cry here. Luke rubbed my leg, he knew I had seen her. 

He knew I was gutted. 

My name was called, we got up and walked along to a different ultrasound room to the week before. I saw the male sonogropher who I had deeply hoped I wouldn’t have last week... he was lovely. I told them my sorry tale. I sort of kept it together but I could feel my voice crumbling beneath me. 

They told me they were sorry, but they could never be as sorry as I was. I explained that I was still bleeding and asked if they would be able to do the scan as a trans abdominal ultrasound. 

They said that they could. I was beyond elated.

My empty uterus flashed onto the screen. As last week it was tilted away from me, I asked if they could move it so that I could see too. 

He told me that I had a retroverted uterus, something that no one had ever mentioned to me before, this helped me trust him. They had failed to tell me this at the viability scan a week ago. One of many things that were written in their official hospital notes but not vocalised to me.

An empty black space where my baby and gestational sac had been appeared. They explained that I had experienced a complete miscarriage. This means that all signs of the pregnancy had gone, just how everything should be in a situation like mine. 

I asked if they could make sure that everything inside me looked as it should look, I knew they couldn’t tell me why my baby had died, but I needed to know if it was something that my body may have done.

As expected... everything was normal. Everything was as it should be.

I had written a list of questions that I bombarded this poor man with. He half answered most questions, almost avoiding the real answer. He couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me when he thought the baby had stopped growing, there was just some speel about mistakes being made, and not being able to go into that detail (or something along those lines).

They apologised once again, and we left to go to the EPAU (early pregnancy assessment unit) where I had appointment with a nurse.

We waited until my name was called and followed a lady into the room where I had been told my baby had died.

I got my list of questions out again. I pulled up the scan photo on my phone, I asked her all of my many, many questions. 

She gave me more than the sonogropher did. She said the baby looks to have stopped growing around 6 weeks, that the baby may have never had a heartbeat. 

I was told sometimes these things just happen, that we never really know the reason why. I was handed a miscarriage information booklet, she offered to take my pregnancy notes for me... I declined. 

I wanted those notes to keep, we have a shoe box (ironically the one I used to announce the pregnancy to Luke and Leo), where we have put everything that relates to our little Pop. We don’t have a lot, but those notes needed to be with the rest of Pop’s things. Proof that he or she existed, if only for a short time.

Then she said it ‘it was only a bunch of cells at this stage’, I couldn’t have disagreed more. That little ball of cells was our baby, our future. We had already planned our lives around having a new baby, and just like that it had all been ripped away.

I had been determined not to get sad, but I failed. The tears came, and I was angry at myself. 

I have realised that I am a crier. I cry when I’m sad, when I’m happy and when I’m angry. No matter the situation I cry. 

I hate that.

I stayed in that room asking all my questions and she gave me that time, I really appreciated that. I knew when I left that room, when we walked out of that hospital, that was it. That was the end. 

My pregnancy was over and my normal life had to resume sometime. I had been off work for 2 days, since the miscarriage had happened, but tomorrow it was time to go back.

I know some people take longer, but I knew I was over the worst of it and sitting around at home was not going to do me any favours. 

My body had not been able to keep the pregnancy, but it had successfully cleaned me inside and saved me the horror of any management options, especially the trauma of surgery.

We got in the car and drove home, the miscarriage was behind us, but emotionally we both had a long way to go.