When I found out I was pregnant again my initial elation was marred somewhat by my previous miscarriage. Every week was a hurdle and passing that 7 week marker was a turning point and I started to relax. My main apprehension was now reserved for my local hospital and my first scan. My partner was well aware of my previous treatment within my hospital and promised he’d be there to support me throughout, reassuring me that it would be better this time. How wrong could he be??

It was a complete disaster. The saga commences with the sonographer (aka Miss Trunchbull from Matilda). I knew things were not off to a great start when it was obvious she was very old school, matronly and a no-nonsense woman, she unsympathetically placed unnecessary pressure on my abdomen to try and get the baby to move so she could date the baby. The baby would not move and i was ordered to jump up and down in a variety of committable positions. It did make me giggle though as the baby eventually turned its back on her as if to say ‘leave me alone, I’m sleeping’. It was shortly after this that she gave up inflicting intense torture methods on my body (thanks baby! I owe you one) and told me to wait in the reception for my results.

This is when i finally lost it with my local hospital. We sat waiting for about twenty minutes (with my throbbing abdomen) until the Trunchbull took me into a room, my partner had just gone to the toilet. Whilst I was on my own she informed me that there might be a problem with the baby and she wanted the consultant to come and talk to me. My partner was completely bemused when he returned from the toilet to find me in a side room in floods of tears. Trunchbull refused to tell us anything else, it had to come from the consultant.

We were kept waiting for over an hour, possibly one of the most anxious hours of my life imagining a variety of serious illness my baby could have, when the most obnoxious consultant i have had the displeasure of meeting in my life graced us with her presence.

In her condescending officious tone, she informed us of a thickening on the babies neck, which might be nothing and we should come back next week so they can complete another scan and if the thickening is still there they will perform an amniocentesis. Hold on a minute... How did we go from slight thickening to amniocentesis without any explanation, she was about to usher us out of the room when i turned, i could not contain my anger with the hospital any longer and 12 months of pain hurtled out of my mouth! I was so proud i didn’t cry and manage to stand up to this woman, I demanded to know what illness are indicative of a thickened neck, and how dare they keep us waiting for over an hour in complete anxiety to offer such a lame explanation. She was rather taken aback (at this point the Trunchbull scuttled out of the room) and explained in a snotty tone, that she was just getting to that and discussed the possible chromosomal problems that our baby might have, such as Down’s Syndrome. As we make a shocked departure from the hospital I vowed never to set foot in there for as long as I lived.

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