A journey through hope: my unexpected pregnancy
Image: Supplied
I HAD imagined a sophisticated baby shower, surrounded by my dearest friends and family. I pictured endless shopping trips for baby clothes, a dreamy maternity photoshoot and quiet afternoons with my feet up, flipping through pregnancy magazines. I imagined a perfect pregnancy. After all, I had eight years to think about it.
That's how long it took for my husband and me to finally conceive - eight years of fighting Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), multiple surgeries, five failed IUIs, and a failed round of IVF. Our final IVF cycle worked.
In June 2016, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. I thought the hard part was over. I was wrong. What began as a routine check-up with my gynaecologist turned into nearly three months in hospital. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. At first, I thought I'd be admitted for a few days. I never expected to spend an entire trimester there.
I didn't even have a visible baby bump when I arrived. A scan showed the baby was measuring small and that the amniotic fluid was low due to restricted blood flow through the uterine arteries. The term written in my hospital file was intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR). Our baby was not growing. The only hope was an experimental treatment. I was also diagnosed with low amniotic fluid, which meant strict bed rest.
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Our baby was due on February 23, 2017. I was admitted in late September 2016. I was told to settle in as I'd be staying until delivery. Life changed completely. I was on extended sick leave from work and became a full-time hospital patient. I spent my birthday, Diwali, Christmas, and almost New Year in a hospital bed.
How did I adapt? I didn't. I simply went with the flow. I used humour to cope. I documented my hospital antics, including my escape attempts, to keep my spirits up. But behind the jokes, I was scared. The homesickness, the fear, the boredom, most of it is still a blur. What's clear is the support I had from my husband, Rohan.
He carried his own anxiety in silence. He never once complained, not when he ironed my clothes at 5am for big scan days, not when he came straight from work, exhausted, just to sit by my side, not when he ran every errand, went to bed alone every night, or dealt with my breakdowns. He showed up, every single day.
Spending that long in hospital messes with your mind. It tests relationships. It forces you to confront fear, anger, and sadness all at once. But I stayed for my child.
This is a letter I wrote to him the day I was told I wouldn't be going home:
My dearest baby, today marks 20 weeks of carrying you in my womb, and just over eight years of carrying you in my heart. Let me start by telling you how much your daddy and I prayed for you. We never knew when you would come but we always believed you would.
You survived the ice age as a frozen embryo and while you're our super cool IVF baby, there is nothing cold about you. Every ultrasound, every heartbeat, warms our hearts. I'm in hospital now to help you grow strong and healthy so that when you're ready to meet the world, you'll be ready in every way. In my eyes, you are a living symbol of hope and strength.
Though your journey is just beginning and your feet are still so tiny, Mommy and Daddy are walking every step with you. Love Mommy.
December dragged. The world outside was in full festive mode. The nurses decorated a Christmas tree, each branch with a bauble carrying their names. We joked that I should have one too because I'd been there so long I was practically a board member.
Eventually, the doctor decided on a C-section. The amniotic fluid had dropped too low. Our warrior son was born on December 30, 2016, weighing just 1.3 kg. Looking back, I realise I didn't mind not having the 'perfect' pregnancy. The baby shower, the shopping, the magazines - I gave those up without regret. Because what I got in return was far greater.
Today, that tiny miracle is a happy, healthy eight-year-old boy. And if you asked me what I remember most about being pregnant? Hospital food. Definitely the hospital food.
Nivashni Nair Sukdhev is an author and multi-award-winning journalist. She is the author of What's on My Mind? Making Babies, a raw and honest memoir chronicling her journey through Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and infertility. Beyond the bylines and books, Nair Sukdhev is a proud mother and wife, an avid reader, and a lover of shoes.
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A journey through hope: my unexpected pregnancy
Nivashni Nair Sukdhev with her husband, Rohan, and their son Riav. Image: Supplied I HAD imagined a sophisticated baby shower, surrounded by my dearest friends and family. I pictured endless shopping trips for baby clothes, a dreamy maternity photoshoot and quiet afternoons with my feet up, flipping through pregnancy magazines. I imagined a perfect pregnancy. After all, I had eight years to think about it. That's how long it took for my husband and me to finally conceive - eight years of fighting Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS), multiple surgeries, five failed IUIs, and a failed round of IVF. Our final IVF cycle worked. In June 2016, I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test. I thought the hard part was over. I was wrong. What began as a routine check-up with my gynaecologist turned into nearly three months in hospital. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. At first, I thought I'd be admitted for a few days. I never expected to spend an entire trimester there. I didn't even have a visible baby bump when I arrived. A scan showed the baby was measuring small and that the amniotic fluid was low due to restricted blood flow through the uterine arteries. The term written in my hospital file was intrauterine growth restriction (IUGR). Our baby was not growing. The only hope was an experimental treatment. I was also diagnosed with low amniotic fluid, which meant strict bed rest. Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. 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Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Next Stay Close ✕ Our baby was due on February 23, 2017. I was admitted in late September 2016. I was told to settle in as I'd be staying until delivery. Life changed completely. I was on extended sick leave from work and became a full-time hospital patient. I spent my birthday, Diwali, Christmas, and almost New Year in a hospital bed. How did I adapt? I didn't. I simply went with the flow. I used humour to cope. I documented my hospital antics, including my escape attempts, to keep my spirits up. But behind the jokes, I was scared. The homesickness, the fear, the boredom, most of it is still a blur. What's clear is the support I had from my husband, Rohan. He carried his own anxiety in silence. He never once complained, not when he ironed my clothes at 5am for big scan days, not when he came straight from work, exhausted, just to sit by my side, not when he ran every errand, went to bed alone every night, or dealt with my breakdowns. He showed up, every single day. Spending that long in hospital messes with your mind. It tests relationships. It forces you to confront fear, anger, and sadness all at once. But I stayed for my child. This is a letter I wrote to him the day I was told I wouldn't be going home: My dearest baby, today marks 20 weeks of carrying you in my womb, and just over eight years of carrying you in my heart. Let me start by telling you how much your daddy and I prayed for you. We never knew when you would come but we always believed you would. You survived the ice age as a frozen embryo and while you're our super cool IVF baby, there is nothing cold about you. Every ultrasound, every heartbeat, warms our hearts. I'm in hospital now to help you grow strong and healthy so that when you're ready to meet the world, you'll be ready in every way. In my eyes, you are a living symbol of hope and strength. Though your journey is just beginning and your feet are still so tiny, Mommy and Daddy are walking every step with you. Love Mommy. December dragged. The world outside was in full festive mode. The nurses decorated a Christmas tree, each branch with a bauble carrying their names. We joked that I should have one too because I'd been there so long I was practically a board member. Eventually, the doctor decided on a C-section. The amniotic fluid had dropped too low. Our warrior son was born on December 30, 2016, weighing just 1.3 kg. Looking back, I realise I didn't mind not having the 'perfect' pregnancy. The baby shower, the shopping, the magazines - I gave those up without regret. Because what I got in return was far greater. Today, that tiny miracle is a happy, healthy eight-year-old boy. And if you asked me what I remember most about being pregnant? Hospital food. Definitely the hospital food. Nivashni Nair Sukdhev is an author and multi-award-winning journalist. She is the author of What's on My Mind? Making Babies, a raw and honest memoir chronicling her journey through Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) and infertility. Beyond the bylines and books, Nair Sukdhev is a proud mother and wife, an avid reader, and a lover of shoes. THE POST
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