Termination of a twin at 32 Weeks

After experiencing unexplained infertility, my husband and I were delighted to have success with our first round of IVF and found out we were having twins at the six-week scan. We decided we wanted a NIPT test to find out the sex of the babies and for reassurance, and did this privately at 10 weeks, just before Christmas.

All went well and I was amazed that both babies were there, moving about. As the new year and the 12-week mark approached, I allowed myself to stop expecting the worst and to start planning for our two new arrivals. We started to tell our family about the twins – our littles.

On 30 December 2024, as I sat looking through various cot and buggy configurations for twins and wondering where on earth we were going to put all of this stuff in our tiny apartment, I got the call. It was the clinic. The results of the NIPT were back and it was not good news. The test showed markers for Trisomy 21.

I don’t remember much of the next month, or months if I’m honest. I cried every day. My husband wanted to be strong for me and was quietly optimistic about the outcome of further tests, but I was convinced the worst was yet to come.

I remember emailing the results of the NIPT to my midwifery team so I could get further help and referrals. I received no response other than the rather useless, “Sorry to hear that.” The private clinic pushed for a response from the Fetal Medicine Team at my local hospital to take action, and an appointment was booked with a consultant for the same day as my 12-week scan.

This duality of responses continued throughout my pregnancy, with flippant and insensitive comments from the very medical professionals who were supposed to be taking care of us. I’m thick-skinned, but the lack of empathy was stunning. I often felt misunderstood and judged, and sat open-mouthed, completely shocked by the things they were saying.

That being said, we were also met with some of the kindest and most compassionate people I’ve ever met: a consultant and Fetal Medicine Team who would take care of us and guide us through the worst experience of our lives. I often wonder if they realise how big an impact they have had on our lives and how they will always be in our hearts.

The CVS results came back and only one of our babies had Trisomy 21. I felt a mixture of relief and sadness. During the CVS, we were told that if we were to proceed with a medical termination, we needed to do so before 15 weeks to limit the danger to the other twin, so we knew time was ticking. We were referred to another Fetal Medicine Consultant. Given my experience with doctors in the hospital so far, I had low expectations, but thankfully this time I was wrong. She was wonderful.

Our son was doing well, but our daughter had two holes in her heart and kidney problems. This was the third specialist who had noticed these issues, so we had some certainty.

Terminations are always a controversial topic. My husband and I are more on the pro-life side of the debate and we struggled with the decision of what to do. As a lapsed Catholic, I wondered whether I would ever be forgiven for ending the life of my child. Ultimately, we took the decision to ensure that our daughter did not suffer. We knew her quality of life would not be optimal. We also wanted to ensure the best possible life for our son, both in the womb and beyond. Having experienced Down syndrome through family, I know how demanding it can be on siblings who take on caring responsibilities, especially with older parents like us.

Our lovely consultant recommended that we wait until 32 weeks to terminate in order to give our son the best possible chance of life. I know that for many people the idea of carrying a child for so long only to terminate them sounds barbaric, and many would prefer to complete the procedure as soon as possible. However, for my husband and me, we didn’t want her to be a blip. This way, we got to know our daughter, spend time with her, and ultimately be able to birth her and give her a proper funeral. The idea that a child who dies before 24 weeks somehow does not count is cruel. Every baby deserves recognition that they existed, that they matter.

As the months passed, we got to know the littles well. Our little girl loved apple juice and dancing around, whilst her brother was the quiet one, always shy during scans, unlike his photo-loving sister. Grief became a little easier to carry. Our consultant and her team took care of us, seeing us with ever-increasing frequency to guide us through the worst time in our lives.

As the time came to say goodbye, our little girl stopped moving around and we found out that her amniotic fluid was dangerously low and she wasn’t growing as she had before. She was dying, and it felt like a mercy to terminate, perhaps making it a little easier for me knowing that she could not go on much longer.

Leading up to the termination, there really wasn’t much information available. The consultant was adamant that I talk to someone, but being autistic I found it really difficult to connect with the support that was out there. I found the terminology full of euphemisms and subtle language that simply didn’t resonate with me. I didn’t feel the same emotions as others and I struggled to satisfy my need for facts. I wanted to know, blow by blow, what was going to happen.

Footprints matched me with someone who was so generous with her time and with sharing her most intimate memories and emotions. That hour-long call was truly invaluable in helping me prepare.

The day had come. Again, I was back in that room and on that same bed, waiting for the needle, but this time with my husband holding my hand and surrounded by the love and care of the Fetal Medicine Team who had looked after us all those months.

The procedure was carried out with dignity and, physically, was quick and far less painful than the CVS. Emotionally, it was horrendous. I felt empty. We cried and cried. We were led to the quiet room and we cried some more. Eventually, we mustered the strength to go home and cry again. My husband and I took a week off to mourn.

I felt different and my bump noticeably dropped. This was the most unexpected thing to happen, and it happened with such speed that at 32 weeks I suddenly developed stretch marks. Our baby girl was gone. She was dead.

My husband really struggled and I felt as though he saw me as a walking tomb. Whereas I suddenly started to feel lighter; we had done the best for her and now she would no longer suffer.

The frequency of check-ups increased and suddenly there were concerns about our son. With the increased risks following TFMR, I was often in the Maternity Assessment Unit. As it happened, at 35 weeks, and within a matter of hours, our little boy rocketed into the world.

Our little girl followed closely behind, but we didn’t get to hold her or spend much time with her, despite being in a private bereavement room in the hospital. I will forever be haunted by not being able to hold her, even just once.

I wish there had been more practical information about what would happen with her, including basics such as signposting to where to buy clothes. I hated that she was in mismatched clothes and not dressed like her brother, though I was grateful for the donated items.

We were given a memory box and were able to take prints and casts of her hands and feet, a lock of hair and other keepsakes that are invaluable to us. The bereavement midwives also helped us expedite the registration of her death so that we could hold her funeral quickly, something that was important to us.

She lives on with us. We talk about her often with friends and family and regularly read the personalised loss book to our son. It gets easier, but it will forever remain a scar on our hearts.