Concerned about her daily tiredness, Sally Giles went to see her GP. The doctors had some news. She was 23 weeks pregnant — with two babies.
“As I watched the tiny baby girls lying in front of me, I considered the strange ways of the world. Just 13 days ago I hadn’t even known I was pregnant, let alone carrying twins. And now, here I was, in intensive care with my premature daughters, desperately praying they would win their fight to survive. It was a hell of a lot to take in.
Rewind two weeks. I was rushing around between my part-time job and looking after my four-year-old son, Daniel. We also had my 13-year-old stepdaughter, Charlotte. As far as my husband Dave and I were concerned, our family was happy and complete.
But something was bothering me. I’d get home from work at 4pm every day, so exhausted that all I could do was stagger to the sofa and fall asleep. Worried I had some kind of terrible illness, I went to see my doctor. The GP suspected I had an underactive thyroid, and ran some blood and urine tests.
When I went to collect my results the next day, there was an unfamiliar woman in the room. “I’ve got your results,” she said. “There is a very good explanation for your tiredness. You’re pregnant.” My mouth dropped open, and I could barely hear her finish: “At least 20 weeks pregnant.”
No warning signs
Driving home, I started to replay the past five months over and over in my head. How could I not have realised I was pregnant? Was I really that stupid? But there had honestly been nothing to make me suspect it for a second. I was on the Pill, and still having regular periods.
At 178cm and a size 14, my size and shape hadn’t changed very much. The fact I had no cravings or morning sickness didn’t surprise me, as I’d had neither of these when carrying Daniel, although at 20 weeks with him, I did have a huge bump. The only real difference had been the utter exhaustion I was feeling every afternoon.
Then I started to worry about my recent behaviour — hardly that of a pregnant woman. I’d been drinking — never more than a couple of glasses of wine a week, but still more than if I’d known I was carrying a baby. I’d been eating Brie and bacon bread rolls — a no-no during pregnancy.
I had even been moving heavy furniture. Still, it wasn’t until I saw Dave that the enormity of the news hit me. We were due to watch Daniel play football. I walked shakily towards Dave, who took one look at me and said, “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?” I started to cry and he wrapped his arms around me. Dave had always been adamant he didn’t want any more.”
