Ask almost anyone old enough to remember, “Where were you on 9/11?” and they’ll be able to answer. Most people however aren’t quite so sure if you ask where they were on 7/7 – the day that London was attacked.

I can tell you where I was. I was in the Early Pregnancy Assessment Centre of the Southern General hospital with Bob. The night before, I’d been admitted to hospital with cramps so bad I was bent double and unable to stand up. Then I started bleeding. The Doctors said nothing with their words but everything with their eyes. They were 90% certain I was having an ectopic pregnancy and wanted to monitor me until 10am when I would have a scan.

I refused to stay in the hospital. It was so cold, so clinical and they wanted to admit me onto the maternity ward. The cruelty of this act stays with me even now, to be surrounded with new life when we were sure I was carrying death was just too much. We went home and attempted to sleep in between the tears and sadness, clinging to each other and resigned to our loss.

Early in the morning we made our way back to the hospital in silence, to that waiting room in the department of no hope. We sat in the most uncomfortable chairs huddled together already in mourning and watched the news of the bombings unfold on the tiny television. Slowly and quietly the visitors and staff crowded around us, silently hoping and praying that nobody had been badly hurt whilst our own troubles were put to the side until we were called into the ultrasound room.

It’s the longest walk, that walk from the waiting room to the ultrasound room. Every step produced more waves of nausea, fear and anxiety. In truth it was less than 20 seconds but I remember at the time absorbing the hospital smell, the ambience and the desperation of the other patients. Into the darkened room with the monitor turned away from the patient to save them from seeing the nothingness we went, and I lay on the bed. Hours and hours passed in less than a minute when the nurse silently turned the monitor towards me and pointed.

The pain, the bleeding – caused by a rampant kidney infection that had developed from an unchecked UTI. The baby? Well, he turned out to be just fine.

I’ve never forgotten how we felt that day when we thought we were going to lose the baby we’d only known about for 3 weeks and how our joy & relief was mingled with empathy for the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons & daughters and friends who lost loved ones that day. Five years and I can only imagine their pain but I hope each and every person affected by actions that day is surrounded by love, support and memories of happier times.

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