When I found out I was pregnant I was very surprised. Kids were not on the cards – even though I’ve always wanted them, Mr BC didn’t and I wanted him more. So when we got pregnant we were both surprised at how over the moon we were but especially him.

One miscarriage was bad enough for me. I don’t think either of us has the stamina to have more than two in a row. So Mr BC and I have decided we’ll have one more go and then, if that miscarries too, we’ll quit.

That said, who knows what the future brings… one of the things that struck me was how hard people try – how many miscarriages they have. My Mum had one with my brother – he was a twin and hung on – then after me another four. My brother’s was a difficult birth, they reckoned Mum survived because she was fit and that the pair of them had about 10 minutes left when they finally got her to theatre and fished him out.

Dad and Mum wanted 4 children but according to the doctor my brother’s birth didn’t do wonders for her insides and she did pretty well to have me. I remember one miscarriage, it must have been pretty late on for them to have told us and she was in bed for a few days afterwards. I also remember her going into hospital a couple of times when I was very young and us staying at home with Dad. One time he took us to the sea for a swim.

Another time I found out about afterwards was when we went to somebody’s house for the day. I remember it because there was a grave in the garden and it scared me – it was one of the house’s previous owners’ pet dog. I remember the day as idyllic in parts but with the trauma of finding the grave stone. My Mum started to lose another baby that day. At the time, I never noticed. She sat there, with my dad and us and those nice people and carried on as if nothing was happening. I so wish I could go back in time and give her a big hug. It must have been so crap, she must have felt so bad. Poor Mum.

I suspect there was a point where Mum and Dad decided to stick with us because I remember a kind of lifting of uncertainty, it wasn’t exactly resignation but I just remember being told that Mum was ok now and wouldn’t be going into hospital again.

I guess hope springs eternal and all that but to me that’s still very brave and all these other ladies, they’re pretty damn brave, too. Then again, perhaps it’s nature. Part of me was amazingly up for having another go straight away – I’d guess this is self preservation speaking here, get up and get on, hit the ground running, have another go NOW and get it right! All that stuff.

It sounds trite, but to me, the best analogy for this urge is a video game. It was like getting half way though level one when all your mates are onto level two. You desparately want to start again IMMEDIATELY and get through to the second level so you can discuss tactics, cheats and the quality of the graphic scenery on an equal footing with your friends.

I’d guess it’s a biological urge to stop you from sitting around getting depressed.

Mr BC is a dear and the miscarriage brought us together. I was very lucky that way, very lucky anyway, I guess because my husband is my best friend and without him, I’d have just sunk.

I went to a school reunion the other day.

Just about everyone I met asked me if I had children.

My mother always brought me up NEVER to ask this question. “It can hurt people so much” she has always said well I guess after all those miscarriages she knew what she was talking about. So after about the tenth one I just started telling them the truth. “Almost,” I’d say. “But not quite.” Then to the quizzical glance, “I had a miscarriage a couple of months ago.” I guess in a way it was kind of cruel – most of them were so embarrassed they didn’t know where to put themselves – but in another way, I felt I was educating them, gently, that not everyone is that lucky. They’re sure as hell not going to make the same mistake again.

I am evil and wicked but if the same thing ever happens to you I can recommend it. Cathartic? Oh yes!

Mwah ha ha ha haaaaargh!