When Pregnancy Changed Overnight: My Journey With Major Placenta Previa

Written by Pascalle Caley

If you'd told me at my 20-week scan that just six weeks later I'd be on an air ambulance to Liverpool, not knowing when I'd see my 13-month-old daughter again, I honestly wouldn't have believed you.

At that scan, the sonographer told me my placenta was looking low. And to be honest, I wasn't that worried.

My daughter, Xanthia, had only been born the previous February and I'd found out I was pregnant again in October, so my pregnancies were very close together. I'd also had a low placenta with Xanthia, and that had moved up on its own.

So when the sonographer mentioned it, I remember saying, "Oh yeah, I had that with my daughter too."

In my head, I thought: It'll move.

But I remember looking at the sonographer and just feeling like something was different.

I came out of that appointment and said to my husband, Gary, "I feel like it's worse this time."

I don't know why I felt that. But unfortunately, I was right.

When "low placenta" became major placenta previa

Around two weeks later, I had a small bleed and went into hospital.

I was scanned again and this time I was told I had major placenta previa - my placenta was completely covering my cervix.

Suddenly everything sounded a lot more serious.

I was told to have a hospital bag packed from 28 weeks, not to do anything too strenuous, no heavy lifting, no gym and not to leave the Isle of Man.

The problem was, I had a 13-month-old at home.

There was still a house to run. Xanthia still needed lifting into the car, carrying upstairs, changing, bathing and just generally being looked after. I'm also naturally quite an active person, so going from normal life to being told to basically slow right down was difficult.

And if I'm being completely truthful, I don't think I fully appreciated how serious placenta previa could be at that point.

I knew there was a risk of bleeding.I just didn't understand how quickly everything could change.

I had another small bleed a couple of weeks later. I went into hospital, was monitored and eventually went home again.

Then I reached 26 weeks.And that was the weekend my entire pregnancy changed.

One minute I was at home. The next I was being flown to Liverpool.

It had been such a normal evening.

Nothing dramatic. Nothing that made me think that within hours my whole life was about to be turned upside down.

I stood up and suddenly felt this huge gush.

Straight away, I knew.

This wasn't like the other bleeds.

I was taken into Noble's Hospital that Saturday night and pretty quickly doctors started mentioning Liverpool and an air ambulance.

The strange thing is, I genuinely didn't realise at first that they were talking about me.

I kept hearing the word Liverpool, but in my head being flown off the island was still this worst-case scenario that might happen.

It hadn't registered that we were already there.

Because I was only 26 weeks pregnant, if my baby had to be delivered, he would need specialist neonatal care that wasn't available for a baby that premature back on the Isle of Man.

By Sunday, I was being transferred by air ambulance to Liverpool Women's Hospital. Even now, writing that feels surreal.

I remember being on this tiny plane with Gary, a midwife, a paramedic and the pilot. The midwife was absolutely incredible and tried so hard to keep me calm.

I'm normally fine with flying. That day, I was terrified.

I remember looking around and feeling like this couldn't actually be my life. It was almost like I was watching it happen to somebody else.

Literally the day before, I'd been living my normal life. I'd been wedding-dress shopping with my friend. I was a mum at home with my little girl.

And suddenly I was 26 weeks pregnant, bleeding, in an air ambulance flying across the water to Liverpool.

Nothing really prepares you for that.

"We just need to get you through until tomorrow."

When I arrived at Liverpool Women's, all I wanted to know was what this meant for my baby.

I remember thinking ahead and asking whether his chances would be much better if we could just get another two weeks and reach 28 weeks.

They told me yes, absolutely.

But then they brought me straight back down to earth.

We weren't aiming for 28 weeks yet.

We weren't aiming for 30.

We weren't even thinking about 32.

The aim was to get me through until the following afternoon without needing an emergency C-section.

Tomorrow.

That was it.And I think something changed in my head after that.I stopped looking too far ahead.First, let's get to tomorrow.Then another day.Then another week.Then another milestone.Every extra day my baby stayed inside me felt like we'd won something.

But the hardest part wasn't actually being in hospital

The hardest part was leaving Xanthia.

Nothing could have prepared me for that.

I had gone from being with my 13-month-old daughter practically every single day of her life to suddenly being in a hospital across the water with no idea when I was coming home.

I'd already had a little bit of mum guilt about getting pregnant again so soon.

I was obviously so happy to be giving her a little brother, but there was also that tiny part of me that felt guilty that she hadn't had me to herself for very long.

Then suddenly, I wasn't there at all.

When I first arrived in Liverpool, I still didn't understand how long I might have to stay.

Then that first evening a doctor explained that because of how early I was, I wouldn't be able to return to the Isle of Man until at least 32 weeks.

I remember breaking down and just crying.

I kept thinking:

How on earth are we going to do this?

Gary brought Xanthia over to see me initially, but as my bleeds became more frequent, even that became too risky and complicated.

At any moment I could have another major bleed and be rushed for an emergency C-section. We couldn't risk Gary being in Liverpool with a 13-month-old if that happened.

So during all those weeks I was away, I only saw my daughter once. I can't really put into words how hard that was.

And while I was in Liverpool, Gary suddenly had to become both of us

There was another side to all of this that I don't think gets talked about enough.

While I was lying in a hospital room trying to keep our unborn baby inside me for as long as possible, Gary was back on the Isle of Man trying to keep our whole life together. Almost overnight, he effectively became a single parent.

He was suddenly doing everything for Xanthia, day and night, keeping her happy and in her routine, running his business and somehow still trying to support me from another country.

And all the while, he knew that at any moment his phone could ring and I could be going in for an emergency C-section.

Looking back now, I genuinely don't know how he managed it.

At the time I was so focused on surviving each day and keeping our baby safe that I don't think I fully appreciated just how much had landed on Gary's shoulders too.

We were basically living two completely separate versions of the same nightmare. I was in Liverpool keeping our baby safe. Gary was at home keeping our family going. And somehow, between us, we did it.

My world became four hospital walls

As the weeks passed and the bleeds continued, my world got smaller and smaller.

At first I had a little more freedom, but eventually I was pretty much confined to hospital.

People would tell me how strong I was.

The staff would say they didn't know how I wasn't going mad after being in there for so long.

But I didn't really feel strong.

I think I was just doing what I had to do.

There wasn't another option.

I had a baby inside me who needed me to keep going and a little girl at home who needed her mum to come back.

So I just kept going.

The staff at Liverpool Women's became like friends and family because my actual family were so far away.

There was even a lady who came into my room every day as part of her job. We'd chat about what was on television and completely normal, everyday things.

Those little conversations probably meant more to me than she realised.

When your entire world has become one hospital room, somebody coming in and talking to you about normal life makes you feel normal again for a few minutes.

We actually became friends and still speak now.I'll never forget the people who looked after me there.

The bleeds could happen out of nowhere. That was probably one of the scariest things about placenta previa.

There wasn't necessarily a warning.

I could feel completely fine and then suddenly be bleeding heavily.

After that first huge bleed at 26 weeks, I was terrified of it happening again.

But strangely, being in Liverpool eventually made me less frightened of the actual bleeds.

The second something happened, the midwives were there. Nobody ran around panicking.Nobody made me feel like the world was ending. They knew exactly what they were doing.

And seeing them stay calm somehow helped me stay calm too.

We made it to 33 weeks and 6 days

When I first arrived at Liverpool at 26 weeks, we were trying to make it to tomorrow.

Then somehow we made it to 28 weeks.

Then 30.

Then 32.

I'd hoped that if I could go long enough without bleeding, there might be a chance of coming back to the Isle of Man.

But the bleeds kept happening. Still, my baby stayed exactly where we needed him to be.

Until 33 weeks and 6 days. One day short of 34 weeks.

I had another significant bleed and ended up on the delivery suite.

The following morning, the team came to see me and essentially said:

What are we waiting for now?

We'd pushed the pregnancy as far as we safely could.

It was time to meet my baby.

And do you know what I felt?

Relief.

For months, I'd been so focused on whether my baby was okay that I hadn't really thought about myself.

His monitoring was always reassuring. He seemed perfectly happy inside me.

It wasn't until I was in Liverpool that I properly understood that with the amount I was bleeding, there was also a serious risk to my life.

By that morning, I was ready.

After weeks of waiting for the next bleed, wondering whether this would be the one that ended in an emergency C-section, somebody had finally taken the decision out of my hands.

I just had this feeling that my baby was going to be okay. And for the first time in weeks, I could see the end.I could think about going home.About seeing my little girl.

About finally being a family of four.

And then there was Zayne

Zayne was born at 33 weeks and 6 days, weighing just over 5 lb. And he did amazingly.

He spent a couple of days in the neonatal unit before being moved to transitional care, where he could stay right beside me.

After everything that had happened, having my baby simply lying next to my bed felt like the most incredible thing in the world.

And 11 days after he was born, we went home. Back to the Isle of Man.Back to Gary. Back to Xanthia. Finally, all four of us together. Today, Zayne is thriving.

Sometimes I look at him and think back to that terrified version of me arriving in Liverpool at 26 weeks.

I was asking doctors whether we could make it another two weeks. They were just trying to get us to the next afternoon. And somehow, that little baby stayed inside me for almost another eight weeks. Eight weeks that, at one point, felt impossible.

What I wish I'd known

If I could sit down with the version of myself who walked into that 20-week scan thinking, I've had a low placenta before, it'll be fine, I'd tell her to take it seriously.

Not to be terrified.

But to understand it.

I'd tell her to slow down.

Accept the help.

Stop feeling guilty for not doing everything.

Ask questions.

Listen to her body.

And probably stop reading every frightening story on Google at 2am, because somebody else's story isn't necessarily going to be yours.

Most of all, I'd tell her:

Things might not go the way you planned. But that doesn't mean they won't be okay.

Nothing about my second pregnancy went the way I'd imagined.

I never imagined being separated from my daughter.

I never imagined my husband suddenly having to parent her alone.

I never imagined spending weeks staring at the same four hospital walls.

I certainly never imagined being flown off the Isle of Man in an air ambulance at 26 weeks pregnant.

And I never imagined giving birth prematurely by C-section in Liverpool.

But this is the bit I want another mum reading this to know.

We got through it.I had an incredible medical team around me when I needed them most. Gary somehow held our family together at home.

Xanthia was there waiting for her mummy.

And that tiny baby who, at 26 weeks, we were simply begging to stay inside me for one more day...

made it to almost 34 weeks. And then he came home.

If telling my story helps even one woman who's just been told she has major placenta previa to feel a little more informed, a little more prepared and - most importantly - a little less alone, then every word of it is worth sharing.