TRUE-LIFE
Our family secret was written all over my face
Selina Hector, 39, Welwyn Garden City
Walking into the hospital room, my mind was racing.
It was December 2019, and me and my husband James, then 32, longed for a family.
Health issues meant we’d turned to IVF.
Our first try had ended in a heartbreaking miscarriage at six weeks.
Now, at six weeks pregnant again after our third cycle, I was terrified of going through that pain once more.
While the sonographer smoothed gel on my belly, I clenched my fists and stared at the fuzzy grey screen. Then…
‘Looks like two,’ she said, pointing out two blobs. ‘Twins!’ I gasped.
‘One’s much smaller,’ she said, then warned we might lose one before our next scan.
My heart sank. Weeks passed, and our babies clung on.
Excitement built and I shopped for tiny outfits.
‘A boy and a girl,’ the sonographer smiled at 20 weeks.
Only, our little girl had one thigh bone shorter than the other, as well as problems with her heart and nasal bone.
They were possible signs of Down’s syndrome.
I was told there was a test to check, but I wasn’t scared of the outcome.
As the geneticist listed the symptoms, I paused
‘We want them both no matter what,’ I said. Still, we went to University College London Hospital for detailed scans.
Down’s syndrome was ruled out, yet the cause was still unknown.
‘She’ll need an operation to repair a faulty artery,’ the doctor at UCLH explained.
A terrifying thought. And shortly after, COVID-19 lockdown was announced.
With James also being treated for kidney disease, we shielded and my excitement to be a mum was tinged with worry.
Then, in July 2020, I was induced at UCLH, with James at my side.
It was agonising and endless, until William arrived in theatre with the help of forceps,
weighing 5lb 8oz. He wailed as the midwife passed him to James.
William’s sister had wiggled into a different position, and had to be delivered with an emergency caesarean before being whisked off to neonatal intensive care.
In recovery, I cuddled William close, beside myself with worry for Ruby in the NICU.
‘She’s doing well,’ reassured a midwife.
It wasn’t until the next morning that I was allowed to see her, sleeping in her cot, with a nasal tube to help her breathe.
She weighed 5lb 7oz, a little less than her brother and looked different from him, with her little button nose, bent thumbs, crossed-over toes.
Something’s not right, I thought.
Three days later, Ruby was transferred to Great Ormond Street Hospital where docs did a full genetic screening.
While we waited for the results, we took William home – so bitt
