A week ago I was in hospital recovering from having an ERPC – an Evacuation of Retained Product of Conception.

Physically, I feel more or less back to normal, or whatever normal is for my body after the rollercoaster of being pregnant five times in less than a year.

Mentally and emotionally, I don’t really know how I feel.

I was signed off work for two and a half weeks by my consultant obstetrician and she urged me to stay at home for the full time to allow myself to recover mentally.

There is no doubt that enduring another loss of a much-wanted baby has been a big and heavy blow, but I have surprised myself at my reaction to this fifth miscarriage.

Because I am now under the recurrent miscarriage clinic and because I was ‘doing something’ to try and prevent miscarriage by taking part in the medical trial looking into whether heparin injections would make a difference to my pregnancy, I had hope that this pregnancy would be the one.

The fear of losing it in the first couple of weeks, which have been the stumbling block three times already, had started to wane as the days passed, but a new reason for the same outcome then showed its face.

The fact that there was going to be no baby was revealed by ultrasound scans at six, seven and eight weeks pregnant: there was no embryo, just an empty amniotic sac.

The scans at seven and eight weeks were for confirmation that I was going to miscarry again, but it was at the seven week scan that the devastation hit.

We knew then there was no way the baby was just too small to see or that we had got the dates wrong, and the tears fell and the anguish flooded through me.

Since that day I have barely cried, in stark contrast to my third miscarriage when I was completely bereft.

I suppose I have built a suit of armour around myself, which may have the odd chink in it, but which has protected me from the hurt of my worst fear being realised yet again.

My mood is darker this time: I am not feeling the pure grief and sadness I did with my third miscarriage. I am down, I am angry and I feel utterly helpless.

My dreams are haunted with reliving my losses or scenarios in which I am having to explain them again and again.

My thoughts are taken up with wondering why this keeps happening and what I can do to stop it happening again.

Google, web forums and social media hashtags are taking a battering from my constant searches on miscarriage and pregnancy after loss.

As it stands my medical diagnosis is still that there is no one reason why I have had all these miscarriages and there is no reason why I won’t have another baby.

But that is cold comfort when my heart aches for one now and when it feels like I am the only one who has to go through this torture.

Though some people do have an inkling of what I am going through and keep inquiring how I am and what they can do to help, so many of my friends and relatives just don’t understand and that is also making me resentful.

You don’t just wake up the next day and forget what happened. You can’t just move on when your baby has gone, even if you never knew, saw or held that baby.

I need something to blame and I need a solution or a cure to this problem. The fact there is neither leaves you feeling helpless and frustrated that it is out of your control.

Part of me has lost interest in areas of life that previously offered me such joy and inspiration, while part me craves getting back to my old routine and moving on.

Going through miscarriage changes you, but I don’t recognise the person that I am at the moment. I know I will be restored in time, but getting there may be a harder journey than I anticipated.