Losing my twins broke me – travelling to India helped me to find joy again

I’ve always been fascinated by India. It’s my mum’s favourite country and the house we share is full of treasures from her travels there, from peacock fans and silk scarves, to jewellery boxes carved from mango wood. I grew up hearing spellbinding tales of painted elephants and mirrored palaces, and India soon occupied a special place in my imagination. Having got to 42 without making it to the promised land, this summer my chances of going there felt slimmer than ever, as after several rounds of IVF, I was pregnant for the first time. Much to my surprise, I was expecting twins as the single embryo that was transferred had split in two.

The prospect of being a solo twin mum was daunting, but my overwhelming feeling was of joy and excitement. It was the happiest I’d ever been. Everything was progressing well with the pregnancy until my 20-week scan, when my world imploded. The sonographer couldn’t find a heartbeat on either of the girls and I was told that they had both died. I was led to a bereavement room on the maternity ward and informed that I would need to take a pill and come back in 48 hours to give birth to them. In a state of shock and disbelief, it felt like the events were happening to someone else, the experience too awful to claim as my own.

In the days that followed flowers arrived, cards were sent, and grief steamrollered me as I tried to make sense of what had happened. In search of answers, three weeks later I boarded a plane to Delhi, feeling lost and broken but hopeful that India might help to heal me in some way. I was worried that it might be too soon, and that I hadn’t given myself enough time to recover physically and emotionally, but it felt like a risk worth taking. Before I left I had the girls’ names, Lily and Rose, engraved on the back of a Saint Christopher necklace, the patron saint of travellers. Wearing it brought me closer to them – my angels were protecting me.