Tuesday, 6 September 2011


It has been a long, long time since I last blogged. I think if I am honest I have completely exhausted all my sadness. Or maybe it is that I am completely exhausted these days? By the time I have finished at work, prepared for the next day, done bedtime, made tea, washed up and sat down it is normally about 9 and then my eyelids are drooping and I can't really think rationally other than to flit about on Facebook and write perhaps a frothy status update to keep everyone happy.
In England the Summer is bowing out and the low sun beamed days of Autumn are slipping in. It will be two years this month since I bore my little Lucy so silently into the world. More and more these days she is becoming a distant memory, a dusty photo on the mantle piece. Less and less I look at her pictures. This isn't to say I am forgetting her, I think of her every day. In fact her presence in my mind makes me so more emotional and I feel more empathy towards others. Where before I could not picture or imagine a tangible grief other than "That's sad", I now find stories on the news, or read, or told by friends move me to tears. And not just a silent trickle but more often a heavy sobbing as I feel the heaviness inside their heart.
I feel I keep a tight lid on my emotions relating to her these days but then I will hear such awful stories, as the ones I am hearing at the minute on the anniversary of 9/11, and it opens Pandoras box - a torrent of grief pours out for me, for Lucy, for all of you who have experienced loss, grief, pain, death. I continue to miss what she would have been, what her personality would have been like. If I am honest I am constantly tormented about her death, she was so helpless, how can she have faced the enormity of death on her own without me to protect her? If I let these thoughts take hold like they threaten to then I would be a dysfunctional mess. Georgia keeps me sane, the gorgeous monotony of every day living keeps me sane, and keeping that lid tightly shut keeps me sane. I seem 'over it'. But my God I am so far from that. I feel like this is the only place I can be honest these days as people get 'worried' if I ever dare to show these continuing feelings in public. I think I may write more as the anniversary approaches as for some reason I feel more sad about this second one. I don't know why. And to finish my brief post, a song by one of my fave artists just currently making his rise to fame. The lyrics are beautiful and are about his friend that lost her baby at five months. I think we can all relate to the promises and unspoken sadness in the music.

Small Bump - Ed Sheeran

You were just a small bump, unborn for four months, then brought to life.
You might be left with my hair, but you'll have your Mother's eyes,
Oh I'll hold your body in my hands, be as gentle as I can,
But for now you're a scan of my unmade plans,
A small bump, in four months you'll open your eyes...

And I'll hold you tightly, I'll give you nothing but truth.
If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you...

'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only, you can wrap your fingers round my thumb,
And hold me tight, and you'll be alright.

Oh you're just a small bump, unknown, you’ll grow into your skin,
With a smile like hers, and a dimple beneath your chin,
Finger nails the size of a half grain of rice,
And eyelids closed to be soon opened wide,
A small bump, in four months you'll open your eyes...

I'll hold you tightly, I'll give you nothing but truth.
If you're not inside me, I'll put my future in you...

'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight,
And you'll be alright.

And you can lie with me - with your tiny feet -  when you're half asleep, I'll leave you be,
Right in front of me, for a couple weeks,
So I can keep you safe....

'Cause you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight.
Oh you are my one and only,
You can wrap your fingers round my thumb and hold me tight.
And you'll be alright...

'Cause you were just a small bump, unborn for four months, then torn from Life.
And maybe you were needed up there, but we're still unaware as why...

Sunday, 1 May 2011

Lost myself

So I started to write another post, but it actually became so self centred that I was ashamed to post it. This blog has always been about my dead and my living daughters. And that's the way I like it. I may post the other entry one fine day, but until then it can rest in the computer generated crypts.

I love being a Mum. I never thought I would get here, and here I am. I am doing things I never knew were possible. I hold  my sweet baby close to me and kiss her head and smell the milky, sweet, talcum powdered stench and it makes my soul glad. I have finally slipped into that feeling of complete, unconditional love. She is amazing, and her little soul is beautiful and makes my heart leap and sing and I cannot be thankful enough.
And then at the same time I have this incredible guilt. I am guilty for not thinking about Lucy enough. I feel I am forgetting her. Some days - most days in fact - I forget the terrible traumatic thing that preceded Georgia's birth. And other days it is all I can think about. I miss my dead daughter so much, and that is strange because I never even knew her. But I miss the personality she would have been, and I can't help but be saddened at the waste of life. I am thankful for having a beautiful daughter in my arms, that I can hold and kiss. And I am sad, but thankful that I had the chance to hold and  meet my sleeping daughter Lucy. She has taught me so much, and I hope that one sweet day we will hold each other again.

Friday, 25 March 2011

Please say a prayer

A fellow Babyloss Mama has been hit by another tragedy. She lost her son at 40 weeks in July 2009. She married her sweetheart, her Sons Daddy, in September 2009. And her sweetheart has just been killed in Afghanistan, 6 days before he was due to come home to her. I have spent the last 2 days trying to make sense of this loss, and I can't.

So please, hug your loved ones a little tighter tonight and say a prayer for Leanne, Mark and Archie. I pray she finds the strength to carry on without her two boys and that her future holds nothing but happiness, as her present is too dark to even contemplate.

Saturday, 12 March 2011

Mind block

So my last few posts were a joy to read. I have been going through a strange old time, with the resurfacing of feelings that I thought had been put to bed. I am still angry with the world. I see a lot of suffering in the world. Suffering I was not aware of before. When I walk down the street now I wonder about the stories behind the faces. I often think it would be good if people that have suffered a babyloss had a little icon above their heads, like in The Sims. So then I would know who I could approach and share my grief with without scaring them off. Because they would understand, and I could not feel bad about talking to them and seeing the look of horror on someone's face when I tell them I gave birth to a dead baby.

But it's not all bad. I am very lucky, I have Georgia. I am lucky that I have battled through that horrific time after the loss, through TTC again and then through the rainbow pregnancy. And Georgia is here in my arms.  I have dwelled a lot on the dark things, the sad things. A lot of my time has been taken up with such things over the last 18 months. I think and talk a lot about my dead daughter, who slipped away before we even got to know her. But I neglect to talk about my rainbow, who is here in my arms and bringing joy to me the way I had always hoped.

It hasn't been easy, she was a difficult baby to say the least. Not through any fault of her own but it was the cursed reflux that meant we had many sleepless nights, and harrowing days where she cried inconsolably. It is distressing to see your baby in pain and be powerless to help them. But with the help of the right combo of meds, and I think just time, she seems to finally be on the up. We are coming out of the dark clouds, albeit with a few bad habits (we are still feeding to sleep and co-sleeping, it's very difficult to break the cycle!).
She is wonderful, and I love her so much. She is giggling and smiling and growing every day from a helpless newborn into a little girl with a personality all of her own. At one point I really doubted I would ever get to be a mum, so everything she does is beautiful to me. When she meets my gaze and smiles it is the most golden feeling. Being a mum is a lot harder than I thought it would be. There is a lot to think about, a lot of worry and responsibility. As everyone does, I want her to grow up to be a well rounded individual. I want her to be able to play video games and be good at sports, but to also be artistic and academic. I want her to love Disney and princesses, but also be interested in cars and be the worlds first Formula one female driver. Just the usual stuff everyone wants for their baby.

To be honest, I am stuck at the minute for things to write about. I have thought about making a new blog, all about Georgia, but it doesn't seem right. I feel that I would be abandoning Lucy. But I feel I have lost my voice at the minute. Writers block, if you can call the endless ramblings of my thoughts writing. The pain is no longer so raw and the words don't come so easily. The mundane things that my life involves don't seem enough to write about on here. I am not an interesting enough person, I don't bake, sew, or abseil down buildings. I just enjoy being a family, walking the dog, eating good food, dieting, drinking, cuddling Georgia, arguing with John, playing board games, watching crap TV. I have lost my Blogging Mojo.

Saturday, 26 February 2011

Point of demise

I guess this is what they call a bad patch. My last post was a little over dramatic maybe. I'm feeling a bit that way at the minute. I am grateful to this blog as it allows all my outpourings of grief, whilst on my social networking pages I can be more upbeat. I don't want to keep making my status updates all about my loss of Lucy. I am worried people will tire of it and think me self indulgent. So here is where I come to pour out my darker thoughts. I think I'd go mad if I couldn't. I am just dwelling on so many dark things right now. I feel like two people, the happy me on the outside with the dark me bubbling just under the surface.

I am consumed at the minute thinking about when Lucy died. It is haunting me in a bad way. I know exactly when she died. The doctors tried to tell me otherwise, but I am not stupid. I know. I didn't know at the time, because I was uneducated. I was still in that happy land where babies don't die before they are born. I thought she had hiccups, even though they felt different from her normal hiccups. I was grateful to feel her move to be honest. Now I know with hindsight that those fast, repetitive kicks were her dying inside me. That is why they started so frantically, and also why they got weaker and weaker. And why I didn't feel her move again after that. So although the doctors have tried to tell me that she wouldn't have suffered, in my heart I know differently. I do not know that she felt any pain, but I do know that she realised she was in trouble. I have been thinking over and over it lately, and I don't know why. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. I want to be oblivious to when she passed. To know that I felt it but dismissed it as something else makes me feel like the worst mother on earth. I generally think about this happy subject in the middle of the night, when I am feeding Georgia. I am terrified of waking up and finding Georgia dead too. I have morbidly imagined this scenario a few times now. I guess this is a new level of the grief process.

I am also consumed with grief for a new angel daddy. He lost his partner Sara in a terrible accident, and despite attempts to save his unborn daughter Miranda, she also passed. His incredibly moving blog can be found here. It's all I've been able to think about since I came across it. I want to jump on a plane and go and find him, and hold him, and cry with him. It's given me a new perspective on grief. It makes me want to do something to help people. I just don't know what I can do though. I am still thinking on that. I just want to reach out to him, to others, in some way. I feel grief so much more keenly since Lucy. I am definitely more empathetic than I ever was. I find it easier to put myself in peoples shoes, to try and glean a small snap shot of that place they are in, to enable me to connect with them.

Reading back it all sounds a bit twee and jumbled, I am not expressing myself well today.

I guess I just want people to know that I cry with them. My heart bleeds for hundreds of little babies that I have never been able to meet, but who I feel like I already know so well thanks to the loving words of their grieving parents.

Thursday, 24 February 2011

Confused state

A jumbled post, so bear with me. My brain is tired from sleep deprivation.

It is hard to carry on life without Lucy. 

I can no longer say "I lost a little girl last year", as time has relentlessly marched on. It takes me further away from my little sleeping beauty. Some days I almost wish I was back in the aftermath when my memories were not hazy, and the house was filled with flowers and cards and it was 'OK' to talk about her non stop.  I am amazed that I made it this far. A friends status made me think, she is also a BM and I'm not sure whether this was her own sentiment or just one she had read and admired but to loosely quote, it said "You'll be surprised to know how far you can go from the point where you thought it was the end". 

I have recently left some of the pregnancy loss boards that I was a member of after she died. I just feel I don't belong there any more, now I have Georgia. They are full of women at a different stage of this journey and I am not sure I was helping them by being there. I am also not sure it was helping me. I am torn between wanting to live in the past so that I am close to Lucy, or moving on with her in my heart. I know it will end up being the latter, as it is expected of me. I expect it of myself. And yet I can't let go at the minute. I find myself wanting to pore over my blog posts from when I lost her, I want to look at her pictures endlessly.  I regret not seeing her again in the hospital chapel. I regret not taking more pictures. 
Some days I want to be pregnant again. In fact some days I ache to be pregnant again, almost as though being pregnant and 'doing it right' this time will heal my heart. I know in my head it won't, I know a million babies won't bring Lucy back, won't undo what is forever written in my history. I think a lot about what Lucy would have been like. And I just feel sad that she lived such a short life. People often speak of feeling the presence of their loved ones, they find hope in butterflies, feathers, birds. I feel sad a lot as I don't have this with Lucy. I am always waiting, hoping, looking for a sign from her that she is OK, and watching over us. But I just don't feel anything, and believe me I have tried so many times to find some tiny signal from her that she is near.

I truly feel alone. I think she has gone forever.

Sunday, 6 February 2011

'Count the kicks' - another heartbreaking reminder

Yet again the public eye is on a celebrity pregnancy for the worst conceivable reason.The devastating news of Amanda Holdens loss has touched the hearts of many, myself included, for obvious reasons. However it also provides an opportunity to raise the public profile of baby loss and in doing so may just save lives. 

Chloe's Count the Kicks campaign is working towards empowering expectant mums by giving them the facts and information they need to monitor their babies movements and help keep their baby safe, visit the website here.

God bless baby boy Holden, sleep tight little man, another star in the sky.

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

Lesson learnt

I was trying to clear my very neglected email account today. Over time my email address has been entered onto all sorts of random websites so I now get spammed every day to within an inch of my life. As I was deleting the majority of the irrelevant rubbish in my account I happened to click into my sent items. Almost immediately one email leapt out at me, mainly because of the date - 22/09/09, the day before Lucy died and two days before she was born. It was to my friend in Scotland, and was entitled 'Why I love pregnancy - NOT!!'.

For about five minutes I sat looking at the subject heading and the date and my heart was pounding in my chest.

An email sent to a pregnant friend, about my pregnancy - the pregnancy where I was carrying Lucy. Did I dare open it?

I knew in my head and heart that it would be better to leave it unopened. It was a relic from a different time, written by a different person as I was then. But like a scab that needs picking I eventually gave in.

A lot of jumble, a lot of rubbish, but then the words that smacked me in the heart, typed by my own fair hand:

"...I am soooooo sick of being pregnant! I want this baby out NOW!!! I have had enough, I should be thankful I've had such an easy pregnancy but to be honest I am bored now - enough already!! This is BORING BORING BORING!"

I have read and re-read that sentence so many times this afternoon. I can't stop reading it. It takes me back to the person I was at that point, I remember so clearly where I was when I typed that.

What a stupid, stupid immature little girl. Selfish. Ungrateful, urgh HOW UNGRATEFUL was I?!? Reading that sentence makes me want to cry (and has several times today) and also makes me want to smash my head into the wall.

Sometimes (a lot of the time actually) I wonder if God was trying to teach me a very hard lesson.

Sunday, 16 January 2011

Another angel mummy...

Please show your support to her by visiting her blog.

Devastating. Every new angel I hear about just breaks my heart.


Sunday, 2 January 2011

How a Rainbow came to be (or Georgia's Birth Story)

Happy New Year! Belated I know. My blog has been sorely neglected of late.

So 2010 is behind me. What a difference a year makes. This time last year I was heartbroken and despairing. This year, I am...well still heartbroken as a Rainbow baby doesn't change the tragic course of events that preceded their arrival, but I'm counting my blessings too because Georgia made it safely into the world. I am very lucky and unlucky at the same time.
Losing a baby does make you appreciate the simple things, but it doesn't make dealing with a demanding newborn any less, well, demanding. Georgia takes up a lot of my time now. I don't have much time to blog, or email, or even grieve for the little girl who broke my heart. The road with G so far hasn't been an easy one as she has terrible silent reflux which she is now on medication for, and as a result we have not routine to speak of yet. We co-sleep, breastfeed, anything for an easy life. We are currently in the grips of a constipation epidemic as I tried to introduce a few bottles of formula so we could combined feed for a month or two, as a result we are now enduring several marathon crying and whinging sessions whilst she desperately tries to get her bowels moving! All exciting stuff!

I thought I had better at least make a note of some of the details of her birth, whilst they are still fresh in my memory. So this is kind of a birth story post, of sorts.

I guess I will skip straight to the big day, and save the boring stuff about my precursory hospital stay for another time maybe.

On Thursday 21st October I was awake at 6am. To say 'awake' insinuates I had been to sleep, which is an impossibility in a busy hospital let alone when you are in there waiting for the arrival of your Rainbow baby. But that is when the nurse came to check my blood pressure and run another CTG. At 8am John arrived, he was so excited, I remember feeling scared I was going to let him down again. Shortly after the Doctor came so I could sign the forms for the anaesthetic, and explain what would happen. I was due to go down to theatre at 9am. We sat chattering about what was happening, scarcely believing that today we would meet our little Baby Girl. I could feel her kicking and moving around, it seemed so strange, almost impossible to think that in a few hours she would be in my arms. 9am came and went. At 10 am we asked when I would be going down, we were told that a lady was in labour with twins and they were waiting for them to be safely born in case an EMCS was needed. So it was just a waiting game. We watched TV as much as we could concentrate on, then I took to pacing the ward like a caged animal, willing the lady having twins to push with all her might!
Finally at 11.30am a midwife came to take us to Theatre. At this point I started shaking with nerves and shivering with cold and fright. We went down into the bright, sterile theatre. I was told to sit on the table whilst they put the spinal in - my most feared part. John was taken to scrub up.
It seemed to take ages to put the spinal in, my spine has a natural curve in it so they initially had problems putting the needle in, there were several attempts made and by this point I was feeling incredibly sick and shaky (I hate needles with a passion). John had rejoined me by this point and was trying to talk to me to take my mind off it. My canula was put into my hand and the spinal anaesthetic given, I was immediately laid down and prepped for surgery. I remember them asking me what music I liked and I really didn't give a shit at this point about music, so in the end I think Kylie Minogues new album was put on the stereo. I remember them spraying me with the aerosol to see if I was numb and my right side hadn't worked so they tipped the table to get the drug flowing through that side, at this point I started to feel light headed and really sick, I was retching into a bowl and they realised my blood pressure had dropped so started pumping fluids into me and I felt better within minutes. They said they were ready to start and I realised in horror I could still just about feel and move my toes, I told them this in blind panic but they said this was normal and most people could feel their toes during a spinal. As I was processing this bit of information the first cut was made - "Did you feel that?" I was asked (!) well no, I hadn't so they started to cut further. I now was feeling very out of it and still a little sick, I just remember needing to chatter to John about total rubbish so my mind wasn't on the operation, I felt no pain just a lot of pushing and pulling, people leaning on me.  Suddenly the midwife said "Baby is nearly here" and my attention was suddenly back on the gaggle of people at the foot of the bed. "Here is your baby", the curtain lowered and a little purple, scrunched up person came into view. A few moments silence then the most wonderful sound, the sound I had waited to hear for over 18 long months - a tiny baby squeak and then a full on cry. I started to cry with her, as did John. Big sobs that turned to laughter as total relief washed over me. John was still crying with joy, I was straining to look at my baby who was having a few checks her APGAR score done. When they were satisfied that she was breathing OK without help she was finally placed on my chest, still crying but simply delicious. John was still crying and asking me what we were going to call her. I was looking awestruck at this wrinkly, squawking being that had emerged from my belly. Now I could put a face to those little feet that had been wedging themselves under my ribs. We deliberated for a few minutes over her name, unable to make our brains function properly in the absolute relief and happiness that was taking over us. We decided on Georgia May. A name that had been on her shortlist. As we said it out loud I was uncertain, I wasn't sure that name suited her. Now I couldn't imagine her to be called anything else.
As we gazed at her I became aware of a commotion at the 'business' end. I had just had the drug to help them deliver the placenta, so at first I thought it was just them pulling it out. Then the surgeon closest to my head looked over to his colleague and said, very matter of factly, "I think we will have to deliver the Uterus as well - we can't stop the bleeding from this vessel".


That was me coming back to reality. At this point, had I had full use of my lower half I would have jumped up and shouted "WHAT? You can't be SERIOUS!". This has always been one of my fears as it happened to a friend of mine, she woke up to be told her Son was gone and so was her chance of carrying another baby - a full hysterectomy.
I panicked. I was trying desperately to see what was happening at the end of the bed, John was still oblivious to this as he was busy with our daughter. I felt sick, the room swam and then they casually said, "It's OK we've stopped the bleed, can I have suction here please?". As though they had been discussing last nights TV. This sadly is my lasting impression of the section, absolute panic and belief that I would be unable to carry another baby. No explanation of the bleed, it just says on my notes it was due to a 'thick vascular area'. Given that I bled profusely after the placenta was delivered with Lucy I am now scared to death of the next time - if there is a next time - that I am pregnant. I have yet to discuss this with anyone medically as once you have your rainbow baby the hospital want you out the door and do not want to know. I am also wondering if this tendency to bleed is somehow related to what caused Lucy's death. And I am scared of it happening again. I wonder what would have happened had I tried a normal vaginal birth this time. I wonder. It frightens me that this has happened twice now. I am genuinely frightened and I don't think anyone will be able to tell me the answer to this and many other questions.

But still, Georgia is here. I kiss her sweet head a million times a day. I love her dearly, fiercely.

But Lucy, I still miss you. Out of no where something will happen and remind me of you and I will start to cry. I wish so much that you were here. I wish so much that you didn't have to suffer and die inside me. I hate that you have had to face death baby girl, I pray every day you were not scared, or in pain. I cannot bear the thought of that. I still cannot get my head around the fact that you were inside me so alive one moment, and then gone the next. I still wish I had acted sooner when I felt you slow down.

I love you.

I don't want to be this person that has lost a daughter. I want be a mother to both of you, here on Earth where I can smell your sweet heads and kiss both of you a million times a day.

Sleep tight. I hope you will be a guardian angel to your Sister.