Tiny Big Feet

Bubbling away under the surface

2012-01-22T23:18:00.000Z

It has been a very long time since I have written here. I don't expect anyone reads here anymore, it is a waste ground of emotion.
All I can say is my grief is still there, bubbling away. Sometimes I suppress it successfully, and speak of Lucy in light and matter of fact tones. Mainly to save the feelings of the person I am talking to. Why? I don't know. I guess I just don't want to lose the people that still listen because I am the lady that talks about her dead baby over 2 years down the line. The important people will ALWAYS listen. But I am encountering these days the Fools Gold friends. The ones who seemingly let me grieve, and speak, and weep endlessly during the first year. But now seem to think that I have moved on, and have relegated her into my 'one of life's sad experiences' drawer in my mind. I find them hard to deal with. People I trusted who now suddenly say if I touch on her in conversation, "Oh - do you still feel sad about her?" in a surprised tone. Often they have children themselves and I want to scream at them. I mean, if their living 8 year old had died 2 years ago, would they think it would be acceptable for me to ask the same question? As if 2 years suddenly was a magical turning point and they were like a bad memory, or a bad relationship break up? Her short life does not make her any less of a person. I find myself wanting to tell people about her. But I am torn between being seen as honest and open, and being seen as the insane harbinger of doom. I lead a double life, more often now I am the 'me' that was before baby death. The me that people want to see. But I am also the mother of a baby that died inside me, I felt her dying, although I did not know at the time. When I talk about labour I feel I have to say, "despite knowing the sad outcome, blah blah blah" rather than just relaying my experiences. I cry when I read about other losses. I cry when I read about a baby stillborn, I cry when I read about a 3 year old that has drowned. And I don't mean I just shed a tear, I sob, wail, the pain bubbles up from my inner soul and I can't control it. In some ways I feel it has made me a better person, in the sense that I truly can empathise with parents going through a loss. No one will ever understand, appreciate, or vocalise the raw, dark, physical pain that engulfs your entire being after losing a baby. Unless you are a member of this dark club.

Autumn

2011-09-06T19:49:00.006+01:00

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...

Lost myself

2011-05-01T20:30:00.000+01:00

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.

Please say a prayer

2011-03-25T18:14:00.000Z

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.

Mind block

2011-03-12T16:32:00.044Z

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.

Point of demise

2011-02-26T23:10:00.002Z

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.

Confused state

2011-02-24T23:02:00.001Z

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.

'Count the kicks' - another heartbreaking reminder

2011-02-06T13:13:00.000Z

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.

Lesson learnt

2011-02-01T17:32:00.001Z

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.

Another angel mummy...

2011-01-16T11:27:00.000Z

Please show your support to her by visiting her blog.

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

x

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

2011-01-02T21:01:00.066Z

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".

Bump.

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.

xxxx

Honestly? It's hard.

2010-10-31T20:53:00.000Z

Here is our little rainbow, Georgia May. Born by elective C section, 21st Otocber 2010 at 12.14pm weighing 4lb 14oz:

It goes without saying that I love her fiercely. She is precious. When I am feeling more 'with it' I will write her birth story, sadly (except the outcome) not a positive experience - I am not a big fan of C sections I have discovered.
At the minute I am lost in a exhausted haze. This is so hard, so much harder than I imagined it. I spent so long on worrying about her getting here I never really thought or planned for when she was here.
Her being so tiny and slightly premature has been a worry, but she's been a little star and was able to stay on the ward with me, rather than going to special care. I naively thought when she was here my stress and worry would dissipate, however my heightened sense of anxiety has simply transferred from bump to this little delicate person now in my care. Is she breathing? Does she sound snuffly? Has her jaundice gotten worse? Just check, is she breathing? Why is she choking? Why is she so sleepy? Does she seem jittery to you? Do you think her blood sugar is low? Is she getting enough food do you think?
At the minute I am trying to breastfeed, which I am finding hard work. I think I have said every day so far that I am going to quit. She only feeds for 5-10 minutes on one breast each feed, sometimes I am having to wake her every 3 hours because she is sleeping through feeds, other times she is waking herself every hour. I am constantly worried she isn't getting enough to thrive. I can hardly eat, I feel so anxious all the time. I feel guilty for bringing her so early, maybe we could have just pushed on for one more week? I seem to have baby blues, I cry lots. I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I can't cope, I can't handle the worry and the responsibility. I feel there is danger everywhere. Above all there is this guilt, after all I finally have what I have wanted for 3 long years and yet I'm not enjoying it, not one bit. Don't get me wrong, I look at her sleepy face and kiss her soft skin and my heart melts. I love her with every bone and sinew in my body. But this makes my anxiety uncontrollable, I worry like every other first time mother but times a thousand. I feel that I cannot rest, I have to protect her at all times. Sleep deprivation makes me irrational, but even when I have stolen a few hours I wake up just as worried. And reading this back I sound like a crazy woman! I really do! I sound ungrateful and I'm really not. I am thankful I have been blessed with her, holding her little warm body in my arms, holding her to my breast as she feeds - they are the most blessed and contented feelings I have ever experienced. But I can't help but feel sad. I look at her sometimes and she looks so much like her sister. And I can't help but wonder about what sort of mother I would have been to Lucy. Before my trust in the world was shattered, and my heart and mind embittered and exposed to the reality that bad things happen to people you love. I want to be that mother, not this crazy, fraught human being I see now in the mirror. I am sure I would have worried, but not to this extent. Now I know bad things happen and they are all I can see. My mind races with what terrible thing can happen next, to claim this fragile little creature in my arms. I am hoping that with time and confidence I will start to relax and enjoy her a little more. Until then I will just keep muddling through, trying to do my best. But it sure is hard.

I think the time has come...

2010-10-18T09:26:00.000+01:00

...to check myself into hospital.

Firstly, thank you to my wonderful angel mummy friends who posted and messaged during the Wave of Light to say they were remembering Lucy along with their own angels. It meant a lot to us both, I am sorry I haven't thanked via FB personally but I am avoiding the place at the moment as I can't handle all the enquires from my well meaning non baby loss friends whose optimism I just can't share about this pregnancy. We quietly lit our candle on Friday and shed a few tears, always such a poigniant moment seeing that golden light and thinking about the millions of candles burning brightly around the world and each little life that they signify.

So it's Monday morning, my section is planned for Thursday morning. I have tried and tried to hold it all together, taking it day by day. But I have reached a point where I just can't cope anymore. Every single day I am gripped by fear about her movements, despite now having daily CTGs for reassurance. Is she moving too much? Too little? Was that panic I felt in her last kick?

And so I asked myself this morning, what exactly am I trying to prove by staying at home? Well, I wanted this to be as 'normal' as possible towards the end. I wanted to spend one last night with John in our own home as a a couple before we realised our dream of becoming parents. I wanted to be in my own home with my own possesions around me. All very idyllistic of course, and at what cost? My own sanity? How many more nights can I lay awake for hours, or crying to myself through fear? The nights are long, lonely and suffocating. Bad thoughts creep in, negative emotions and they destroy any hope and positivity I have. For the sake of a few days I may as well take the hospital up on their offer of a bed and reassurance.
So I am going to my last scan today, and I am going to request to be admitted. It feels like a surrender in some ways, a defeat. I feel I have given in to the fear. But as long as in a few days time my little girl is safely here and in my arms I really don't care. Just 3 more days. Praying, hoping, dreaming of my 'happy ending'.

Waiting

2010-10-12T22:05:00.000+01:00

And waiting and waiting. 9 days left.

The end of this pregnancy is approaching. One way or another. I have run out of things to say really, I feel drained and empty. I am turning into a recluse at the moment, I can't bear to be away from the safety of my own little house. I don't want to see people, or speak to people. I just want time to pass, quickly and without any problems.
I feel like I am slowly going out of my mind. Every single day feels like nine months in itself. I get up in the morning and it is all I can do to stop myself getting back into bed, pulling the duvet over my head and crying and sleeping until it is the next day. Rinse, repeat.
I can barely sleep, I am so fearful of losing her in the midnight hours. Each night seems like a long and terrifying battle to get through, clock watching. One o'clock. Two o'clock. Prod, poke. Doppler out. Toss and turn. Stifle sobs with my pillow to not wake husband. Half Two. Three o'clock. Quarter past three. Listen to the dog drinking from his bowl. Imagine life with a baby. Imagine life without a baby. Imagine having to tell everyone we've lost her. Four o'clock. Half four.
Endless worrying. So much responsibility. Desperation for her to come home with us. I think I may be getting the the point where I admit myself into hospital. I am trying hard not to. But I just don't know how much longer I can cope with this. What if something happens now? Before my c section date? So close now, so close.

October 21st

2010-10-06T09:01:00.001+01:00

This is the date for my planned C section. This is the date that hopefully all the tears, all the frustration, waiting, guilt, panic and every other emotion I've felt in this pregnancy will pay off and so many peoples hopes and dreams are realised.

A section is not my ideal by a long shot. I am not sure I am entirely at peace with my decision to go for it, rather than an induction. I have spent the last 2-3 months thinking about how my little baby might make her appearance into the world. Deliberating. Weighing up the pros and cons. I had hoped the hospital might have felt strongly one way or another, and the that decision was taken out of my hands. However it seemed they wanted me to choose. And when it comes down to it, I just don't have the faith in them to go for an induction. They have told me that as I am delivering at 35 weeks there is a high chance my inducton will fail and end in a EMCS anyway. I asked which was safest for baby and they told me a section was, but it wasn't safest for me. I have spent hours reading on the internet and in books about both. I have truly been torn.
On one hand I wanted the induction, I feel hopeful that I would react favourably to it. I don't want my only vaginal birth experience to be pushing out a dead baby. I want that romanticised birth, where I push out my screaming newborn and she is placed on my chest wriggling, and John and I gaze at her and each other adoringly. I ache for that experience. But my head is full of things that can go wrong in Labour. What if my placenta (that currently *touches wood* is working as it apparently should be) cannot handle the stress of going into labour and takes that moment to fail again? Will they monitor me enough? Will there be enough time to get her out? Would I be able to forgive myself if something happened? The answer being no, of course I wouldn't. She is too precious to take any chances with.
So, as I sat in the doctors office in tears trying to make my decision the doctor took pity on me and advised if I was even in two minds about it then I should go for the C section. So the decision was made. When it comes down to it, I want my baby here, alive, in my arms and screaming. With a planned section it will calm, collected, all the unknown elements that would come with an induction are removed - she will be out within ten minutes and we can all breathe a sigh of relief. For now. Yes my recovery will of course be slower and more awkward, yes there are risks to my own health. But there are with any form of delivery, and when it comes down to it how many women actually get that romanticised birth I am imagining? Because of my situation we are talking about delivering prematurely a 35 week baby, in this case there is no 'ideal' option because the ideal would be for her to stay put and cook a bit longer but this isn't going to happen becasue of the uncertainty of my placenta's ability to function at the end of this pregnancy. So there really is no 'right' or 'wrong' way of getting her here, but the less risky way is a section. Hence my final decision.

So with all this in mind, why do I still feel unsure? Why do I still feel that pang, that longing to just push out a baby that is alive? I keep trying to focus on the bigger picture, that I want her here alive and how she gets here is a very small and insignificant part of what I hope will be a long and happy family life together. But still I have this wistful longing. Maybe it's just that longing for normality, a 'normal' pregnancy, the normality that was forever stolen from me last year when the tragically 'abnormal' happened. Maybe. It's such a big decision to be left with, I was grateful when the doctor finally intervened.

But anyway, we have a date. I am dragging my ass slowly through each day. I am trying to be hopeful, but I still can't bring myself to get anything ready. I refuse to talk about, or make plans for Christmas. I won't pack my hospital bag, even though I know I will need it one way or the other. I won't entertain getting the pram or car seat out. I refuse to buy a single baby item. The only thing that I have bought are maternity pads. I just can't get enthusiastic. I just can't get the belief that the happy ending is round the corner. John is so excited, and it makes me nervous. I feel the pressure, his happiness is reliant on me. He has excitedly changed the chalkboard that we have been counting down on from weeks to days. 15 days he has scrawled. Please let this be so.

32 weeks

2010-09-30T10:45:00.003+01:00

I am glad that Lucy's anniversaries have been and gone. The anticipation of the day lead to many tears. The anniversary of the day she passed was heartbreaking and I was terrified that this baby was going to die as well. Being pregnant on that day was just too familiar, the weather was even the same, every second of that day I held my breath waiting for tragedy again.

Thankfully it didn't come. On Lucy's birthday we spent the day shopping, we met with friends for tea and then when it went dark we let a wish lantern off and toasted our firstborn with pink wine. We held each other and cried hard. There is a little girl who should be here, and she isn't. She should be teething and walking and my windowsill should be full of changing pictures of her beautiful self, when instead there is just a solitary picture of her tiny, still body being cradled by two ashen faced grieving parents.

I am now on maternity leave. I crept away, silently. Last time we had cakes, food and celebrations - a big presentation and baby gifts. I was made a fuss of and everyone had well meaning advice about labour and birth. We laughed and talked and I was so, so excited. This time I didn't announce when I was leaving. I just left. Only a handful of people knew it was my last day. I felt ungrateful but I just couldn't face the big celebrations. I felt like a fraud after losing Lucy, I couldn't put myself through it all again. I don't want to count my chickens. How can I celebrate, how can I be excited when I don't know the ending of this story yet? I want, hope, try so hard to believe it will be the happy ending that we have waited nearly 3 years for. But that is such a long time, and so much loss and heartache. I feel embittered by it all, cynical, pessimistic.
So now I play this waiting game. Waiting, waiting for the end to come. And I know that one way or another I will be birthing this baby into the world, be she alive or dead. I feel terribly guilty for even considering the latter, but as nothing is certain I can't rule it out. I want so, so much to be a mummy to a living child this time. I cannot bear the thought of letting everybody down again, so many people are depending on me to make their dreams come true.

The Turn. (Ben Johnson)

It is not growing like a Tree
In bulk, doth make Man better be;
Or standing long an Oak, three hundred year
To fall a log, at last, dry, bold, and sear:
A Lily of a Day,
Is fairer far, in May,
Although it fall, and die that Night;
It was the Plant, and Shower of Light.
In small proportions, we just Beauties see:
And in short measures, Life may perfect be.

One Year Ago

2010-09-23T08:22:00.001+01:00

One year ago today I was already up, awake, and worrying about my baby's movements.

In three hours time I would feel her last movements. Her struggles before she passed.

In four hours time I would ring the Labour ward in hysterics, knowing something was going terribly wrong with my perfect pregnancy.

In five and a half hours time we would walk into the scan room, for 'that' scan. You know the one. The one where your dreams are crushed and your heart torn from your chest by those three words - "I'm so sorry".

In eight and a half hours time - at four thirty in the afternoon - I was given my first pessary to start labour.

At ten thirty in the evening my waters were broken and I was 5 cm dilated.

But we wouldn't meet my little princess, my angel, my joy, my love, my sleeping beauty until tomorrows date.

So I will leave it there for now, except to say that I love you Lucy. You are always in my thoughts, you are always spoken about, and always will be. We miss you and we ask you to help keep your little sister safe, your poor, broken mummy and daddy could not bear to lose her as well as you.

Sleep peacefully my angel xxxxxxx

Happily ever after?

2010-09-16T08:52:00.002+01:00

That's what I keep wondering. Will I get it? Of course, it won't actually be totally, 100% fairy tale style happily ever after, because my first little girl will always be just a ghost. The rest of my life will be governed by what ifs and how old would she be nows.

Over the last few days I have started to bond more with this little person in my belly. The middle months of this pregnancy were clouded by conflict, my poor, emotionally charged brain struggled with the comprehension that this pregnancy was not Lucy, this baby was not my second chance at Lucy. Even my friends and family had trouble, and sometimes referred to my new bump as Lucy, which was normally followed by a sharp intake of breath and rushed apologies. But I don't mind them saying it, I liked that her name was spoken out loud. It seems so rare these days I get to hear it.
Anyway, back to bonding. Yes I have found it hard to split the pregnancies in my head, and I found it almost frustating when baby behaved differenly to Lucy, it confused me, why was this pregnancy so unfamiliar to me when I'd been here before? Why is baby awake now? Lucy never used to be awake now. Why does baby not like to kick much? Lucy used to kick all the time. Why does baby do this, when Lucy used to do that? But suddenly I seem to have accepted that this is a new entity, a new little soul kicking and flailing and wriggling around inside. Lucy's Sister, but not just Lucy's Sister, my new daughter whom I love fiercely already and have imagined her life with us, despite trying to keep my distance as a 'self preservation' thing. And suddenly my whole being is focused on getting her here safely, getting her here alive. It doesn't leave much time for grieving anymore, and I don't feel I have the time to spend on thinking, grieving, mourning and pining for Lucy right now. This is hard in itself, as I feel terribly guilty. What kind of a mother am I if I can only give my attention to one daughter at a time? A year barely passed and already I am trying to push my dead daughter to the back of the picture, a shadow on the peripherals of my world.
The anniversary approaches. This time last year I was at a midwife appointment. All seemed very well with both of us, I commented that baby was a little quieter and had the standard 'not enough room' response. The midwife cheerily told me that no matter what happened I would have my baby in my arms in 6 weeks time or less. Well, I guess she wasn't wrong. It's just she neglected to warn me that a week later my baby would be lying silent and lifeless in my arms, rather than the pink and wriggling cherub I had imagined.
Would this this first anniversary be so much easier if I had my longed for take home baby in my arms? I don't know. Probably not. I have to be content that she is in my belly, and growing big and strong ready for her early appearance. Praying, hoping, wishing, bargaining, pleading with the gods, karma, anyone who will listen that in 5 weeks time I will have that squawking, live baby in my arms.

Her feet

2010-09-03T21:10:00.002+01:00

Her feet, again. Those 'little' baby feet that are abnormally big and almost comical on a baby. There on the scan screen. Her beautiful feet. She has her Sisters feet.

I am so tired of worrying. I am exhausted from it. I feel that I have this terrible burden, this burden I have to carry. I am talking about the responsibility I have. This little life in my belly is relying on me to keep her alive and safe. The same way Lucy did. But I let Lucy down, and I am terrified my body will do the same again.
If I had written this post a few days ago i would have been full of confidence, happiness and joy. I believed the strength of my own words, that everything will be OK this time. Seeing my little girl, Lucy's little Sister, on the scan screen yawning and moving (and being a bit stubborn). I laughed, I smiled and I felt almost normal.

But today, I have crumpled. The fear, the fear that I have been waiting for, has returned. It never truly went away, but I didn't expect it back like this until much nearer to 'crunch' time.

7 weeks to go.

What if my placenta fails earlier this time. What if I lose this little one too?

We are so, so close.

So close I can almost imagine her baby soft skin against my own, almost picture the joyful calls from the hospital when we tell everyone that we did it, we got our little girl here safely. I can't tell you how much I want that reality for us this time.
But then again we are so far away. I couln't bear it if anything went wrong this time, not when we have come so far and are so close. Not when we could just get her out early. Is 35 weeks going to be early enough? I keep saying to John that I want her out now. I know that I am being stupid with that statement in many ways, I know she is (supposedly) in the best place. But I feel like I'm living with a ticking time bomb. The thing that was supposed to nourish my daughter, ultimately, killed her. It stopped working. And my consultant doesn't have the answers for me if it will happen again, and if it may happen earlier. He thinks it won't. He says the chance of a reoccurence could be as low as 10%. But he doesn't really know.
I get no rest. I fret all the time. I spend the day on autopilot, silently counting her movements. If she doesn't move for an hour I jiggle my bump. I prod and I poke. I drink freezing water until my head aches with brain freeze. Anything to keep those little movements ticking over. I need to know she is alive. Sometimes I am busy, and I forget to pay attention. When I realise I have not been paying attention, I panic. I lie on the floor, whereever I am, and pray that I feel her little kicks. Pray that she hasn't gone still in those few minutes, few hours that I wasn't 'listening' to her. I know how quickly that change can happen, life to death. And I know how powerless I am to stop it happening.
I can't remember the last time I had a full, restful nights sleep. My nights go like this:
Get in to bed. Lie there with my hands on my bump until I have had at least 5 or 6 strong movements.
Roll over and go to sleep.
Wake about 2 hours later needing a pee.
Get back into bed. Wait for her to move.
Nothing.
Roll onto my left side, waiting for a movement.
Nothing.
Panic.
Lie awake waiting.
Panic.
Then I will either get my doppler and listen to her swooshswooshswoosh, or she will give my a sleepy little movement.
Relief.
And only then will I go back to sleep, only to wake an hour or so later and basically repeat all of the stages above again.

But I have to do it, I can't not do it. I have to do whatever it takes to get me through these next weeks.
It is exhausting. I am exhausted.

This is so hard. I can't bear to think of the alternative ending. It has to be the happy one this time. It just has to.

V day and conversation stoppers

2010-08-07T11:15:00.000+01:00

So, Thursday was 'Viability' day as all my pregnancy books tell me. 24 weeks.

V day with Lucy meant I breathed a sigh of relief and grabbed the baby catalogues to start buying things with a vengeance. My baby was a sure thing. No question.

Now I know differently, and V day seems hollow and a lie as I know that a baby born now would be very, very poorly indeed. In my naivety with Lucy I put my total faith that the miracles of modern science would be able to save my baby if she was born too soon. But nothing is guaranteed, and miracles are scarce in this harsh world. Even healthy, born at term babies can die.

But still, 24 weeks is an achievment and I am grateful that we are here. Only 11 more weeks until baby is delivered.

With Lucy I hit this mark around the day my Sister got married and I was Bridesmaid. I was so, so happy that day. It is only recently that I have been able to look at pictures taken then and feel OK about it, rather than feeling sorrow. I had everything I wanted that day, life was perfect. I truly radiated happiness and contentment.

Comparing bumps with the other guests. 20.06.09

Baby Girl is getting stronger every day, her kicks are more forceful now and I have started to feel her turn and stretch out more. I love it, I love that private communication between us. But with it also comes the worry - I feel I have to be 100% tuned in to it all of the time, I am fearful I will miss a key change, a vital clue that all is not well. This means that quite often I will be working, talking, on a phone call or in a shop and suddenly my brain will ask "When did you last feel her move?". I freeze and hold my breath as I wait to feel something. The panic will rise in my throat and I will prod and push my bump, I zone out and everything starts to go blurry, I am taken back to that fateful morning last September and I feel physically sick. Eventually I will get a little movement or a kick and I will be brought back into the real world, but not before the tears are stinging my eyes and my heart racing.
Always thinking of the worse case scenario.
Never relaxed.
Because of this I am not sleeping well, when I wake up I am always waiting for that reassuring sign of life in my belly, if I do not feel something within five minutes I am wide awake and panicking. Poor baby rarely gets any rest as I am always pushing and prodding and trying to make her move so I know she is not dead.

Occasionally I venture onto baby forums. These are full of expectant women all gushing about which pram they will buy, to BF or not, baby names, sex lives during pregnancy. All of the usual trivial crap that fills peoples minds when they haven't lost a baby. I read through what people write on there and I am split between feeling envious of their unrelenting optimism or feeling an amalgamation of disgust, dislike, intolerance at their mindless ramblings and petty worries. On the odd occasion I feel the urge to join in, to get get carried away with their bouncy, happy, baby scented gushings. As if it will somehow 'normalise' me. I want to be like them, and my dislike only stems from jealousy that I'm not. So I write something, trivial, fluffy, a piece of advice or an anecdote from my pregnancy with Lucy.
And generally one of a few things happens. What predominantly happens is my comment is ignored. The women all talk and gush around me, their idle chat carries on as if I have never spoken. No one acknowledges me.
I don't know what I expect really - I guess to be engaged in their happy world in some way. But their chit chat carries on and I am left standing there, silent.
Sometimes what happens is my comment will end the conversation. Stopped dead in its tracks. I can almost see the tumbleweed blowing across the plains after I've said my little piece. Step away from the dead baby woman.
Very occasionally a few pitying women will reply to tell me how sorry they are for my loss, how they can't imagine what it must have been like. And whilst that is nice and very kind I don't want to be reminded of that, I want to be part of the 'in crowd'. I want that naivety back and the gushing joy, the unshakeable belief that I will be having a baby in a few months time. I want to be able to chat about my pregnancy experiences like any other second time mum, comparing cravings and sleepless nights and niggles.
So I don't post very much on those sites anymore as I come away feeling sad. I feel robbed of my pregnancy with Lucy, in more ways than one. Why have I lost the entitlement to talk about my experience? Do they see me as a failure? I feel they don't want advice from me, because my baby died.
I feel like I am in the playground, trying to get in with the 'popular' girls, whilst they bitch about me behind my back.

"Don't talk to her she couldn't even get PREGNANCY right! (and have you seen her shoes?)"

So I am finding out even more that the loss of a child cuts deeper than ever imaginable. I am not even allowed to discuss my memories with the other mummies. I am the outsider.

I have my wonderful baby loss friends to fill that void. To laugh with, cry with, and talk and talk as much as I want about Lucy, and my pregnancies. The ups, the downs, the cravings, the weight gain. We have our own select club.
And as I talk with them I feel their character and strength and it shines like gold. It makes all of those empty, vacant, gushing mothers on the forums and chat rooms seem like Pyrite in comparison. Every memory shared is more precious, every tear, every laugh is filled with more sorrow and more happiness than could be imagined. And this isn't lost on me.

So, some more pics as I document this little Rainbows journey with me.

24 week bump (looks a lot smaller in the mornings, after my day is spent eating cake it seems to stick out a LOT further):

And our nursery, which hasn't changed since we prepared it for Lucy (apart from the addition of another rug):

Kicks and baby steps

2010-07-20T17:49:00.006+01:00

Been a little while since I last blogged! I guess I haven't had a lot to say. Well that isn't strictly true, I have a lot to say but it's mainly the same things over and over again. How happy I am to be pregnant again. How scared I am of losing another child. How much I miss Lucy. How confused I am about this pregnancy.

Things have been busy here, I'm trying to make the time pass quickly. We had our SANDS launch even, it went really well and raised over £2000 for the local group. I was very proud to be part of that.

Other news, hmm I am 21+ 5 today so have 14 weeks and 1 day until I hopefully meet my baby girl. That sounds like a long time, it seems to have taken forever to get here but here I am. A long way to go it feels, lots of things that could happen between now and then. I am just having to blindly stumble on and hope it's going in the right direction. Baby is kicking now, but my placenta is anterior so I don't feel as many kicks as I did with Lucy at this stage. I go through regular cycles of being concerned baby is not kicking, to feeling her kick and being happy, to then going to the other extreme of panic that she is in distress and kicking me to let me know. This part was always going to be hard, mainly because I know exactly when Lucy died -I know those 'hiccups' I felt were her struggling inside me, and they got weaker and weaker. And I didn't feel her again after that. So with that horrific thought in my mind the movement part is a scary thing for me. I love it, but it terrifies me. I am scared my baby will try and tell me she is dying and I will not act swiftly enough.
It won't come to that this time. Surely not. I can't lose another, can I? I try and be positive, as hard as it is.

Lucy is always close to my thoughts. I try and imagine what she'd be like, what she'd be doing now, but I find it impossible. I simply cannot picture how she would be as a chubby toddler, as a little girl. I just see her how she was when we first held her. Even though it was only ten months ago it seems like a lifetime ago. Was that me? Did I really go through that? Was I that pale, sobbing girl in the pictures? Is it time to 'let go' of that pregnancy with Lucy and start living this one? I don't know. I can't erase what had happened, it is always with me. I am forever changed. I feel foolish getting excited. I can't think past October. I make no plans in my head with baby, I don't imagine pushing my pram, or changing nappies. I am still planning holidays that 'just the 2 of us' can go on next year. Just in case. It's not even that I think i will jinx it, it's just what is the point in getting my hopes up? My hopes were soaring this time last year and nature dragged me back to earth and smashed me over the head with her cruel blows. So I just can't muster anything other than cynicism. That isn't to say I'm not happy though - I am overjoyed to be given another opportunity. I'm just doubtful anything will come of it. Pregnancies for me don't = babies. But then our little Miss will give me a wriggle and a kick, and I will smile and stroke my belly and share our secret moment the way I did with her Sister. And I have just that little glimmer of hope. And I say to myself, "It will happen this time. You will be a Mummy". And for just that moment, I believe the hype.

So here is me at 18 weeks, and 20 weeks:

Happy Fathers Day

2010-06-20T10:01:00.001+01:00

Thinking of all those special men who have a heavy heart today.

It must be very difficult
To be a man in grief,
Since "men don't cry" and "men are strong"
No tears can bring relief.

It must be very difficult
To stand up to the test
And field the calls and visitors
So she can get some rest.

They always ask if she's all right
And what she's going through.
But seldom take his hand and ask,
"My friend, but how are you?"

He hears her crying in the night
And thinks his heart will break.
He dries her tears and comforts her,
but "stays strong" for her sake.

It must be very difficult
To start each day anew
And try to be so very brave --
He lost his baby too.

This is my heart

2010-06-13T12:43:00.000+01:00

So here in my hands is my heart. I have taken it from where it has been hiding from all the pain, the worry, the happiness and the excitement. I have dragged it out from its safe place, the place it couldn't get damaged again, the place no possible harm could come to it. It came out kicking and screaming but my baby kept pulling and tugging, and wouldn't give up.

So here now, it slowly beats in my hands.

Open and exposed to the dangerous world.

It is very scarred from previous battles of love and loss, but the biggest and deepest cuts of all carve out four letters.

Lucy

But still it beats on. For my baby. For my babies. For the little girl I held in my arms nearly nine months ago.

And now for the little girl who is wriggling around inside my womb. I have fallen for her, there is no going back now. I have opened my heart to her. I love her.

Fearful

2010-05-30T14:42:00.000+01:00

I am like a walking encyclopedia of ways a baby can die before birth. I find danger in every week of pregnancy, something to be fearful of, something I am convinced may happen to me.
I have been told that lightning doesn't strike twice, I am assured that "it will be OK this time". Except I know that there are lots of chances that it won't be. And I know lightning can and will strike again, right into the already shattered hearts of grieving parents. But if I want to be a mother then this is something I must go through, and the risks I must take each time.
I am frightened of losing this baby, I hate the utter helplessness I feel - there is nothing I can do to alter the course this pregnancy will take. I am scared by my consultants decision to deliver at 35 weeks, scared because my poor little baby will not be quite ready, so I am worried about complications. And scared as he was so adament that I could not go past this gestation that it makes me realise he seriously thinks that the same problem with the placenta could reoccur, and so it could fail at any time towards the end of my pregnancy. And there is nothing I can do to help, no pill I can take to make my placenta work or grow properly. So I am all the time wondering if I have this ticking timb bomb, if the thing that is supposed to nourish and support my baby will end up being the villain of the piece again.

In two weeks time I will know what I am having, pink or blue. People ask me what I would like and of course the initial, honest answer is a baby that is alive, irrespective of sex. But then deep down, deep, deep down in my psyche I of course am longing for a girl. Because I should have a pink bundle in my arms already, a bonny 8 month old who would maybe be crawling and happily babbling away, enchanted by her own voice.

But then I think that perhaps a blue bundle would enable me to seperate the 2 pregnancies in my mind a little more, treat this baby as the second child. It's not that I am not thinking like that already, but sometimes the edges are blurred and I wonder if I am imagining Lucy is coming back to me. It is hard to explain. I have only known the pregnancy with Lucy and so it is hard to imagine another little person - their own entity with their own personality, growing inside me.

Feelings of the week are: sad, scared and apprehensive. I can't stop thinking about what we lost. I can't stop wondering about the whys and hows and just being utterly disbelieving that I have already in effect buried a child. A child I never even got to know other than her personality whilst I carried her. My heart aches so much when I think back to the scan at 20 weeks, the sonographer got a perfect view of her face and although it wasn't a 3D scan it was as close as, and for a while we watched Lucy yawn and root and stick her tongue out. The one and only time I actually saw my little girls face alive and moving. It captivated us at the time and now it is a very treasured memory, but so, so tinged with sadness. My beautiful little girl, why were you with us for such a short time?
I don't want to be an 'angel' mummy, I don't want this heavy heart. I want the confidence I had when I carried you, the concrete belief that I would hold you in my arms and spend a wonderful Christmas together. I want that feeling for this baby, instead of the dread each day brings.

Second trimester

2010-05-24T22:05:00.000+01:00

Hmm well here I am in the Second Trimester. I like typing those words as there have been many paranoid moments where I didn't think I'd get here.

I have been away from the blogging world for a little bit, life just gets in the way sometimes. Today I announced Rainbows existence on Facebook. I debated putting it on there, but in the end my excitedness won out. To be honest most people that are close to me already know, and even those that don't have guessed by my already protruding stomach.

Too many sausage rolls and crisps I'll wager, but it is looking more bumpy these days.
Only 3 weeks until our private gender scan, I am very excited about it now and feel like a kid before Christmas. I haven't bought anything and am not sure that I will, I feel that I will always just play at 'pregnancy' and never actually graduate to 'Mummy' status. It's strange.
I am enjoying being pregnant again although it feels surreal. I like the second trimester, I loved it with Lucy. So much happens, baby's first movements, the 20 week scan, baby's first kicks. So it's a nice time for me at the minute, a time to be enjoyed. I am just hoping things keep going well.

Cheshire East

2010-05-03T21:59:00.001+01:00

Cheshire East & North Staffs Sands is fundraising for Sands, the stillbirth and neonatal death charity - JustGiving

Posted using ShareThis

Today I am happy

2010-05-03T17:45:00.000+01:00

I am 10+4 today. I have listened to babys heartbeat twice with my doppler, just briefly, but it was enough to soothe my anxious soul.
I have seen my consultant and discussed my care plan for this baby. Scans every 4 weeks from 20 weeks and induction or section at 35 weeks, so baby will be in special care for a little while. That scares me, but we will deal with that when and if we make it that far. I also took the plunge and booked a gender scan for 16 weeks. I want to know what the sex is this time for a number of reasons. I am looking forward to it very much. As time progresses I am getting a little more excited. I dare to hope. I dare to dream. I have been into the nursery and tidied the life junk away that we had allowed to clutter it over the last few months. It now looks like a nursery again. I might put some pictures on here, I love our nursery. I hope Lucy and Rainbow bean love it too. I sat in the rocking chair and looked at the cot, bouncer, cot mobile, the pram still unsued in the box. And of course I cried and cried. The thing with a new pregnancy is it opens up those wounds that have only superficially healed like a knife. I cry a lot for Lucy at the moment, I guess it is hormones and the horror of what happened 7 months ago. There is an advert on the TV for John Lewis, a department store. It shows the progress from a tiny baby girl all the way through her life to a retired lady at the end. It is a very nicely shot advert, and it moves me to tears every time I watch it. I just think of Lucy and all of the dreams I had for her that will never be realised. John just looks at me bemused as I sniffle into my sleeve. I love the music that goes with it too, I am a big fan of The Guillemots and the lead singer covers a Billy Joel song on the advert, it is beautiful.
I haven't been commenting on many blogs of late and for that I apologise, I am afraid the tiredness claims me every evening after work and I am unable to write. I do still read new posts though, and I hope to rectify my poor commenting in the next few weeks if I make it to Second trimester and hopefully start to feel a bit more lively again.

I hear babys heart beating away and my soul is glad. Today I feel so happy, and I love my babies so much.

Dream state

2010-04-24T11:31:00.000+01:00

Lucy feels so very far away from me now. My pregnancy with Lucy, and the subsequent heartbreak and devastation that followed - well they are taking on more and more of a dream like quality these days.
When I think about the key moments that are engrained in my mind - that sickening realisation on that sunny morning that I couldn't get her to respond to me, the drive to the hospital, the scan, the hysteria, the phone calls, the tearful relatives arriving, the endless questions (the list goes on and on) - they have that dream like haze over them these days. Like when you wake and you try and think about the dream that was just very clear in your mind, yet now the more you think the more it is like you are watching it through tinted glass - the edges are smudgey and you can't quite get clarity in the picture, just fleeting glances of faces, rooms, minor details.
The rawness of the emotion I felt in those early days has settled, but is never far from the surface. It can sneak up from nowhere, but all of a sudden the hot tears are stinging my eyes and the knot in my throat is suffocating and no matter how much I swallow it won't shift and then the tears fall. Time at first forces you to carry on living, you can't fight it as the second hand keeps going round and minutes pass, then hours, then days. Gradually you stop trying to fight it and acceptance of what has happened begins, albeit very slowly. And eventually you start to find joy in life again, although it is a strange happiness that you have now because underneath your smile and laugh your thoughts always flick for a moment to that little baby soul that touched your life and was gone. And then you want to scream at people and tell them your inner anguish. I hate it when people don't see Lucy as a baby. They don't have to say anything, but the way they speak about her, their body language - a whole host of things - it's a dead give away. I don't know how they perceive her, a miscarriage maybe? A strange alien bump that was once protruding in front of the host and then vanished? I just know that in their head they don't imagine ten pudgy baby toes and soft downy baby hair when they think of her. They don't imagine a baby.
Or do they?
Is this just my own paranoia? These almost protective feelings I have as her mother, I don't want my beautiful child to be though any less of, I want her memory to be respected and cherished. I don't want her to be classified as something she's not, or feared as some sort of freak. I just want people to see her and understand this pain we suffer at having lost her, she was a baby, she was absolutely perfect and we loved her fiercely with all of our hearts. We still do.

7 months today I held her for the first time.

Blind faith

2010-04-18T10:26:00.000+01:00

8 weeks and 3 days today. I have gained 2 days I know, I had another scan on Thursday just gone and they dated the pregnancy. Baby was measuring spot on 8 weeks so my new EDD is 25th November - our wedding anniversary. I know you could say it's coincidence and nothing more than that, but I found out by my birthday I was expecting again and my due date is my 4th Wedding anniversary - I like to tell myself Lucy has sent her blessings and a very special present for her Mum and Dad. I hope so.
The browny discharge is continuing on and off, some days it is barely there and others is in full force. They saw a tiny bleed on the scan but nothing they said to worry about, just that it could be the cause of the discharge. Baby had grown from 9mm to 15.2 mm and still had a heartbeat.

I am trying to comfort myself with the thought we are now past the point that my little bean stopped growing before. Baby has grown as it should and the bleeding does not seem to be affecting the pregnancy. Sometimes it comforts me and I get a rush of excitement, I allow myself to think a bit further into the future and imagine a Summer with a bump and swollen ankles. Then I reign it back in again and the dark thoughts are back. It's all about having blind faith I think. No matter how many doctors I see, even if they scan me everyday, there is no guarantee I will take this baby home. No one can offer me that assurance, it is just impossible. So all I can do is believe it will be OK. Some days I can do that, others not so much.

The guilt about Lucy has also started. I feel bad for even wanting another baby, for being pregnant again so soon after losing her. I feel as though I am trying to blot out her existence, even though I am not. I feel guilty that I crave so much a 'normal' baby, not one that was lifeless and couldn't come home with me. But I can't spend my life mourning her all day, every day. Her journey started because we want so much to be parents, filled with days at the zoo, and noisy car journeys, and first days at school. But the hurt is still there that I can't do any of this with her. Why was she sent here, to spend such a short time in her bubble world? My little daughter. My sweet baby girl. How much I love her. And whilst I am caught up with all these feelings about her I then get a jolt of guilt for this little life inside me. Will I be able to love this baby as they deserve whilst I am still so in love and grieving for my lost daughter? I know that I will, the evidence is there in other peoples blogs about their rainbow babes. But it is such a strange mix of emotions. I am just very thankful to be given the opportunity to be here again, stange emotions or not. But I didn't realise though how fragile I still was until I was pregnant again. I thought I was stronger, more then ready to handle another pregnancy and more than capable of dealing with another loss should it happen. The bleeding has shown me how I would feel if I were to lose this baby as well. And it was not a good place to be. In fact I don't think I would be able to pick myself up again. It was scary, I just hope and pray that it is a place I will not need to visit.
4 weeks until the end of the first trimester. Please pass by quickly and uneventfully with Rainbow baby still growing, and heart beating away happily inside me.

Day by day

2010-04-10T11:39:00.000+01:00

Another day is here. I am 7 weeks today.

My scan went OK on Thursday, we have a sac, yolk and small crustacean shaped human being with a beating heart.
As I was waiting in the day room to be seen (amongst four or five heavily pregnant women) I dissolved into tears and sobs. Scans bring no joy for me, I have no excited anticipation, just a feeling of impending doom that I can only compare to how Anne Boleyn felt on the morning of her execution. The unavoidable is apparoaching.

The fabulous Sister at the EPU scanned me straight away when she saw the state I was in, and for a brief moment I was content in that dark room watching my babies heart flickering.
But the anxiety and dark thoughts are never far away, as we left the hospital I began to worry about another MMC as with the one I had before Lucy the baby stopped growing about now but wasn't found until a couple of weeks later. And to compound that worry, I am still having browny discharge. It is enough to spot onto my panty liner and is on the toilet tissue after peeing. There is not loads of it, but there is enough of it to be a concern. I am also having back pain on and off, so I am in a constant state of fear.

I did have the same with Lucy from about 6 weeks through to about 9 weeks, so I am trying to tell myself that it is nothing to concern myself with. But my advice falls on deaf and ignorant ears, of course I am worried. I wish for this to be a normal, boring pregnancy that millions of women seem to achieve every year. I am waiting to hear from the hospital regarding my consultant care plan starting. I may phone the EPU again on Monday. Time is passing, albeit very slowly for me.

The Birth

2010-04-07T19:59:00.001+01:00

I am very, very proud of myself, my husband and my lovely angel Lucy, for getting through the experience. A very strange thing to be proud of I guess, but I was so worried about Labour and how I would handle the pain that I felt very proud when we got through it and were together as a family for a few hours.

The room they usually used for these sort of 'situations' was already being used, so I was ushered into the room where the birthing pool was. It seemed ironic as I had been planning on using the pool for pain relief when I went into Labour.
I had been forewarned it could take up to 24 hours for labour to really kick in. This sounded horrific to me, and I thought that there was every chance it would take this long as my body did not seem ready to give up my baby just yet.
I was given gel to ripen my cervix and told I would be checked in 6 hours at 10.30pm. Nothing really happened in the first few hours except more tears. We all sat around in the depressing room and wondered if this was really happening. I couldn't tell you what we spoke about, except they were empty, meaningless conversations. Nothing meant anything now my baby had gone.
Eventually I started get low back ache, like before my period. I didn't realise it at the time but these were contractions starting in my back area. John, my Mum and my Sister took turns to rub my back for me, or I would pace the floor rubbing it myself. It was surreal as I had tried to imagine Labour so many times, now here I was but everything was not as it should be. Everything appeared as though lit by a half light, making the experience even more surreal. The backache continued but it was bearable, at 10pm the midwife Meaghan came to check on me and everyone was ushered out of the room.
"Good girl!" she exclaimed, "You are already 5 cms dilated! I am going to break your waters now". A moments discomfort then a warm bath water feeling washed through my legs. "There is blood in your waters" she told me, "You may have had an abruption - have you had any pain?". The guilt as I racked my brains trying to think, had I missed a vital sign that could have saved my babies life? I didn't remember any pains, hell, I would have been straight up the hospital if I had!
She asked me if I wanted any pain relief, I told her no as I thought I had managed so far without any, I'd be OK. Then the next contraction came. And it hurt like hell this time, now that the soft cushion of my amniotic fluid had been removed. So I buzzed and was begging for pain relief, I was given Entinox and Diamorphine. And then things start to get a little hazy....in fact, I lose an hour or two. I have vague recollections of hallucinating, the beeping of equipment made me think I was in a nightclub, I had an entire conversation with John that didn't actually happen. My grasp on reality had slipped waaaaay out of reach. I didn't say much and when I did it was total nonsense. And it doesn't take the pain away, in fact you still feel every single painful contraction you have, but for some reason you just don't seem to care or react in the normal way to the pain. I remember hanging over the back of the bed with the mouthpiece for the gas and air firmly clamped between my teeth, and I though how funny it was that I had been nervous, embarrassed about showing strangers my bits and pieces and yet now here I was, nightie hitched up around my waist, all my bits on display and I couldn't have gived a damn if the Queen herself had popped by. When you are in Labour you go into your own little bubble, you totally withdraw into yourself - well that's how it was for me anyway. Then I am feeling the urge to bear down, and Meaghan is telling me I can push, and I am now saying I need an epidural. Meaghan says I can have one but then she checks and tells me baby is already on the way- it's too late for any more intervention now. So I flip onto my back, and she tells me to push with every contraction. I push with all my strength, and despite the pain I try not to cry out as all I can think is I want my baby to be born with dignity, not to a sweating, cussing, screeching banshee. So I barely utter a sound, and I am concentrating on the words Meaghan is saying, I pant when she tells me to and it burns and burns but I don't push, and then she tells me to push again and so I do and suddenly... relief.

Lucy is born into the world, and the room is silent.

"It's a little girl" Meaghan tells us, and we kiss each other and cry softly, partly with happiness that we finally meet this little person, but mainly with sorrow that she will never be ours to keep or parent in the true sense of the word.
Lucy is placed onto my chest so I can see and I gaze at her through my drug addled fog and barely take in what had just happened. "Her name is Lucy" I mumble, and all doubt as to whether I would use my special name that I had lovingly chosen is gone - Lucy deserves her real name, not a made up name because I am too selfish to part with the name I love that I know won't ever be used for a living child.
And then all hell breaks lose, I am haemorraghing and my uterus won't contract down and they can't stop the blood. The cord was stuck round Lucy's shoulders and when they cut it to free her they cut me as well by accident and so the bottom end of the bed is now awash with blood and medics and doctors trying to stitch me up and trying to stop me bleeding to death. I am being injected, prodded, poked, stitched, manhandled. But I am still in a Morphine fogged dream world, and all I can say to the Midwife is I don't want them to take my uterus away. And I wonder why there is a cleaner at the end of the bed stuffing my lady bits with paper towels, John laters tells me this was another hallucination as it was actually a doctor stitching me up.

And suddenly the room is empty again, and I stare at this little girl on my chest, and I tentatively reach up and touch her face - it is warm - and this surprises me as death is cold in my mind. I stroke her perfect little cheek and marvel at her beauty and how much she looks like both of us but in miniature.

Functioning

2010-03-30T18:59:00.000+01:00

What do I write about? Dare I let myself hope that the little pip in my belly will become a full blown rainbow babe? Do I throw caution to the wind and gush about how happy I am? Talk about the happy trips we will make as a family of three? Look at little onesies with cute animals on and throw nappies into the shopping trolley so we are stocked up?

No of course I don't. I am in that limbo land that all Babyloss Mamas must find theselves in once they see that positive test again.

I am living in a semi permanent state of fear. Every wipe of the toilet roll is inspected for the mereest hint of blood. Every twinge analysed, every pain googled. I have no peace. I have no reason to think this will turn out well, just as I have no reason to think it won't.
Everyone I have told has that cheerful optimism of someone who hasn't lost a baby. "I have a good feeling about this one". "This pregnancy will be fine, don't you worry".
I have found myself making strange bargains with the universe, like if I can cross the road before the lights change then my baby will be born alive. Then I cry if the lights change whilst I am still crossing, then I get annoyed because I know rationally a set of traffic lights have no bearing on whether this pip will make it to term and be born alive.
I think the most killing thing is the uncertainty. The not knowing if I will be back in hospital next week for another ERPC or if I will be reading this back in a years time with a milky smelling babe asleep in my arms. How I hope and pray it is the latter one.

Tomorrow I go back for the second of repeat blood tests. This is to give me more of an idea if the pregnancy is viable. The Sister will call me tomorrow afternoon with the verdict.

I am counting down the days until my scan. I have played every scenario out in my head. Mainly the 'no heartbeat' scenario. I am steeling myself for bad news.
Time seems to be going slowly, the days drag past. Every now and then I let myself dream for a second and imagine a little further than next Thursday, imagine getting to feel a baby kick and tumble around inside me again.

Today I am 5+3. I hope you are OK in there Rainbow Babe. I hope Lucy will look down on you and keep you safe. I hope that this is our time. I hope so much I get to hold you in 8 months.

I am a mole and I live in a hole

2010-03-24T16:01:00.000Z

I need to write stuff down. It's going round my head, I can't concentrate. I am going through the motions, lights on, nobody home. No one rational anyway.

It's been a while since I've blogged. It comes down to the part nervous breakdown I had after my last period showed up. I freaked out completely. I screamed and cried and scratched my legs and face in rage. Total, utter psycho.
So as I sat, a sobbing mess on the floor of the bathroom, I decided something had to give. I looked at my huge flabby belly in the mirror and decided baby stuff was not on the agenda this month. Weight loss was my new obsession. So I've been rigidly following slimming world and exercising, weight loss so far 12lb. Feeling good about myself, but still a stone to lose before I am pre-baby weight, and I don't just mean the Lucy Lu weight as I also put a few pounds on with the babies I miscarried.

However something came along and has put a spanner in the works. After 5 months of hoping, I finally got to see 2 pink lines over the weekend.

I'm pregnant.

I currently have no less than 20 various test brands on the windowsill, all with differing strengths of line. You would think that this news would have me jumping for joy, right?
Well, it did for about half an hour. For half an hour I was blissfully happy, I kept telling John I had a 'good feeling' about this one. So did he, and we grinned at each other like loonies for a bit. But being me, and a total POAS-aholic, I wanted to see it in words. So we drove to the shop, and I plumped for those new fangled digital tests that have a 'conception indicator' to tell you how far along you are. Not cheap.
We drove home and I excitedly chattered about scans and telling people and the normal stuff your mind races with when you see those glorious lines appear. I was determined to be excited, no matter what happened I wanted to revel in the joy of pregnancy whilst I had it.

Bizarrely though, the digital test had the opposite effect on me than calming me. Within a minute the word 'Pregnant' appeared and then below, where it tells you an approximate conception date, '3+' appeared.

3+....?

Meaning I was 5 weeks or more pregnant. Which is a physical impossibility. I know I conceived this cycle. 100%. When I took the test I was 4+1 according to my LMP. It should have only said 1-2 weeks, hell I could have lived with 2-3 weeks. But 3+ weeks? How the hell can my hormone levels be so high that they triggered that response?

So like any paranoid dead baby mama , I googled my little heart out. For hours. And the 4 conclusions I have found with regards to high HCG are:

I miscalculated my dates. As I didn't temp or chart properly this month I actually don't know when I ovulated. I thought I HADN'T ovulated, so fuck knows. This is a possibility, I could be a few days further on than I thought.
My levels are high, but still 'nomal'. The Clearblue tests are gimmicky, and not an exact science. The test strip that 'diagnoses' the conception is not terribly accurate, it just relies on the strength of a line to predict the level of hormone present and thus how far along. In fact that makes it sounds more scientific than it is. So I could just have high levels and still be fine.
It's a multiple pregnancy. As neither John nor myself have a family history of multiples, and I have not had any fertility drugs, I severely doubt this is the case. But it is not entirely improbable.
It is a Molar pregnancy.

Molar. A Molar Pregnancy. These are the words, that once I read them, have been going round and roung my crazy little brain. This is the worst case scenario. The thought that in my uterus is not currently a baby, but an out of control cluster of cells. Growing and growing like a cancer, and pumping out massive amounts of HCG. If it is a molar pregnancy, we won't be able to TTC for a YEAR after my HCG levels return to zero. And it could take months for that to happen.
It's all I can think about. I have totally convinced myself that this is the case. I am already devastated for the loss of this pregnancy and I have not even had a scientific opionion yet.
Molar pregnancies are rare, 1:1000 pregnancies apparently. Surely, surely we can't have THAT much bad luck? I mean come on, I'm not trying to complete the 'baby loss' set - spontaneous miscarriage, missed miscarriage, stillbirth...and Molar?

But no matter how I try, I can't seem to to get this thought out of my head. It haunts my every thought. I have googled to exhaustion the meaning of high HCG levels, the consequences and symptoms of molar pregnancies. My mind is full of information, and this is a bad thing. Too much information is a BAD thing.

I have a blood result due back on Friday to tell me what my level of HCG was as of yesterday, 4+3.
And I have a viability scan on April 8th.

D-day.

The scan that will tell me if I have an uncanny sixth sense and this pregnancy is doomed, or if it is pure, unadulterated PARANOIA caused by experiencing nothing but loss so far in my journey for a family.

Please keep everything crossed for me, pray for me. I think another loss would leave me totally broken.

Fail.

2010-02-08T13:40:00.001Z

So after all my good intentions and promises and mantras I have woken up this morning and feel like all of the positivity has been sucked out of me.

Maybe it's the lack of sleep, maybe it's hormones, maybe it's just the phase of the moon. Who knows. I just feel that we will not have done it this cycle and I am just tired of trying to conceive again. This is just not how life should be. This is not how I want my life to be.

This post made me think today. Lately I have been feeling very, very jealous of my friend and her new baby. It's not a good emotion. I feel bitter that it's been so hard for us and so easy for her. We struggle for 2 years and lose three babies. She has aborted 2 previous 'unplanned' pregnancies, decides on a whim (in the middle of an argument with her boyfriend) to have a baby and is pregnant within 2 months, a year later she has a new baby, a new home (paid for by his parents). Everything I wanted and thought I would have. She text me the other day to ask how I was. She asked my opinion on something her baby was doing. But like Ashley said, what advice can I offer? I have never had a baby to bring up. I can't give her advice because I have no idea.

How do I move past this terrible negativity I have towards her? I just can't get past the unfairness of it all. Why has it been so easy for her? Why has it been so hard for us? How can I stop this horrible envy that is eating away at our friendship? I can barely bring myself to speak to her. She doesn't have the right words to say. She never even bothered to come to Lucy's funeral. She complains constantly about her baby not sleeping. When I told her how down I was feeling about TTC she texted to say "I know, I felt like that. I know how long the months can be and it's literally all you can think about". What?!? WTF?!? How can she even pretend to know what it's like? She decided at Christmas she wanted a baby and was pregnant by the February! Why does she not understand that her situation and my situation are worlds apart?

God I sound like a total bitch. I hate feeling this way towards her. But I hate that she just doesn't GET it. I'm not sure our friendship can recover from this. I am a terrible friend. I can't even feel happy for my friends anymore.

Inconsistency

2010-02-02T16:14:00.002Z

I met with the other Mamas this weekend. It was really good. I travelled down on the train with one lady and we chattered all the way to London. It was so nice to be able to talk openly with someone without having to apologise for getting upset, or with the other person steering the conversation away from dead babies.

We shared tears. We shared fears. I tried to soothe hers as she is pregnant again and frightened. We talked about how you are unable now to tell other pregnant ladies "It'll be alright". No matter how bad I feel I just cannot bring myself to, in effect, lie to them. How can I know it'll be alright? Yes it's the right and polite thing to say, but I'm sorry I have statistically had 3 'not alright' pregnancies so I feel like a fraud if I smile sweetly and paint a beautiful, rose coloured picture of being pregnant. Pregnancy to me now seems like you are holding your future baby in your arms and bungee jumping off the Severn bridge with only an elastic band to hold you up. There's a million chances you will hit the ground with a sickening thud or there is a remote chance you'll bounce and get that happy ending.

We met with the other Mamas in the hotel. After a little awkwardness we were soon chatting away, each eager to make the most of this opportunity to talk about our lost little ones. Every story different but with the same sad ending. And what seemed to crop up a lot, a LOT was the sheer inconsistency of advice given by the medical profession. You would think that it might help if they were all singing off the same hymn sheet. Instead it seems to be a postcode lottery, even a generation lottery - some of the older Consultants seem to be very much of the 'suck it and see' approach whereas the recent graduates of med school are following the textbook to the letter - god help you if your pregnancy deviates from that textbook.

Bit of a joke.

I am thinking of packing the nursery away. I left it all out after losing Lucy as I was sure I would be pregnant again quickly. As time ticks on with no positive test it seems a sadder place to me. I think I may just pack it all away for another time, whenever that may be. The empty cot makes me feel sad, the whole room does.

I feel I am running out of things to say about Lucy. I have talked about her endlessly but I will only ever have those nine months and those few precious hours to talk about. I was so surprised she was warm when she came out. I guess I imagined she would be dead and therefore cold. It was strange how warm and pink she was. Her skin was very soft, I stroked her cheek and nose endlessly. I wish I had opened her eyelids to see hers eyes, I never did it because it just didn't seem right to disturb her somehow but I wonder what they looked like. She had very, very long legs. And huge feet! Just like her Dad. She would have had his sticky out ears too. I remember thinking how she would have grown her hair to cover them, and then I cried because her hair would never grow and she would never be teased at school about her ears because she would never go to school. She wasn't meant for this earth.
I once read that babies that pass are Old Souls that have been here many times before. They have learnt all their life lessons and will now get to join God in Heaven as an Angel, but the last lesson they have to pass onto their chosen earth Mother. I guess this comforts me a little as I can't fathom the point of a little life sent here and taken before her beautiful eyes had even a chance to see the light of the Sun.

Levelling myself out. Temporarily.

2010-01-29T12:48:00.001Z

I don't really have much to say at the moment. I am in that limbo land between my period and ovulating. So I am just sitting here, twiddling my thumbs until I see those 2 lines on the OPK.
This month I am *trying* to be relaxed about this TTC business. As relaxed as a desperate, bereaved mother can be. I am trying to be a 'cup half full' kind of girl. I guess today I wanted to write down in black and white my rationalisations on TTC. Apologies for the boring blurb I am about to write but I need to see this before my eyes, I need it to be my mantra for the next few months:

I have been pregnant 3 times in 2 years. To be specific, 12 months of those 2 years I was actually pregnant so I have been pregnant 3 times in 12 months of trying. To be even MORE accurate I have been pregnant 3 times in 10 months, as John pointed out that after the MMC we took a break and spent all our baby savings on a holiday so we didn't *try* for 2 cycles. 30% success rate. That's a pretty good hit rate really.
I know I can carry a baby to term. Despite my earlier losses, I now know that I can get past that stage and grow a beautiful, healthy baby.
My temps are looking very good for an ovulatory cycle. I see a clear triphasic pattern, all looking good for that egg squeezing it's way into my tubes.
I know it could just take time. We were timing sex pretty perfectly for 5 months with no luck. Then on the 6th month BINGO. So I just need to remind my impatient self that it'll happen, just in it's own time.
Every month we don't get pregnant is a month longer my body has to heal itself after Lucy.
We always would have tried for another after our first. So even though I keep thinking we are still trying for our *first* baby - we aren't. Lucy was our first baby, our daughter. We are now trying for her brother or sister, just sooner than we had anticipated.

Hmm. Looks very positive on paper. I just need to keep telling myself all of the above to stop regressing to my 'cup half empty' personality. No easy feat really.

Tomorrow I am going to London to meet up with four other Babyloss Mamas. I feel nervous, like I'm going on a blind date. I wouldn't normally ever do anything like this, but since Lucy I feel that nothing should ever daunt me again, or make me think 'I can't do it'. The hardest thing I ever had to go through was to find out my daughter had passed away inside me, and then to go through childbirth knowing my greatest reward had already been taken from me. I figure if I can do that, and carry on living to tell the tale, then I can do anything (or at least attempt to anyway).

I am going to try my hardest to start living for me, and stop living just to get pregnant. I am going to try and be more like the 'old' me. I want more fun in my life this year, I want more love and more laughter. I am going to make an effort to visit all of my friends from Uni that I always promise to go and see. I am going to make sure we visit the lovely couple we made friends with on holiday. I am going to start going to festivals again as for the last two years I have put off going because I *might* be pregnant, was pregnant or thought I would have a baby. I am going to cook, I am going to lose weight, I am going to meet other Babyloss Mamas so I can give them a hug and cry with them.

These are my new rules, and I will keep chanting my new mantra to help me focus less on TTC and more on my life as it was 2 years ago. Except I have the added life experience of carrying and giving birth to my beautiful, precious darling Lucy.

Sleep tight my little angel, we love you to the moon and back xxxxx

Hitting the bottom...and bouncing back up

2010-01-23T17:08:00.000Z

So this was the week I had a meltdown. A real emotional freak out. The kind where I moan, cry, wail, sob, scream and curse BADLY (and nearly put my own windows through).

The trigger was that....on Tuesday morning I got a faintly positive HPT.

Don't get your hopes up I told myself (as I got my hopes up).

On Tuesday evening I got another faintly positive HPT. I decided to wait until the morning and test again and then tell John. My hopes were, by now, firmly up and waving cheerily in the breeze. So Wednesday morning I am looking at a snowy white test. So I try another. And another. And a different brand. And I go and buy even more tests. And they all come back snowy white, not even an evaporation line to comfort me. And I have to face the crushing realisation that whatever small spark had triggered the 2 pink lines had gone.

It was like being smacked over the head with a boulder, I could hear the mocking laughter ringing in my ears.
This whole TTC again had become a desperate obsession, I am like a junkie looking for a fix just to see 2 pink lines on that test. On Wedneday I felt as though all of my hope had sailed - life and the universe was mocking me. I really hit the bottom, I cried and sobbed and drank and if I somehow could have scored hard drugs I think I would have gone and got myself obliterated. I felt like I was sinking into quicksand and no one could help me. A friend said that surely I couldn't feel any worse than the day I lost Lucy but you know what, I did.
I felt much worse, I felt grief for the child, the daughter, that I had lost and also grief for the child I hadn't even conceived yet.
That's how it is every month we don't fall pregnant - I grieve for a child that wasn't even there, a child that is just a little glimmer of hope in my mind. And when that glimmer fades away I despair and torment myself.
So I faced the very real possibility that I was heading into depression. More and more was the urge to just vanish, close my blog, close my Facebook account, turn my phone off. And I realised that every day I was feeling this way then there was no hope of catching that egg. I believe the mind is a very powerful thing. Negative thoughts will not help my body conceive. I think my mind recognises that to fall pregnant whilst in such turmoil will not be good for the pregnancy.
And I know factually that the three times I have caught the egg have been when I 100% believed I wouldn't catch the egg, and I was therefore relaxed and putting no pressure on myself. So I have bought 2 Hypnotherapy CDs to listen to, one for relaxation and another directly for relaxation in preparation to conceive. Very hippy dippy I know but I am relishing the thought of taking charge of my own mind again, and being able to relax each month and not obsess or stress or torture myself. That is my preliminary goal, and of course I hope that this will lead to my secondary goal, to conceive. Here's hoping. Here's praying.

Close to the bottom

2010-01-15T16:54:00.000Z

"When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something's suffered damage and has a history, it becomes more beautiful."

There is a big Lucy shaped hole in my heart, in my life. In my mind I can feel her weight in my arms, feel her soft baby skin under my fingers. At the moment I am finding the days harder than ever. On my second day at work, a colleague said to me in the kitchen - "It's good that you are back, you have to move on".
That cut like a knife deep into my heart. Is that what everyone at work is now thinking? That at three months, I should be moving on, packing up my Lucy shaped hole and the condolence cards and everything baby related and putting them away?

I can't do that.

My life is always on pause, always stuck at that terrible day, hearing those words and staring at my dead baby on an Ultrasound machine. I can't and do not want to 'move on' right now. Carry on, yes I am doing that. I am functioning on a day to day basis. But I am hanging on to my little girls memories for dear life, and my opportunities to talk about her are dwindling by the day. No one asks anymore, no one mentions her the way they did. But she was here, she was my daughter, she kicked and rolled and hiccuped. She was made out of love by me and John, and she was the most precious, precious thing I have ever had the honour of meeting. Just seeing her beautiful face, it was the most wonderful and the most devastating moment of my life. If only she had opened her eyes.

The grief at not getting pregnant again is mixing with the grief of losing my beautiful, precious daughter. It is mixing and churning into a heady cocktail of pain, and bitterness. I am in pain today.

Working 9 til 5

2010-01-11T22:26:00.000Z

Well that's a falsehood really as I work 8 til 5.

So today was my first day back at work. I'm on phased return so only have to go in tomorrow and that's me done for the week. My weekend starts early, how very exciting.
It wasn't as bad as I had anticipated to be honest. My boss was nervy and a tiny bit irritating as he clearly has no idea how to deal with a woman who left to have a live baby and has come back a bereaved parent on the edge of sanity. I had no wobbles, I even answered the phone despite them telling me I didn't have to (in case I scare the customers away). I slipped right back into it, I have to say. I am always impeccably professional at work. I don't shirk, I work hard and I am good at what I do. So it was actually nice to slip back into that mindset again, it was a welcome injection of reality. In fact it was almost like the last 12 months of my life never happened. 2009 seemed like a missing year in my mind. A dream, albeit a horrific one.
The only thing that reminded me was the huge wallchart in front of my desk. Last year I counted down every milestone of my pregnancy on that chart. I counted the weeks and days to each appointment, each scan, each parenting class. At the end I stared endlessly at my due date, 14th October. I gazed at it and wondered when my baby would arrive, knowing nothing of how much my life was going to change.
So it was hard to look at that empty calendar today. I have no happy goals, no celebratory milestones to look forward to. Just the anniversary of my babies death, and her birthday. And her cremation date.

I am in the 2 week wait at the minute. I am tired of living to ovulate every month, I wish someone could turn my brain off. I am all consumed with getting pregnant again. We have had endless sex each month and nothing has been happening. I am starting to feel like I am losing this pregnancy race. And I know it's not really a race, but I am starting to wonder if it will ever happen to me again. I want to move on from this chapter in my life and just start living again.Just being me, and not living and striving to have a baby, a living, breathing offspring. I just want to live again, and not living to reproduce. And I'm pissed off that I can't get there yet.

How much is too much loss?

2010-01-05T20:59:00.001Z

Over the last few days I have heard very sad news from a few people, other ladies that have been though a stillbirth who have now had further tragedy. My heart is aching for them, I am feeling their sorrow very keenly. I can't get my head around this imbalance of shit that is being heaped upon the nicest of people, who have the simplest of dreams.
It has made me think about my own previous losses, and I am wondering how much loss can you put yourself through for this dream, before you are broken and enough is enough?

Two years ago we decided to start a family. A month and one day later we were both staring at two pink lines in disbelief. Shock. We never expected it to happen so quickly. We were shell shocked for about a week. Then one day that wore off and was replaced with so much excitement! We were going to be parents! We hugged and kissed and cooed and planned.

The next morning I woke up to period pain and heavy bleeding.

And that was the end of that.

We were very sad, but we were young, had time on our side. We hadn't expected it to happen so quickly, we rationalised it was not meant to be our time yet, we would keep trying.

A month later we were looking at two pink lines again. We were cautiously excited. At 6 weeks I started bleeding heavily. I was distraught.
We were scanned and to our amazement on screen was a little flickering heartbeat. So we were sent home on bed rest and the bleeding stopped. And then at 7 weeks it started again, heavier this time.
So off we trot to the early pregnancy unit, this time expecting the very, very worst. And there was our baby, heartbeat flickering. A fighter. A trouper. Little spud. And we are sent home again, and the bleeding stops. And it doesn't come back. And my family, friends, husband, all breathe a sigh of relief.

Then, when I am nearly 10 weeks I have to go back for a follow up and dating scan. We walk into the scan room full of happiness, relief that there has been no more bleeding, excited to see our spud again.

Except this time, there is no flickering heartbeat.

I thought my world fell apart then but now, after Lucy, I think maybe it just cracked wide open. I am sent home to let me miscarry naturally. Except my stupid body doesn't know the baby is gone and I continue with the morning sickness and pregnancy signs. So a week and a half later I go in for an ERPC.

Then follows the months and months of trying and hoping, but we can't seem to catch that egg anymore. And each month we don't I lose hope. And then, on 2nd February 2009 when I am 3 days late I find myself looking at those two pink lines again.
And this time I still bleed in the early weeks but all the scans are fine. 6, 8, 12, 21, 28, 34 weeks, all show my little girl waving and swallowing and kicking and sticking her tongue out. Until that fateful day 23rd September 2009.

And so, like so many others, I find myself here again with thermometers and test strips and jars of urine loitering about my bathroom (a few house guests have had an unfortunate surprise). And every month is torture. But that is only half the battle. If I ever find myself staring down at those two pink lines again I am only just starting a whole new journey.

And one that no one can guarantee me a happy ending with. I am sick of people telling me that it will be OK next time. That sort of comment could only ever come from people who have managed to avoid a life changing event. They still have that cheerful 'won't happen to me guv' attitude. But I know it can happen to me. It has happened three times, and I am not alone in this. So don't patronise me and tell me it will be OK.

So no happy ending guaranteed, right? So back to my original question - how much is too much? When do you stop? When do I give up on my dream? What if I lose another baby? Do I give up then? Or do I try again, and maybe lose another? How much more can my broken heart take? How much more can I put John and my family through? At the moment, my desire for a baby is too strong to give up. I am almost stubborn in my demeanour - I will NOT let that absolute BITCH Mother Nature beat me. I will keep going until I get a baby in my arms to keep. But I am feeling the pain of these other womens losses so strongly, I am questioning if I can do it. I have suggested to John about adoption, but he didn't see why we would need it as "It'll happen, we'll get our baby". I wish I had his optimism. And his resolve.

I have to try one more time at least, but there's not much glue holding this heart together anymore.

I have lit a candle tonight for some very special angel babies that have gone to join their brothers and sisters. I am thinking of their Mummies, Daddies and families.

I put this on my Facebook too, I think it is beautiful:

"A butterfly lights beside us, like a sunbeam. For a brief moment it's glory and beauty belong to our world. Then it flies on again, and although we wish it could have stayed we are so thankful to have seen it at all"

Happy? New Year.

2010-01-02T13:11:00.002Z

I've been so busy lately, I haven't had time to blog. This isn't to say things have got any better, things are still shit. But I just haven't had the time to write about the badness, I'm too busy living it.
So it is a new year. Everyone keeps telling me this will be our year and I am trying to believe it. So far I have not managed to get pregnant again, despite really trying. Every month I break my heart when my period shows up, the last one arrived on Christmas day morning so that was a big fat kick in the teeth. This time last year I got my BFP with Lucy. I was apprehensive as I expected to miscarry again but as time ticked on I let myself dare to hope that I would finally achieve my dream of being a mummy. I imagined that this Christmas I would be frazzled from no sleep, carrying a screaming newborn round and smelling of baby sick.
I have started having severe panic attacks. I have never had them before in my life and when I had the first one I truly thought I was having a heart attack. I had no idea how physical they were. The racing heart, the breathlessness, the sweating and shaking and the irrational fear that I am about to shuffle off this mortal coil. So I'm off to the doctors about them this week at some point. Obviously this is connected to Lucy and my sudden fear of death and people I love dying, but I am not sure how to deal with it and stop them happening.

I go back to work this month on 'phased' return, they are worried I am going to have a breakdown and tell my customers to shove their cheese up their arses (I work for a dairy company). I am looking forward to getting some normality back, and there is only so much Loose Women that I can take.

I also had my consultant appointment last month to get my PM results. Long and short of it is they think I may have APS and so I have been tested again for that, if it comes back positive again then next time I'll be on blood thinners. The other thing was a 'sudden catachylsmic failure of the placenta'. It just packed up. So I'll also be induced next time at about 35-36 weeks. Not sure how I feel about it all really. Angry? Numb? Satisfied to finally have some answers? Hmmm. All of the above I guess. Just need to get pregnant again now, it's all I can think about or talk about. I'm getting on my own nerves.

Christmas in the dales

2009-12-21T18:51:00.001Z

View this morning from cottage! We've had about 2 foot of snow :) blissful!

Yeeeeeeeeeeeee har...are you all still there?

2009-11-22T22:24:00.001Z

Hello fellow Angel Mummies!!

Not been on in a while....but I am WANK today - and that is generally how I arrive on this playing field, angry, and full of bitterness.

So I'm not preggers. Nope. Even a CBFM for all it's expensive glory could not help me conceive. But NOW even worse is the fact my period has gone AWOL. Yup. 4 days late but a rebel without a cause. Bastard thing. And the longer it is on it's cruise of the world, the longer I can't try again.

And so whilst I am feeling like the worlds biggest FAILURE as a woman, my very, very BEST friend (I have mentioned her here before) has had....dun dun durrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr:

a beautiful little girl, Ava Rose.

Of course she had a girl. And proceeded to tell me how amazing and beautiful she was. I wish I could be 100% happy. But little girls make me green. I wish I could tell you how I was grateful they'd both made it.

But really?

I'm jealous they've made it through with no tradegy. Why am I the failure? The letdown?

Why my Lucy? Even if I have been an evil person (I don't think I have?!?) Why take my little innocent?

I am going on holiday to get rat arsed.

Fuck you Mother Nature

2009-11-06T00:36:00.000Z

That's all I have to say really. Today, in the words of Paul Whitehouse, "I are been mostly feeling.........pissed off".

I was perfectly pregnant for nine wonderful months. Everyone commented how well I looked, how radiant, "How BIG!", "Pregnancy suits you", "You look blooming"....

...please, keep the cliches coming!

Then one day, my wriggly, wiggly little girl stopped moving. And my whole world turned to shit. I have a perfect nursery that, once more, is being turned into a dumping ground for our life junk. I have a buggy, I have a car seat, I have baby clothes, a baby bath, a cot mobile, a baby monitor.

No baby though.

I had a baby. But I lost her. I hate that phrase, it makes it sound as though I put Lucy down whilst I looked for the car keys and then forgot where I had put her.
A couple of months ago I was massive, plump, bursting with a healthy little girl. But I couldn't keep her alive, my body let her down and she suffocated.
She had masses of hair, long blonde eyelashes, long legs and MASSIVE feet! Just like her Dad. Her skin was soft, her fingernails were perfect. She was my wonderful little daughter. this is Lucy:

The post where I become obsessed with TTC...

2009-11-02T21:03:00.000Z

How the tears have come today. I have been so pleased with myself, I have managed to keep the pretence up for a whole week! I was almost able to perfect my faux smile and sincerity in my voice when I answered another enquiry after my well being with the words "I'm fine".
But I'm really not. I am sometimes, but only when I blank out what has just happened. I have to blank it out because if I dwell on it the sadness just overwhelms me.
I want a baby so much, I want to be pregnant again NOW, instantly. But I know that I could have a million baby girls after Lucy and I would still want another, because basically I want Lucy. I want my life how I imagined it was going to be a few months ago. I don't want this new life. But it doesn't matter how many times I write this on my blog, it won't change what has happened. I have prayed, I have bargained with God to let me wake up and be back at the start again. I have asked Budha for help, I have asked Karma to step in. It doesn't make a difference, I am set on this path now, like it or not. And I pick 'not'.
I am full of anticipation, of fear and excitement. I am on CD12, I am approaching the Holy Grail of Ovulation. Baby dancing season is upon us, I am hoping, praying that luck, God, Life, Karma - whatever - is on our side and we get pregnant. Please, please, please. We shall see. I need something to focus on, something positive. I need a new life growing inside me. Praying for everyone who is in this boat riding this storm with me. Please just let us have some good news, something joyous instead of all this pain and sadness.

I'm going to be a total bitch to live with if this falls through.

Beautiful Bickerton

2009-10-26T21:36:00.000Z

I've not been on to write my blog in a while. I've been to stay with my family for a few days (which I could write a whole other blog about, it ranged from the ridiculous to the depressing but I guess that's families for you!) and then I guess I haven't needed to write on my blog because I've been...OK. Not amazing, but not really awful. Just OK. And it was really nice to be OK for a little bit. When I think back to how I felt a few weeks ago I'm amazed. I guess time is a healer, or you just find ways of coping. John is going back to work tomorrow after 4 weeks, so we'll see how I fare when I'm on my own with my thoughts.

We went for a walk today, it was a lovely Autumn afternoon:

Just gorgeous. It was so nice to walk with John and Marley (the dog) and just be alone with our thoughts.

I'm also in a positive mood because Aunt Flo showed up bang on 28 days after having Lucy. I wasn't sure at first if it was just my post natal bleeding starting again as it's been on and off over the last 2 weeks but it got really heavy and I was a bit concerned. The hospital asked to check me over to make sure all was OK and I didn't have any retained tissue, so I've had a scan and everything looks really good so it looks like my body has done me a small favour at least and has 'snapped' back into its cycle again. For now anyway. So that means I can now officially TTC! Hurray! Hold onto your hats everyone!

Lucy's Necklace

2009-10-20T11:06:00.002+01:00

This morning the necklace and keyring arrived that we bought in memory of Lucy. I love them! I have been waiting for them for agesssssssssss. John is to have the keyring. We have also booked to have a memorial tattoo done, we will both be indelibly inked on Friday 13th November...dur dur durrrrrr! It's a good job I'm not superstitious or I think I'd have to chicken out. The lady at the tattoo parlour is busy drawing up our design so I hope to have it soon to see what I think.
I have been messing with my blog page, I wanted to make it personal to me and Lucy but I have been trying to create my own background and not doing a very good job. So I settled for this one for now, I liked the colours and the butterflies.

Heartache, heartache, heartache

2009-10-19T12:53:00.000+01:00

Today I am so very sad. My heart aches. The days are too long and there are too many days between now and where I want to be. I am tired of getting my hopes up only to have them not just smashed, but really crushed, splintered into lots of irrepairable pieces and then stomped on some more.

Two long years of trying for a family, and three pregnancies in those two years.

And also three losses in those two years.

'You are lucky' people tell me, 'At least you know you can get pregnant' or 'Two years is not that long in the grand scheme of things'. And I find myself agreeing with them, yes we are lucky that we know we can conceive naturally, and yes two years is a short time indeed - my Mum took six years to conceive my Sister and seven years then to conceive me. But this does not make these losses any easier. I am sorry to say I find it very hard to consider myself 'lucky' when I have lost all three sucessive pregnancies, what positives can I possibly be expected to see in this desolate situation? Three times of hopes and dreams being destroyed. I have no living child to spur me on, to remind me that there can be a reward at the end of this misery. All I have known is death and pain and that is all I now associate with pregnancy. Getting pregnant = loss. I cannot imagine my path being any different now. Will it ever be any different?

I am desperate for another baby, we have been 'doing the deed' now my stitches are healed and my bleeding has stopped. We are not using any contraception, yes it is going against the advice of my Doctor to wait for my first period before TTC but I don't want to waste any opportunity to catch that egg. If I had my way I'd like to genetically engineer the female reproductive system so it ovulated at least every week. Let's not waste time with this 28 day cycle thing (or 24 day, or 38 day - depends on what mood my body is in). Let's get jiggy with it. I bet John can't wait to get back to the purely functional sex stage again. Me barking at him that we need, MUST have sex tonight, I am ovulating, I can tell by my EWCM and temperature. It's enough to give anyone a hard on! And then after the main event, lying with my gigantic, white arse in the air for half an hour so I don't spill a drop, instead of cuddling and falling asleep in each others arms. And they say romance is dead.
Writing it down really brings it home. I cannot believe two years down the line all I have to show for my pregnancies is an empty nusery and some vouchers for Mothercare. Thanks a bunch Mother Nature.

'You are already a Mum, you are Lucy's Mummy' people tell me. Yes, true. Well on paper anyway. I have given birth, I carried a baby and birthed her into the world, she is my daughter and I am her Mummy. But let's be realistic. I'm not actually a Mummy. Not in practice. I still have not had the opportuniy to learn and do all of the nurturing things that Mummies do. I have never heard my darling babies call me by this term. I am still none the wiser how to bathe a baby, make a bottle up, wind and change a little one. If this bitch of a life ever decides to let me keep one of my offspring then I will be a second time Mummy who still has no clue.
I am suffering from a bad case of square peg round hole syndrome. Where is my place amongst my friends and family? I am forever changed, and not in the way I wanted to be. I have no desire to return to my former life, the desicion to have children spoke volumes - no more party girl anymore. Enough was enough. Time to be a grown up. But I haven't quite reached grown up status yet. I am not allowed into the exclusive Mothers club. Perhaps I am not dressed correctly. Or maybe they just didn't like the cut of my jib.

Please can I have a pregnancy that = baby (live baby, to just clarify that Mother Nature. You old bag. I think I'm entitled to call you that now).

Dear Lucy, I hope you are having fun in Heaven. Mummy is sad....

2009-10-17T21:00:00.000+01:00

Today started so well, I was in a very happy mood, very positive. A sunny day on earth and in spirit.

So why am I sat here, choked up, tears ready to spill down my cheeks? What has made me sad?

Was it looking at your pictures, Lucy? I sat and looked at them today, I wish I had more. I wish I had more of you with your mouth shut, I don't like the pictures where your lips hang open. It makes you look even more lifeless, rather than like a sleeping angel. I wish I had picures of your feet! Those gigantic feet, outsized on such a tiny baby, but so perfect. I can't remember what you looked like in person. I am worried I will forget.

Was it going into the beautiful nursery we had prepared for you? Jungle animals all over the walls, Fisher price mobile hanging on the cot, changing mat ready and stacks of different size nappies. Rocking chair in the corner where I sat so many times and imagined holding you to my breast and nursing you in the early hours. I imagined rocking you back to sleep and John coming in to see where I was - how we would both stand at the end of the cot and gaze lovingly at you, proud of our little family.

Was it visiting my two little nieces for the eldests' birthday? Did you see my tears Lucy? I cried as I watched them play and open presents, knowing I would never see you play or sit amidst piles of presents, never see you parade in a princess dress, or climb onto your Daddies lap to plant a cake-crumbed kiss on his face.

Was it going to the Baby and child memorial service at the hospital? Was it sitting amongst the heartbroken parents, Grandparents, Brothers and Sisters? Was it seeing all those candles lit, knowing that each tiny flame represented a little soul, a tiny person that was no longer here?

Was it coming home again to my empty house? That should now be filled with baby cries and coos, nappies, toys and bibs strewn around, me smelling of baby wipes and milky baby sick. But instead it's filled with dying bouquets of flowers and sympathy cards. And sadness. And two heartbroken parents of a baby they can't cuddle and whisper their love to.

It was all of these things that has made me sad, my darling baby girl. And a million more besides. How can you not be here? Why were you taken from us when we were so close to holding you in our arms? What the hell have we done to deserve this?

We didn't just lose you, we also lost all our dreams and hopes for you too. There will always be a massive hole in our family where you should be, Lucy. You were so, so wanted and loved. So very loved, even from when you were a tiny little speck on that scan. Your poor Mummy and Daddy are breaking their hearts for you, every day.

I just wanted to be your Mummy.

Feeling uplifted

2009-10-16T22:41:00.002+01:00

I am so addicted to reading blogs. Every story breaks my heart. I am shocked and distressed by the sadness and tragedy that stalks our world. But I am comforted from the support shown from other women and families in this community, and the knowledge that I am not on my own - the support available is amazing.
I was thinking this morning about how my posts so far have been so bleak and negative. I seem to only type into this keyboard when I am feeling low, cranky, and sad and my posts become an massive outpouring of anger and sadness. Because I guess that is generally how I feel a lot of the time, even if I am not showing it outwardly, all of those sad thoughts are churning up behind my eyes.
But I am not always like that. I am not always this miserable, moaning, heartbroken soul. This has not always been me. There are moments every day when a little bit of me, the 'old' me, shines through. And maybe that little bit is even more improved than before because I have known the joy of carrying a child in your belly, the achievement you feel when you have birthed your child into the world, the unconditional love you feel when you look at the beautiful baby that the love between you and your partner has created.
Today (I wrote this on Mon 12th) has been a good day in so many small ways and I just wanted to document the good things - even though I have so much to feel sad about, there is also a lot to feel glad about.
We took the dog for a walk, it was glowing sunshine. The colours were amazing; the leaves, sky, trees, fields. The dog made us laugh chasing after the squirrels (he really believes he will catch one someday). I want a family so much, I miss my baby girl but I also don't want to be blindsided by this desire and not be thankful I have such a loving, supportive Husband. We two (and the dog) were very happy before our decision to have a family. I want to add to the numbers (and then some!) but I don't want to forget it was just us that started this journey, our love for each other.
Through this horrific experience I have been touched by people across the miles that I would never have had the chance to meet, or have had their support and love. They have been sharing their support, love and wisdom with me even though they have never met me. Kindness that really amazes me, and makes me question how I present myself to the world. I need to do more RAOK. Chicken soup for the soul and all that.

Our existing family and friends have been amazing. There are a few amongst those that have been outstanding. One lady - who is 20 years my Senior - has been wonderful. We have been best friends since we met at work. She is funny, compassionate, spirted and kind hearted. I see her as a Sister, best friend and a second Mother. She is not afraid to tell me when she thinks I am wrong, she is my confidante and I can swear and shout in front of her until I am blue in the face. A 'mother hen' figure, I don't know of anyone that has met her and not warmed to her. Yet in another of Mother Nature's cruelest blows, she is unable to have children. I have never met a woman more suited to being a mother, more capable, more maternal, and she can't have children. So there is this amazing lady with so much love, who wants a child so much, and cannot have them. Even before this happened this mystery baffled me entirely, why can't she have her hearts desire when there are cretins popping them out left, right and centre? Her and her partner have been mine and Johns rocks throughout all this. Step up to the plate? They've stepped up, smashed it and bought us another. They have been invaluable and have proved what fantastic human beings they are. Maybe one day we can repay them and be there the way they have for us, I hope so. They are special people, not only because they were some of the priviliged few to have actually met Lucy, but because of how they have helped us, supported us, loved us. So I am thankful indeed that I have them in my life.

I lit a candle yesterday and I thought about Lucy. And then I thought about all the other Mothers making the same gesture for their little ones all over the world. There are so many of us. Too many of us, but I'm not covering new ground with this observation. There were 'Baby loss' Mothers before me, there are BL Mothers walking the path beside me, and there will be Baby Loss Mothers walking this sad, devastating path behind me. I want so much to sew up this big, gaping wound that fills that joyful expectant Mum-to-be sky. I wish I could stitch it and no one would ever have to feel this awful pain again. But I can't stop this pain. That really pisses me off.

xxxxxxxxxx

Wave of light

2009-10-15T19:03:00.001+01:00

Our candle for Lucy and all of the other innocents. Thinking of them all and sending lots of love xxx

Balloons and hormones

2009-10-11T16:33:00.000+01:00

My thought when I woke up: I miss my big fat tummy. My baby bump. I stroked it from when it was just a wee pot belly until it was an enormous, gallumphing globe of a stomach, lined with purple stretch marks and shiny skin stretched tightly. I just have a saggy, loose ,flabby tummy now. I feel weird being able to sleep on my stomach again.

I think I have now entered the hormonal stage of post natal fun. I am so damn cranky at the minute, I have been having fits of rage at everything. Well, mainly about the in-laws and about my parents. I am sick and tired of being told how strong I am, I am tired of people asking when John and I are going back to work, I am irritated how people seem to think they can stake some claim in our grief.

Like my Mum telling me (yet again) how Dad keeps seeing buggies and prams and saying "We should be doing that, pushing a pram around with our Grandaughter in". I have heard it so many times and yes, I know they are allowed to grieve as well but MY GOD it has just really started to piss me right off. So I told her yesterday that I'd rather she didn't say these things.

"Why?"

"Beacause it hurts me when you say that. Do you think I need to be reminded of that fact? Do you not think that I have the same exact thoughts everytime I see parents or Grandparents out with babies or toddlers? I don't need to be told this, I feel it like a knife everytime I see it around me"

I just feel very selfish with my grief at the moment. Please allow me for a moment to induldge in a little self pity. My grief is the worst, the most painful, the deepest, the most raw. No one elses can come close, not the way I see it in my head right now. Not even Johns. I grew and nurtured my daughter for nine long months, I made sacrifices, I gave up my body to be her protector and incubator. I felt her grow. I shared her first movements. I shared her last movements. I had to birth her lifeless body into the world, I went through the pain of labour knowing my greatest reward had been taken. I nearly lost my own life as a result of the birth. I often think about how I wish I had lost my life after the birth. So please, don't fucking tell me you know how I feel. Don't tell me you understand, don't tell me stories of losing your ancient Nan or some Uncle you never saw much. Don't try and tell me how sad you are, or how much you are grieving because let me tell you it does not even COME CLOSE to this heavy heart in my chest, the sadness that drowns me every morning when I wake up, and the dark thoughts that keep me from settling off to a restful sleep every night. The very fact you think you can even pretend to know, or that you are grieving as much makes me want to slap you in the face and scream at you until I'm hoarse. How dare you presume to know this unbearable pain unless you have lived through it. How dare you.

Of course, the logical and rational part of my brain tells me I shouldn't feel like this. That sadness and loss is not some exclusive members only club, or some competitive sport. That I shouldn't sneer at other peoples feelings or experiences beacuse I consider them to be a lesser pain than my own. Whatever trials or tribulations people have to face are very important to them, as they would be to me if I had to face them, and I should not snidely dismiss them as 'lesser' worries. It's just at the minute I can't help it. I do dismiss them, all of the time. I look at what problem they are facing, and then at what I have been through and have yet to go through. And I want to laugh in their face an tell them that if they think they have issues, they should try giving birth to a dead baby. I have these nasty, spiteful thoughts. I want to shock these people into seeing their life for what it is, instead of looking at what it isn't.

John's friend came round yesterday as he was sad. His marriage of 3 years has just broken up, leaving him alone whilst she is still in the house with their 2 young children. It was partly his fault, he made no real effort in the latter months of marriage. Still, he is broken. And I would feel sad for him normally. I would hug him, make him a cup of tea, cluck and coo and say the right things, even if I thought in my head that it was his fault, I would tell him it wasn't his fault. But I am not normal anymore, at least not at the moment. So as he sat crying on the sofa about his marriage, I can feel the irritation rising in me. I think he must have known as he looks up and says "I'm sorry, I know this is nothing compared to what you two are going through". I want to say, "Yes, you are absolutely right. How dare you sit there and cry over the fact you allowed your marriage to disintegrate around you. It is your fault, you allowed it to happen. How can you cry when you have two beautiful children from the marriage? Do you know what I would give to be in your situation right now?". Except I don't say this, as I know this is not the real me speaking but this new, hormone charged stranger that has taken over. I just tell him it's OK for him to be here, and sit and angrily type into my computer.

I wanted to at least be more compassionate as a result of suffering this, but it seems I still have a long way to go before I get there yet. I am still too eaten up with jealousy and bitterness. I am less tolerant of people than I was before, and there is still the venom I have spoken about previously that is just itching to be released. I hope that time improves this situation as I feel very out of control at the minute, like some emotional drunkard.

Thursday was Lucy's funeral. I coped a lot better than I expected. I was positively jovial in the morning, joking and fussing and making sure evrything was sorted. The basket we had chosen for her was beautiful, less harsh than the normal caskets and tiny coffins. The florist had decorated it with lush green foliage and pink voile netting around the middle. It looked beautiful. It made me glad. It made me glad we could do thisone small thing for Lucy. I cried a little on the way to the crematorium. I cried during the service, which again was beautful, and gentle. Just the way we wanted it. The Reverend that blessed Lucy at the hospital held the service, a very kind and gentle man. We sang 'All things bright and beautiful' and the sun shone gloriusly through the whole thing. A poem written especially for Lucy was read out. We played Coldplays 'The Scientist' at the end. Not because it has any special link to Lucy, just that I love the song. It is my favourite Coldplay song, it has always made me feel very sad when I listen to it and I find it gives me goosbumps. I like the lyrics and when I listened to it again after we lost Lucy I felt they were poigniant in a small way. They said a little about how I was feeling. We went back to the local pub that K and J own. We had a toast drink of pink Champagne for Lucy, and then we went and released pink and white balloons for her in the garden. They went so high, and we could see them even when they were miles away.
I sent all my love to her with those balloons. I still don't feel it was enough. It hurt so much letting them go. Watching them float away felt like I was letting her soul and spirit fly away from me. It represented her death to me in a very stark manner and so rather than comforting, I actually found it quite distressing. I still do, I cannot think about that image of those ten balloons without the emotions overcoming me. I feel like I let her float out of my grasp and did nothing to stop it.

I think I am in denial about Lucy's death. The only way I seem to be able to get through every day is pretending all is normal. I find I am blanking out things to do with Lucy and the pregnancy completely. At one point I know I will stop glossing over it and have to deal with it, have to wade through this thick sludge of grief and reality. But not at the mintute.
I am trying so hard to be normal and yet I never quite enjoy things or feel normal because I know I am not, and that I am just trying. Then I get frustrated at feeling like this so I stop trying, and the sadness overwhelms me.
I read a fantastic post on another blog about the animal like wails you make whilst you are grieving an experience like this, about curling up in a ball on the floor and making these gutteral cries. When I stop pretending I feel these primal cries rising in my throat. I have never been reminded more that I am a merely a mammal than now, when I despair in this way I wail and howl like any other mother from the animal world that has suffered a loss. It is purely instinctual, and it scares anyone who happens to be with me. I think it must be the most terrifying sound ever.

Our consultant appointment is through. All test results and PM report will be ready for discussion on 14th December. We have a meeting with Mr. L (who we thought we had already been seeing throughout this pregnancy for the growth scans, except it was just one of his lackeys. We only realised this when Mr. L - possibly through guilt when he heard of the outcome and the realisation he actually hadn't consulted with us the entire time - came to see us after Lucy was born). I expect to be told it was a concealed placental abruption as this is what they suspected after the birth. When they broke my waters they were full of blood, and the placenta had an enormous retroplacental clot (about 700mls worth). Oh, and my stupid uterus wouldn't contract afterwards and I nearly bled to death. Is it wrong to say I wish I had? I wish I had just slipped away during those drug hazed hours after Lucy's birth? Probably.
I know I thought about it at the time, after they placed my dead baby on my chest and I gazed at her purple lips and lifeless hands. They were telling me that they were trying to get my uterus to contract, that I was bleeding heavily. And I started to shout at them to leave me alone. What they didn't understand was I wanted them to leave me alone to die. Let me bleed to death and be with my angel. Dark thoughts indeed, but maybe we all share them.

To be honest I don't think having those results will help at all. Even if it turns out that the cause was placental abruption, there is no magical method to guarantee me a live, squirming baby next time. I was well all through the pregnancy. I had no warning that I was bleeding, no sharp pains, I don't fit into the medically susceptible categories of people that placental abruption may happen to (Smokers, over 40s/under 20s etc) and it is not preventable. My eyes have suddenly been opened to the many opportunities to die that a baby has whilst in the womb, and indeed once they have been born.
I want the impossible. I have miscarried twice and birthed a stillborn baby and so I feel I am owed by the medical community some sort of miracle. If they find a cause of why my perfect baby died, I want them to be able to tell me that there is something they can do to stop it happening again. Like, "Mrs C. your baby died from xxx. But we can give you xxx and do procedure xxx to ensure you have a safe and happy pregnancy next time". But there is no guarantee. I am now too painfully aware, as all of us in this situation are aware.

So what do we do next? Answers on a postcard, please, to: .....

Why us?

2009-10-06T22:27:00.001+01:00

That's all can I think today. It has been a hard day. Thursday is creeping closer. I want to get it over and done with but after that what do I have left?
We went to town as I have asked everyone to wear something pink, even if it is just a scarf. Then I realised I don't actually have anything pink myself. So off we went. And the first thing we see at the carpark paystation? A young couple with a brand new baby, clearly their first as they everything is brand new right down to the 'baby on board' sign. And the Dad is struggling to figure out the pram, and they are laughing and I am staring at them and all I can think is how that should be us. I should not be shopping for an outfit to wear whilst I cremate my daughter. I should be shopping for pink, girly baby clothes. It hurts like I have been hit by a truck, I feel weighted down, I can hardly walk and my eyes are full of tears. That's pretty much how the rest of the shopping trip went. Everywhere you turned there were happy couples and their babies, the same way when you break up with someone all you see is loved up couples. And I wanted to scream at all of them "Why do you get to keep your babies and not me?" and I want to tell everyone what heartbreak we are going through, as all they see is a childless couple. And we are not a childless couple, and it hurts because that is all they see when they look at us. So I cried in the car all the way home. Because I should still be pregnant now. My due date has not even passed yet, Lucy was due on October 14th. I should still be complaining of heartburn, and no sleep because my belly has grown so large, and we should still be laughing in bed about her kicking John in the back when we are spooning, and people should still be having to lean right in when they kiss me hello as my tummy precedes me so much. It should be all about Raspberry leaf tea, and pineapple, and hot curries. Instead I'm about to have my daughter cremated.
One of my best friends moved to Glasgow over a year ago. She found out she was pregnant 5 weeks behind me so all through the pregnancy we have been on the phone for hours every week, gleefully comparing notes and anticipating motherhood. Except I'm not quite ever going to graduate fully. I have the stretch marks and stitches to prove I have been there once, but empty arms and sagging breasts to show everyone I didn't quite make the grade. I am sickeningly jealous that she will probably go on to graduate (with hounours) and in a few weeks time have a newborn to tend to. I am sickened that I have this jealousy, I am mad at myself for not being able to wish her well sincerely. Because I can't, I want what she will soon have so very, very much. I don't wish her ill, not by a long shot, but I do wish her not to be pregnant because it is a bitter pill to swallow.
To make it worse she has just called to say she can't make it on Thursday. She has appointments (they are moving into a new flat soon) and only one day of holiday left...blah..blah..blah. And I am so upset and mad with her that I can't speak, she asks if she can come and see us at the weekend and I mumble some bullshit about going away or staying with my parents because I don't want to see her at the weekend. I need her to be there on Thursday, the day I cremate my Lucy, my baby girl. I don't need her at the weekend or the weekend after that but I really do need her on Thursday. I am sure she could sort something out with work if she tried. Even though seeing her enormous baby bulge would be hard, having her there to hug me on Thursday and making it feel like my daughter mattered to her would be worth it. Just penciling me in for the weekend is not the same, or maybe I am being unreasonable in my crazy, bereaved state. She also seemed to have joined the throng of people who say the most stupid, insensitive things. She asks what we've been doing and I tell her we've been making the arrangements for Thursday. And then she asks "How has that been?...I guess it's been awful?"

Well yes, it's not exactly been a pleasurable experience for us, I guess you could say preparing for my little baby girls funeral is 'awful' (FFS!).

I ended up passing the phone to John as I couldn't bear to speak another word to her (the vile tirade that's been waiting to be unleashed upon someone was about to spill out). I sent her a rather curt text to try and explain. I just told her that awful doesn't even come close to this unbearable pain we are both feeling, and that I am really sad she can't be there on Thursday. She hasn't replied yet, she may be mad at me or she may be sad. Who cares really. So I am now sat on my sofa crying, and feeling very hurt by my friend who I thought I was so close to. It feels like we were both sailing on a raft towards a beautiful desert island. And then the raft splits in two, her section of the raft has the sail and continues on towards the island. My section of the raft falters and I start to sink. I can feel that I am sinking fast, and I am trying to keep my head above the water. I can see her sailing further from me, and she is not looking back to help me - she is looking ahead to the beautiful island and all the amazing things that await her on shore. And I am thinking 'Why couldn't it have been my part of the raft that kept the sail, so I could sail to the island?'.
Jealousy, a very nasty side effect of this dead baby business.

I don't like it.

But I can't stop it.

John keeps saying to me "You can't begrudge everyone else for having babies" (hmmm, well actually I can). It's true I wouldn't wish it on anyone else, that goes without saying. But I wish so much it wasn't us. Wish, wish, wish. I seem to spend all my day wishing. I am trying to work out in my head how this devastating lottery works. How does Mr. Probability figure out who will be the one in one hundred to make up the statistics? How can this have happened to us? We are good people, we are not perfect people, but we try to live our lives as well as we can. All I want is to be a family, to give my husband the child he wants so much. The child I want so much.
We have our house, we have our dog. We visit family, we go out with friends. We give to charities, we moan about bills, we try to be compassionate, we sometimes fail. We laugh, we shout, we swear, we come home and cuddle and watch TV. We are ordinary. Why can't this part of my life be ordinary? Why can't we have milky smelling shoulders, sticky fingers and tantrums? Why couldn't we have kept Lucy? Why am I left wondering forever what she would have been like? Would she be fiery like me, or placid like John? Would she have been artistic, academic? Would she have grown up to be good looking like John or plain like her mother? What was the point of her short life? Why did I get to carry her for nine months, only to have her snatched away? She never saw the outside world. My lovely girl, my angel, my darling Lucy. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, I'm sorry if my body failed you. I would give my life in an instant to allow you to live and see this world.
I am told this experience will make me a better person. Was I such a bad person, that I have to suffer this misery?

Some people just know what to say

2009-10-05T20:46:00.000+01:00

John has been sad today, sad and pretty angry. If he wasn't worried about us having no car then I think he would have aimed it into the side of a few careless drivers today. My parents and sister came to see us yesterday and I was a bloody misery all day. They made us 'get out of the house' for a walk and I sobbed most of the time. It was a perfect Autumnal evening, the kind I normally adore. Brilliant colours, crisp air and that low, glowing sunshine. Except yesterday evening it was full of buggies and prams and happy families and I couldn't stand it, I was sickeningly jealous. Any other past Autumn I'd have been parading in a new coat, matching hat and scarf set and imagining I was on the front of a Christmas card whilst smugly kissing my Husband. Thinking about it I want to shake my former self until she's sick - stupid, selfish, and shallow child. I really thought I knew it all (at the grand old age of 27 - HA!) and was so judgmental on other people. I never realised how judgemental I really was! I am so ashamed to write what I am about to write, but I've been thinking about it today so why hide it? Whilst pregnant I used chat forums and so called 'birth' boards to discuss worries and compare pregnancy notes. During my time on these boards there would be many sad announcements about miscarriage and angel babies. A lady posted one day about her angel who had been born early and also posted pictures. In my 'sympathy' (and thinly disguised morbid fascination) I looked at these pictures - they made me sad, but I felt mainly unconnected as I never thought I would be there myself. She also posted pictures of various family members with her angel baby. And at that point I thought 'Hmmm, that's far too morbid. I think that is a bit wrong/unhealthy grief/blahblahblah'. The pictures made me uncomfortable and I made a judgment about this lady, (who I can now empathise with wholeheartedly!). I thought she needed 'professional' help for her grief, to talk to someone, to start to 'get over' her loss. I was one of those annoying, smug bitches who thinks she has a lifetime of advice on the tip of her tongue when all she has is venomn and doesn't even realise it!
I wish I could remember her log on ID as I would message her now and tell her how I had felt at the time and how I now understand. I feel so guilty and disgusted with myself that those thoughts were in my head, yet at the time I thought I was the 'right' one and I even told my family about this poor woman and we all clucked and fussed over how it was sad it was for her loss, but she that she should get help! God I am so ANNOYED with myself for having those thoughts, who the hell did I think I was for making those judgements? How sad it took an experience like this to make me more compassionate for others. Thank you Lucy for this lesson at least (But sadly I'd be that selfish, immature child in a flash if it meant having you back in my life, I'm still selfish like that).
So anyway...(now I've had my virtual confessional) the original point of this post was... how some people just know what to say and do. Lots of people say the WRONG thing ('Gods will, Act of God, Nature intended it, Life's plan, You're young, You have your lives ahead of you, You'll have more children' are a few of the very special gems that splurge out of peoples mouths. The next time I am at a funeral perhaps I will say to the breaved family, "You're OLD, you should have expected them to DIE soon"). however, some people do know what to say, and most of the time they are not the people you would presume would react the 'right' way. We went to the doctors today as I have been left with a few problems after the traumatic birth. In the waiting room were K and J, the landlord and lady of John's old local. We were going to see them later today anyway as we want the balloon release and toast drink for Lucy to be held at their pub on Thursday afternoon as they know us and the family. J saw us come in and immediately got up and gave me a massive hug, she held me tightly and all she said was "We just cannot understand Life sometimes, I am so sorry darling". Nothing more profound, not trying to explain or excuse it. She hugged me tight and then she sat next to me and held my hand tightly and let me cry and talk about Lucy. After a while she was called into her appointment but her warmth and love stayed with me and it was worth so much more than I can tell you. She simply knew the right thing to say and do and it made my day. I hope that this horrific experience makes me more like J and less like my former self.
I love you Lucy, my sleeping beauty. I miss you baby girl. xxxx

I get on my soap box

2009-10-04T21:55:00.000+01:00

I miss my baby girl so much. My little Lucy locket. I miss all the things I won't ever get to do with her. I miss my strong, cheeky girl. I lie in bed at night and my saggy belly feels empty. I miss her hiccups, her kicks and those wriggles that would make me catch my breath but also make me smile at our special moment that we were sharing, just us two.
I find myself still rubbing my belly but she's not there. I got so used to having her inside me. My heart is so heavy every day when I wake up, I do not want this new reality I have been given. I am obsessing about trying again, I need a baby in my arms, I need to fulfil all these plans and dreams. I am so sick of people telling me it is too early to think about the next baby. I know a baby will not stop me grieving. I know that I will have this pain for the rest of my life. Maybe I won't feel it as keenly as I do now, but it will be there, festering under the surface. I love you so much my darling girl, I love you and ache for you. I pray you did not suffer and I pray you felt loved and content in my womb.
Yesterday was not a good day. I can tell from what I have written I was not in a good place. The Bereavement Midwife came to see me in the afternoon and it helped to talk out all of the thoughts in my head (even though I am just going over and over the same things at the minute - more on the BM in a moment though).
I woke up today in not much of a better mood - in fact I felt positively SHITTY. I am told I am supposed to have some sort of structure to my day to encourage me to get out of bed and not just lie about in my PJs with chocolate stains down the front and unwashed hair. Then I turned on my lap top and saw all of the lovely, lovely messages from the other Angel Mummies out there. Thank you all so much for taking the time to read about Lucy and for leaving your comments. It means so much to me and has given me a little bit of light in this dark place we are left in. Thank you to Christy (lovely little Leila's mummy) for the mention. I wish I was still oblivious to this club in so many ways but I am also so glad to have found it. I know that you all understand where I am coming from as I would never wish this on my worst enemy, but I am glad I am not alone. I also feel better that other people have read about Lucy, it makes her more real because as time passes from her birth I find myself in this surreal place wondering if it all really happpened? Was my baby girl ever really here?

The main thing that has been going around my head over the last 12 hours:

Why is there not more awareness of stillbirths and neonatal deaths?

I thought I knew all of the risks involved with pregnancy. I poured over the books and websites to make sure I was giving my little one every chance of surviving any possible problem that may arise.
I mean, I was aware of the term stillbirth and I could pretty much guess at what it's meaning was. Yet in my uneducated ignorance I thought that it was something that happened, quite literally, once in a blue moon. In fact if I'm honest I kind of thought that it was something that used to happen 'in the olden days' before we were so medically advanced. In my little blissfully unaware pregnancy bubble I thought that with all of the scans and fetal heart monitoring and the antenatal care that this simply COULD NOT HAPPEN!
I had absolutely no idea at all how common it was because no one likes to talk about dead babies. I am rapidly finding this out for myself. It makes them uncomfortable (!). What a shame. I now feel that discomfort 24 hours a day, in fact all I can do is talk about dead babies. My baby is dead, and not because I am a junkie or an alcoholic, there was no accident - I didn't fall down the stairs, I took good care of myself and yet no one told me this could happen.
According to the SANDS website, 17 babies are still born or die shortly after birth every day in the UK. It was the first time I had ever heard this shocking statistic. I am not sure what the statistics are for across the water but no doubt they are equally as disturbing. And 75% of women surveyed that had experienced such losses reported a decrease in fetal movement prior to learning of their little angels demise.
I have been reading so many blogs since yesterday (in fact that is all I basically have done in the last 12 hours, I am like a sponge at the moment soaking everything up). I have been crying and feeling every bit of the pain that the babyloss mums write about so beautifully. The accounts are tragic, harrowing, heartwarming, poetic and courageous all in equal measure. So many stories have a similar pattern, and in so many of them a decrease in movement is mentioned. So why oh why are we told that this is normal and to be expected as we approach labour? Why are so many concerns about movement that are raised by anxious Mums just dismissed with the textbook answer of 'It is to be expected, the baby will move less as there is not enough room and they are descending ready for labour'. I certainly noticed a decrease in movements in the 2 weeks prior to losing Lucy, I mentioned this to my Midwife and was told exactly the above. And the books generally say the same thing. So even though she had ALWAYS been a super active baby I just accepted this - I mean, I was just an anxious first time mum, right? No one told me to start monitoring her movements, and the importance of this. In fact, I only did it on that final fateful day because a more recent book I just purchased reccomended it, out of the million books I bought and borrowed only ONE mentioned it's importance!
Maybe if I knew more about the significance of this I would have followed my instincts and made more of a point to my Midwife about the decrease in movements - I had carried her for 9 months and knew her pattern so why did I take the advice of a total stranger that it was normal to not feel her as much? Why did I let this falsehood in my brain prevent me on that Wednesday morning from ringing the hospital or even going straight there when I had that intuitive feeling that her movements weren't right? But hindsight is a wonderful thing I guess.
I simply cannot understand why the medical profession is not taking these sort of concerns more seriously, surely it is better to err on the side of caution than to have a bereaved mother on your hands?
I put this to the BM yesterday, and I asked her why stillbirth and neonatal deaths were not talked about more, even at the Parentcraft classes. Her response:

"We get asked this a lot, but really there is no easy way to tell parents that their baby might die. There is enough to worry about during pregnancy and the consensus is that it is better not to say anything. How do you tell a roomful of parents that there is a chance their baby could be the 1 in 100?".

Now, I sort of get the sentiments behind this school of thought. I agonised over the things that could befall our little one throughout the pregnancy. It is a fraught time with much to be concerned about and there are so many risks involved, a new life is truly a miracle. But I can't understand why they deem it OK to be selective over the information they share with us - i.e. it is OK to tell me that the Snickers I pinched from the box of chocolates may or may not result in my baby having an allergy to nuts and leave me worrying for the next month that my greediness has damaged my baby. But it is not OK to forewarn me on the significance of reduced movement and the reasonable possibility that my baby may die in utero? I personally would have rather been informed of this possibility than have the alternative of total ignorance. I can't understand why it is not more talked about when SIDS is quite well publicised.
But that is just my rant for the day really (I'll step off the soap box now), I just wanted to vent these thoughts out of my head. Maybe I just want to lay a little of the blame somewhere for something that was likely just a tragic accident, (not an 'act of God' as the doctor who came to call at the house said to us - yes, he really did say that. My jaw was on the floor for about ten minutes before I told him I found it very hard to have faith in God when facing this sort of tragedy. He very quickly backtracked on what he said. He was lucky to leave the house with his eyes still in his sockets as I felt like clawing them out). I'd love someone to blame so I can direct some of this extreme emotion at them. I could shout and scream and hit them and make them hurt the way I am hurting. But I know that when all the test results come back I may not ever get an answer, and nothing and no one will be the cause. Just 'one of those things'. Those really, really SHIT things that I never dreamed would happen to me in that really arrogant way that you do.

Spider mum

2009-10-03T12:01:00.001+01:00

A few weeks ago, probably more than that actually as time seems to be lost on me at the moment, a spider laid her egg sac in the corner of our bedroom. We noticed her one day as she sat devoutly guarding it and nurturing it. For weeks and weeks she sat there and we wondered how she was surviving as she had no web spun ready to catch any food to keep her going. She just sat and watched and waited for these eggs to hatch. We looked up on the internet when they might hatch, opinion ranged from 2 weeks to over a month. So we waited with her, we checked every day to see if there had been any progress - I would ask John to check as he is taller than me and she had tucked the sac away quite carefully. Spider mum just waited patiently for her babies.
After we lost Lucy we decided to come home briefly, to go and see the nursery and basically force ourselves to get that part done with and see how we felt. Whilst we were home we went into the bedroom and as we gathered some clothes together we noticed that spider mum had gone. But the egg sac was still there. It looked lifeless and given the amount of time it had been there we both decided that the eggs would not be hatching, too much time had passed. Spider mum had obviusly realised this too and finally left her eggs without ever meeting her babies. Spider mum had lost her babies too. This to me now seems really poigniant, I lay in bed this morning looking up at the sad, lonely sac. I am wondering was this a sign to us of what would and has happened, or is it just a strange coincidence that Spider mum has suffered a bereavement in the same way as us? Months of waiting for the arrival of your babies only to find at the last second that you would not be meeting them in life. It makes me feel very sad as she had been such a good, caring Mum and had not left her babies even for a second. It really does reflect what we are going through. Poor Spider mum.
Today the day feels pointless. Every day feels pointless really but we have had small, menial tasks that have kept us occupied. Today is empty and outside it is grey. It all comes back to how changed we are now. We cannot go back to the people we were before we were pregnant, where Saturdays would mean clothes shopping, take aways and then into town with our friends to get completely rat arsed and tumble home ready for the hangover. We cannot go back to being the people we were while we were pregnant, where Saturdays would mean baby shopping, excitedly joining the throngs of expectant parents in Mothercare, cooing over the toys and clothes and wondering if we would have a boy or a girl. Laughing about what it would be like in a few months time when they were here with us and we would be trying to manouvre a buggy around the aisles. How naieve we were.
We can't be the people we thought we were going to be, where our Saturdays would be feeding our little one, changing them, bathing them, catching up on lost sleep, happy visits to grandparents.

So who the fuck are we supposed to be now?

How am I meant to find my place again? I don't fit in with anything anymore. Today is stretching ahead of me and I don't know what to do. I am not 100% well enough to do some of the things I would like as I lost a lot of blood after giving birth and my health has suffered. Stupid body, I just want it to heal quicker.
All I have is the lap top and hours and hours of reading through other peoples grief, which is very comforting to know that we are not alone, but ultimatley very distressing as well to read through peoples raw grief - I question Why? at the end of each story. It seems so unfair that this tragedy has to happen to so many people. All of the stories I read reflect our own in some way, some of the lines written are identical to thoughts or feelings we have had over the last week or so. I think the trouble is I am hoping that somewhere in these stories there will be the magical piece of advice on how the hell I cope again with just doing ordinary, everyday things. For someone to tell me how I can slot back into a normal life as though this has never happened. But there is no way you can do that and no advice to be given on how to mend our broken hearts. You just have to get on with it. You just have to exist. That is all I feel we are doing, existing. We get up, we wash, we get dressed, we have cup of tea. We cry, we pull ourselves together, we pack away baby things. I feel like an idiot for even thinking we would have a baby that we could take home and love. I have this weird feeling in my gut that I KNEW this would not turn out well. I am not just saying that, I did have this weird feeling throughout my pregnancy that it would turn out badly, I found it hard to imagine having a baby in the house. So now I am wondering did I WISH this upon myself? Did I curse myself having these thoughts? Or was this predetermined and I had some sort of vision of what was to come? Or was I just worrying because of the other miscarriages and it is just pure coincidence that our happy ending has not happened? I pray it is pure coincidence, that my feelings were just a result of my other losses and that I had every chance of my fairytale ending, as much as any other mother. I pray this because of the sinking feeling I have of never being a mother, and this happening again. And if this is a vision or a curse then I feel like I already know we'll not ever have our happy ending, and that is just too much to bear.
I miss Lucy, my darling little girl. I wanted a baby girl so much, I loved her so much whilst she grew inside me. I love her so much, and I feel helpless that I couldn't protect her or save her. I feel guilty that she is all alone at the funeral parlour. I feel guilty for John. He cried today when he saw the T shirt his Brother and Sister in Law bought for him in preparation, it says 'I'm the Daddy'. He cried and said how he had wanted to wear it. And it is breaking my heart so much because he is hurting and so broken and I feel that it is my fault. I am a failure as a woman, I am unable to produce a live offspring for him to cherish. I wonder if he ever thinks about what would have happened if he had married someone else. If his life would still have taken this sad turn or if he would be a Daddy by now. I imagine he would be a Daddy by now and I torture myself with this thought. I am responsible for his grief and agony. I am faulty goods.

Going home

2009-10-02T17:27:00.000+01:00

So today we have been to register Lucy's birth and death. How cruel is that sentence to type? The registrar was very understanding. At the end, he said "I went through something similar. We went on to have 5 children". It made me think about our future, and how many I would like to have. I think I would like 4 children. But I'm almost too scared to even let myself dare to hope that we will, one day, take home from hospital a screaming newborn. I feel that my path is set on loss and misery and I cannot imagine anything else. I am too scared to imagine a family, because that is what we did this time and it makes it so much harder.
I imagined all the lost sleep we would have, the nappies and the spewing. I voiced my fear over being left alone with a newborn when John returned to work. I planned who could babysit for upcoming social events we wanted to attend. All plans involved us actually having a baby, and now we don't. And I have no idea what we are supposed to do, how we can be expected to face the daily grind and the social events with empty arms and an empty cot. As well as our broken hearts. I read my post yesterday, I have written it like a story. I think because that is what it feels like, a story that is happening to another couple and not us. But our story is not unique, I have been reading other blogs and forums about babyloss and there are so many like us out there suffering the same misery. It's truly heartbreaking and I feel a warmth towards these people not even having met them.
We had to buy Lucy a new outfit today, as the baby grow we dressed her in has metal press studs and they are not allowed for the cremation. We chose a pink, girly outfit. I also picked a pink blanket to wrap her in and a teddy bear to put in with her. We bought an identical bear for us to keep, it will be Lucy's bear and has the year on his foot.
We decided to come home today. I am not sure John was ready, he has been teary since we got in and has now taken to fussing and doing things to keep busy. I feel strange being here, we've been away forever it seems. But I am glad to be in familiar surroundings. We had lots of cards waiting for us, everyone had written very lovely messages. People have been so kind to us, it is really comforting. But at the same time I can't understand why I had to be the 'lady that lost her baby'? I feel I will forever carry this tag around my neck. My thoughts are busy with Lucy and if we will ever have another baby. I want another little girl. Not to replace Lucy, but because I feel cheated out of things I could have done with her. I wanted a little girl so much. I already know what I will call her, if fate decides to send me another pink bump. Her name will be Hope.

The day I changed my blog...and the first part of Lucy's story

2009-10-01T16:45:00.000+01:00

So, this blog was set up under a different name originally. I was going to use it to occupy my brain whilst on maternity leave. I only posted twice, and the posts were too hard to read given the place we are at now, so I have deleted them.
Because the person that wrote them has gone, and I don't think she'll be back.

Last week I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Lucy Florence Jean - much loved, much anticipated. We had talked endlessly about whether baby would be a boy or a girl, what sort of parents we would be, would it put a strain on our relationship? Were we too young/old/ill prepared to have the responsibility of this new life? Many hours spent dreaming of names, what they would look like, who they would take after. Never once thinking that the unthinkable would happen. That we would never meet this little person in life. She would never see our faces, we would never see her eyes open, she would not feel our touch or our kisses.

Our story reads like so many other 'normal' pregnancies. I have lost angels earlier in pregnancy, which made me very anxious about the first 20 weeks. But we got to that scan and saw our little treasure waving and sucking her thumb, all appeared well physically and we left reassured. I also had additional growth scans as they suspected I had a bicornuate uterus, however this was never confirmed and baby grew and grew and the hospital did not seem anxious.

I left work to start my maternity with presents and good wishes and well meant advice ("It's like shelling peas!" the men all joked). I was so excited to meet this little person and find out if I had been carrying a pink or blue bump. I spent many days trying to think of ways to induce labour as I was just so impatient to start my life and journey as a mother!

Wednesday 23rd September 2009. The most awful day of my life. The one where the old Amy died inside and a new person emerged.

It started quite normally, John got up to go to work and I lay in bed thinking about the day ahead. I was going to meet my friend at lunch and then spend the afternoon at my Sister in Laws. As I lay there I thought how quiet baby was today. Normally my moving about and tossing and turning disturbed them and they would wriggle and kick. Today they seemed very lethargic and I hadn't really felt any movement. Of course these were just idle thoughts, I never realy considered that there was anything seriously wrong - yet I did feel that something wasn't quite right. Call it mothers intuition if you like. It boiled down to the fact that this baby was a precious gift to me, I had lost other babies and I did not want to take any chances. I was very 'in tune' with my little one and could tell you her position, movement patterns, anything. She was and is very, very loved. I hope that she felt that love from us whilst she was in her little bubble world.

I got up and had some breakfast and sat in front of the TV. Eating normally roused my little monkey, and I sat watching some programmes I had recorded about home births. Sure enough the food stirred a reaction in my tummy. Except it wasn't quite the normal movement I was used to feeling - this is the thing that now haunts me day and night, this little niggle, this dark thought, the thought that my baby was dying inside me and I ignored her. She was hiccuping, (she used to get the hiccups several times a day), but today it seemed more jerky and very fast. I gently prodded my tummy, 'Slow down in there!'. Eventually the movements stopped - that was the last time I felt Lucy move. I torture myself every day that I should have picked up the phone there and then, no in fact, BEFORE that, when I didn't feel she was moving quite right. I don't know if it would have changed the outcome -maybe not - but the guilt I feel as her mother, as her protector for the nine months she had grew inside me, is unbearable. People tell you not to blame yourself, and the rational part of my brain agrees, I did all I possibly could - but inside I still feel like a murderer.

So I still had this nagging doubt in my mind that all was well. I watched some more TV and prodded my tummy. No reaction, she must be sleeping. Out of curiosity I fetched my pregnancy books and flicked to the information about fetal movements. I knew that you could monitor them using a 'kick' chart so I thought I would do that to put my mind at rest. I made a hot drink as it advised this to make baby move, I settled back down on the sofa and waited for the first kick. And waited. And waited. 'Wake up bean' I gave my tummy a gentle push where I knew her bottom was resting. It was firm so I knew she was there but there was no indignant kick at being prodded like usual. I made a cold drink with ice - another trick to make baby move. And I waited. And waited. And waited. Time was ticking on, I needed to leave soon to meet my friend for lunch. I deliberated - should I go and see if walking made baby wake up? Or should I ring and cancel and wait at home for movement? At the back of my mind a terrible feeling was creeping, creeping.
I went upstairs and found my doppler that I had hired to use as reassurance in the early days when impending miscarriage was my biggest fear. Our earlier losses had made me very anxious. I lay on the bed and pressed the doppler to my tummy. Static. Static and a very cold silence. No 'whoosh' of the placenta. No little racing heart beat like I had listened to hundreds of times before. Just crackles and silence.
I can't explain the sick feeling that churned in my stomach. I was crying and shaking, I babbled to myself . 'It's the batteries, they're running out, it's not working properley and I'm panicking'.
I rang John and told him I couldn't get baby to move and couldn't find a heartbeat. "It's OK, you're just panicking baby, I'll come straight home though" he said. I rang the hospital in hysterics as I knew, I knew, I knew that something was bad here, something was bad. But I still did not think baby was already gone, I still had this hope that it was me, or it was something that could be fixed. I told the lady on the phone I hadn't felt baby move for over an hour and I couldn't get her to move now. "You should feel 10 movements in a day, not an hour. You've felt her today so I am sure it's OK". My tears became hysterical again and I think the panic in my voice made her soften. "Come up, we can't have an anxious Mum, can we? Come up for a scan in an hour and we'll put you on a monitor to check baby's heartbeat".
I call my friend and tell her in sobs that I can't meet her, I have to go to the hospital. She is very understanding and calming and I feel momentarily better. Things will be OK.

John arrives home and we go straight to the hospital. We don't speak a word all the way there, I sit silently willing baby to move. I still had this hope she would wake up and kick me, and I'd be forced to go sheepishly into the hospital and say 'Sorry for wasting your time, she's moving now'.
We sat in the waiting room in silence, surrounded by other couples and their bumps. I am rubbing mine, pushing and prodding and praying over and over and over that she would move.

And then we are called into the scan room. We had seen the sonographer before, when we had the MMC. Now, I think that was an omen. If I ever walk into a scan room and see her again I will probably have a nervous breakdown.

I knew before she even spoke. This image plays around my head over and over, I look at the screen and where before there was movement and a heart beat and life, there is stillness. An incredible stillness. And a black and gray image of my baby, my beautiful, adored baby, lying in my tummy without a heartbeat.
And the sonographer scans again, and again. And then she says the words that I want to shove back down her throat, those horrible, sickening words that totally turn my life on it's head. "I'm so sorry".

And that is when my world collapsed. I am screaming. I am crying. I run around the room, nurses are running in, the sonographer looks almost scared of me. I run from person to person, I have no idea who they are, but I am begging them to change it, to save my baby. 'This can't be real', I am thinking and I wait to wake up or snap out of the daydream. But it doesn't happen. I look to John and he is crying and crying. I am begging everyone in the room, "Please, save my baby". I am hysterical. I bizzarely think in the back of my mind this is one of the occasions you see on TV when someone slaps you round the face to stop the hysterics and I wonder if they are gong to slap me, or sedate me. I cry, I wail, I beg. I don't care who hears me or what they think. The room seems busy and hectic. A Midwife comes in with a kind face, she is only young. She tries to calm me, she tells me her name is Heather. And the fighting against this awful news stops and I cling to her and I cry with a depth of grief that I have never experienced before. I want to howl like an animal, I want to scream and I want my baby back. I want this to not be real.
They tell me thay have to scan me again and get a doctor to confirm the death. I can't look at the screen. I hold Johns hands and we sob together. In the background they talk in hushed voices "The cord appears normal"...."There's no swelling,...it must have been sudden".

We are ushered into a back room. Heather tells me again how sorry she is. I think about how her eyes are very green. I wish my eyes were green. She offers to call people.

The sickening realisation that we have to tell people hits me. My parents will be so sad. They will be so, so sad, it is their first grandchild and they are so excited. I feel like I've let them down, I feel guilty that I am going to cause them so much pain and anguish. I can't bear the thought of them hearing the news and being so far away. I worry about them crashing the car on the way to see me. We give Heather a list of numbers to call, which she does. She sits down and gently explains what needs to happen next. I am to be induced.

I will have to give birth to my dead baby. I will have to endure hours of pain and discomfort and I already know that there is no happy ending. No ballooons and flowers, no excited phone calls, no sleepless nights, no mastitis. Just tears and grief and a loss so painful I feel sick as I type this. My baby will be born asleep.

I panic and tell everyone I can't do it. I can't go through with the birth. Heather tells me they do not want to do a C-Section, it's a major operation and my recovery will be slower. I think about this and I think about how it might affect any more pregnancies. So I agree to be induced.
Heather asks if I would like to go home first. The thought of this appalls me - go home? Go home with my dead baby in my belly, to sit and cry and try to sleep all the while knowing what I know? No chance. I want it over and done with I tell her.
My friends arrive and we cry and sit in despair together. The silence is broken with random conversations, trying to be normal and escape the sitution we are in. The nurse tells me are getting a room ready for me, the 'normal' room they use for 'situations' like this is already occupied. I feel sad for the lady who is in that room, already going through this.
I muse that I am glad we have our dog Marley, he will be some comfort to us. I think about trying for another baby and then check myself - why am I thinking about another baby when I am pregnant with this baby, how can I think like that? I ask John if we can go on holiday. My thoughts are random, empty thoughts. I am in shock. I am disbelieving. I am pretending to be me when I am not me. I play the role in the film.