I think the time has come...

...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

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

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

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

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?

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

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.