Xmas Eve

It’s been a few weeks, LBC readers-all four of you.

The run up to Xmas has proved hard. For some reason, Fridays have been particularly hard, for no unknown reason. Perhaps it’s just tiredness from the week building up and noticing more triggers, but Fridays are HARD. More often than not I have a cry on a Friday.

We had our work lunch. I nearly didn’t go. I felt really emotional. We had a team meeting in the morning and someone had returned from a year on maternity leave. One of the team leaders punctuated that she was here after a year off, as if it wasn’t hard enough. She kept trying to talk to me (she is really nice) but I just couldn’t bear it. I pretended that I had to go somewhere and aimlessly checked my pigeon hole for an answer for how to deal with this. There were no solutions forthcoming so I just went to the bathroom and looked at my stupid face in the mirror.

I then went to try and find my supervisor to talk to, but she was with the woman who got the promotion over me and she was crying, so I left. Then when my supervisor found me, she was crying because she was unwell. There’s nothing like people crying to stop me crying. I go into ‘strong’ mode to help them cope and feel contained. Lots of tears in the NHS at the moment. It’s stressful times working with increased referrals and cut budgets. Not only that, being a therapist is such a hard job. Dealing with people’s misery and anger isn’t easy. So when something isn’t going great in your personal life, it sometimes feels too much to bear.

So there I was, falling apart, people falling apart around me with no where to put my tears. I went back to my desk and put my head on it and job sobbed loudly. Some colleagues came in and apologised for ‘not knowing how to support me’. I didn’t feel like going to the Xmas lunch. I went down half an hour late with red eyes and not much festive spirit.

I tried to get some EMDR before Xmas so I could spend Xmas day with my husband’s family. Not because they are traumatic, more because I cry whenever I see a picture of my sister in law’s baby, so spending the whole day with him was going to be a feat of endurance. I referred myself to our work counselling service but noone was able to see me before Xmas, so I made the executive decision. I am spending Xmas with my family and husband is going to his family’s. It’s not ideal. I just figure I’m going to ruin everyone’s day if I go to the in-laws. Merry fucking Xmas. I got you a sobbing woman.

The comedy that’s been getting me through at the moment is Catterick (can watch on YouTube) and Alfresco (from the 80s, written by Ben Elton and starring Ben Elton, Hugh Laurie, Stephen Fry, Robbie Coltrane and Emma Thompson. You can watch it on YouTube. Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie are immaculate in it).

Anyway, Merry Xmas LBC readers. If you have lost a baby, like me, I know it’s going to be hard for you. You probably imagined a very different Xmas to the one you got. I know I did. Reach out if you need to.

And to all of you that have had a loss, Xmas is hard, for sure. Get through it as best you can. Try and find some glimmers of sparkling moments and don’t expect too much of yourself.  Raising a stout to you all this Yuletide.


Day 48: The silver boots

Hello LBC-ers.

After I left you on my last post on Saturday, I braved the cold, cold weather and went out into Liverpool to meet my friend from work and to showcase my new short fringe on the mean streets. We had a lovely time actually apart from that none of my clothes fitted me and were tight across my back. I realised that I had stealth put on some timber and everything was straining across my arse, chest and waist. Can’t even lose weight in grief!

Liverpool has some fantastic restaurants and nightlife but we settled for some cosy, lo-fi pubs such as The Shipping Forecast, The Grapes (which has stopped doing coconut chocolate stout-gutted!) and we then went to a Vietnamese restaurant on Bold Street called Pho and I had a tofu curry which was really lovely actually. We met a ‘precision hairdresser’ (what even is that?) who complimented my haircut but told me he could “see the flaws” on my “flyaway” hair. Ooh what a charmer! His friends were clearly pissed off with him as he was talking to everyone and not them. We finished in the Jacaranda and I did my usual run for the last train home. I fell over in Liverpool Central station onto my knees (I wasn’t that drunk and I was wearing flat biker boots), however once the laughter subsided of the passers by, a nice man picked me up off the floor and I managed to sound incredibly drunk by saying “‘I’m schorry, I’m just so schurprised Islchlipped over”.  Seriously, I’d only had 1 pint of Oatmeal stout and a couple of bottles of lager. On the way home, I had a lovely email from a blog reader about life, recovery and the ACES. That really lifted my spirits. My husband came to pick me up at the train station and I fell soundly asleep on the settee. There were no baby tears today.


I woke on Sunday with no hangover and thoughts of precision hairdressing. It was snowing!

I had an e-mail telling me I had a delivery from M&S of some clothes and boots I had bought.  I nipped out, picked it up, went to the shops to pick up some things for dinner and then to the gym. I had finished watching Chewing Gum (loved it, by the way) and was watching Catterick, a BBC sitcom by Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer  whilst on the cross trainer. At our gym, we have a body scanner that measures how fat or how muscly you are. It had been a week since I weighed myself and I had put on 1 kilo (2.2lbs) in a week. No wonder my clothes were tight. I had lost muscle mass and had gained a cubic centimeter of fat in a week. FFS.

I tried on the clothes. One of the things I bought was that M&S dress that everyone is banging on about at the moment, with moons and stars on it, and a red dress. I tried them on. I looked horrendous. In the M&S ‘it’ dress, I looked like a middle aged witch. Thankfully, the silver boots were amazing. The silver boots of redemption. Silver boots don’t care how fat your arse is. The love you unconditionally, like a dog. I put them on with my gym kit and walked around the house. My husband thought I had finally lost it. I put my foot up on his knee on the couch and forced him to look at the boots. I felt he wasn’t impressed as he should be, and so kept them there, until he acknowledged them fully. He was delighted, let me assure you.


The rest of the evening was spent watching Xmas movies, wrapping presents, writing cards and generally getting festive. Burning nice candles and piping hot mugs of lapsang souchong as the ground was freezing outside. I had fulfilled a lot of my ACES today:

Achievement: gym, food shopping, wrapping presents and writing cards

Connection: whatsapping a friend (could have done more to be honest)

Enjoyment: Xmas Movies and watching Catterick

Self Care: smoothie

Today, my ACES haven’t been bad

Achievement: Body pump, cleaned the house, did a wash, had the car cleaned, finished Xmas shopping and writing the blog.

Connection: went to see my mum and dad for tea.

Enjoyment:Judge Judy, cup of lavazza decaff coffee, KIND bar

Self care: charting food consumption with Noom App, smoothie.

Today I received my very first compliment on my skin. The doctor told me they’d be rolling in soon, but I didn’t believe him. I’ll let you know how the Profhilo goes.



Day 46: Post work do

So yesterday I had taken some annual leave to get my hair done. I hadn’t had it coloured for 6 months as I was pregnant and didn’t want to risk colouring my hair in the first trimester. Straight after the hairdresser’s I was off to the work do.

I woke up looking forward to a day off but I felt a bit sad. I had noticed last Friday I felt sad too and was a bit confused as surely it’s ‘Fri-yay?’ etc etc. I crept downstairs to get some breakfast and the post had come. It was our first Xmas card this year. I recognised by sister in law’s handwriting immediately. I opened it and she’d signed the card from her, her partner and her baby. I was worried this might be the case, but hoped it wasn’t. Let’s face it, if you have a new baby, you’re going to put their name on a Xmas card. It pushed that horrible button on my grief. I would have been 4 months pregnant now. Nearly half way through. I was so upset. I hadn’t been upset majorly all week (still sad, yes) so this outpouring of grief was such a surprise. I whastapped my husband and told him. He was nice and told me to listen to a comedy podcast or go and do something nice for myself. I had starting watching Chewing Gum by Michaela Coel. It took a bit to get into, but I’m certainly enjoying it and finished watching the first series. This gave me a bit of strength to carry on.

Speaking of the husband, he told me that he had been googling how long it takes women to get over a miscarriage. He told me he had noticed my antidepressants on the table and was wondering why I was taking them again. He told me he was surprised how much it affects women and can take them years to get over it. He said that this gave him a deeper understanding of what I might be going through and that this perhaps wasn’t me just being over dramatic. It’s funny, people keep asking how is the husband coping. The conversation almost always goes like this:

Person: How is your husband coping?

Me; he’s not bothered.

P: Really? Are you sure he’s not blocking or burying it?

M: No. He’s really not bothered.

P: Maybe he’s trying to be strong for you.

M: No. His behaviour and mood is consistent with this. He’s told me he’s not upset. He’s disappointed, sure, but it’s just like maybe he’s lost his favourite glove.

P: er…

I talked to the husband about this and he laughed his head off and said “you make me sound terrible”. He liked the glove analogy. I was saying “Why are people so obsessed about how you are coping?”. I swear people are more interested in how he is coping than me. I’ve got texts and cards saying “thinking of you both”, “how’s [husband’s name] holding up?” , “this must be so difficult for both of you”.


Don’t get me wrong, husband is sad that I’m sad. Husband is having a hard time because I am always crying and talking about “my baby” , but he’s not upset about losing the baby. He didn’t want it to go that way, sure, but he is just not upset.

Incidentally, I approached someone at work who is doing a qualification in a trauma therapy called EMDR which helps you process traumatic memories. I asked her if she needed someone to practice on (she does) to help me get through Xmas. My husband’s mother has come back from the Middle East and is living close by. My sister in law now lives in a close town and, as you know if you read this blog, has just had a baby, so this year my husband, understandably, wants to spend Xmas with his family as we usually spend it with mine.

When I was pregnant this sounded fine. But now, I am spending Xmas with mother in law, her partner, sister in law, her partner and the baby, and sister in law’s partners’ parents over from Belgium. Fucking Hell. If I can’t look at the baby’s name in a card, how am I going to do this? Husband has tried to think of all different ways he could minimise my contact with the baby and I felt that would just ruin it for everyone. Plus, baby’s first Xmas is special and everyone wants to make a fuss. I remember this with my nephew and niece. I asked my colleague could she give me some EMDR so I could be with my husband and his family on Xmas day. She looked dubious and said she felt that I needed to grieve and by doing this she worried it was giving me the wrong message that it’s not OK to grieve. But I just need to get through Xmas day!

She also told me her friend write a blog following her miscarriage and it has 10,000 followers and she suggested I might find it helpful. Firstly, how did she get 10,000 followers when I have 5? I felt a bit jealous and protective of my little blog and also a bit of a failure. Not only did I not get a promotion, couldn’t stay pregnant, now my blog about miscarriage (a hot topic) is not enough!

God almighty. Could I give myself a harder time? No. No I couldn’t.

Anyway, I’ll leave it there and maybe talk about the work do another time. Husband is on his way home and he’s asked me to put the kettle on.

For my ACES today I’m going to liverpool with my husband, Xmas shopping and meeting a friend later for a few speciality stouts. For self care I’m having reflexology.

Take care out there. x

Day 42: the recap ends and the day continues

So LBC readers, I left you in Harrogate and I’m going to pick up where the day went next after my gruff Profhilo treatment.

As I may have mentioned once or twice, but for the benefit of readers joining me here, I’m a therapist for children and families. Unfortunate choice of career after you have lost a baby. However, part of getting through bad times has been to draw on my psychological knowledge to try and get myself out of the pits of desperation.

Whilst I’m not a massive fan of Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT for short) it can come into it’s own and offer some helpful tools when you are in a dark and low place just to start freeing things up a bit. Let me just be clear now, I only say I’m not a massive fan of CBT as there are therapies I much prefer using. Having also been on the receiving end of CBT, as a person I can know Isomething intellectually and feel something very different and CBT relies on the way you think changing the way you feel e.g I know that person is not rejecting me therefore I feel happier, whereas I can know someone isn’t rejecting me but still feel really hurt and rejected. I know I’m not useless and a failure but I don’t feel it in my body. My body still holds a worthless feeling. OK, but saying that, here’s where CBT has been helpful for me.

So when we get low we withdraw, we can’t face the world. When we withdraw we have a lack of access to connection with others and also enjoyable experiences and so our mood drops. Then we feel less able to go out engage with others and with positive experiences. A total vicious cycle.

CBT suggests starting increasing activity in a gradual measured way to break the cycle. Not only that, to  use a combination of different types of activity.

A: Activity that gives you a sense of ACHIEVEMENT: e.g. going to a taekwondo lesson, the gym, cleaning your car, learning a language, cleaning the house, tidying a drawer, getting on a train for one stop if you are worried about getting on trains. Blogging.

C: Activity that CONNECTS you with others. E.g. meeting a friend for coffee or lunch, phoning a friend, going to see your parents, skyping someone, writing a nice newsy e-mail. Blogging.

E: Activity you do just for ENJOYMENT. e.g watching Love Island, reading a trashy mag etc.

So the idea is you to ACE activities every day, starting off with small ones and building up to larger ones once you get your strength and confidence up.

So today here are my ACEs;

Achievement: cleaned the house (the bathroom was at social services level), went to body pump, went to acupuncture, wrote two blog posts. Did my Xmas cards for my mum’s side of the family.

Connection: went for tea at my mum and dad’s, whatsapped my husband, whatsapped my friend.

Enjoyment: this has been a bit thin on the ground up to now. I’d say I’ve focused too much on achievement. Today I’ve watched Judge Judy and I’m about to watch more trash TV in the form of Britain’s Next Top Model. I had one of those KIND sea salt and dark chocolate bars. Just delicious. I also made myself a proper (decaf) lavazza coffee.

I am going to be so bold as to suggest an addition to ACE in the form of S to make it ACES.

SELF CARE-doing something that is about nurturing yourself. Whether that be nutritionally, like having a smoothie or just being kind to your body by putting on a face mask, washing your hair or putting a body oil on your dry skin.

My S today has been nothing. I have done nothing to nurture my body so I’m going to take this blog’s lead and go off and put some cream on my gnarly feet.

I’m going to try and update my blog posts with current ACES so I can see how I’m doing with how these activities are affecting my wellbeing. Please feel free to leave examples of your own ACES in the comments section so we can inspire each other.

What do you all think of the ACES idea?

In other news, my acupuncturist put electrodes on me today and a heat lamp. It was really relaxing. We talked about Tom Cruise today and how he annoys me for no good reason. He agreed with my Tom Cruise feelings but likes Jerry Maguire. He also likes Will Ferrell but told me he inexplicably hates Jim Carrey. He uncharacteristically told me I needed to keep warm on these cold days as I was leaving. This small display of concern was emotionally warming on this cold season of my life.



Day 42: the Recap continues

Hi LBC readers.

You’ve caught me on my day off. I’ve been for my second Profhilo treatment today so another £400 has evaporated out my bank account before Xmas. The clinic I went to is bonkers. The doctor is a gruff, italian, rock and roll type who doesn’t do much chat or putting at ease. He plays loud music so you can’t hear what he says anyway. Artic Monkeys today and New Order. I admire his taste in music but his patient care is a bit lacking. I felt like just a body sitting there. I don’t think he even knows my name. He just knows what treatment he’s injecting into my face. He doesn’t ask me if I want the numbing cream as presumably, he wants me in and out. The numbing cream takes time and you have to talk to the meat-bag (me) sitting there while it takes. I try to make some jokes to warm him towards me. I act friendly and casual and try to get him talking about himself. Nothing lands. I feel like a dehumanised irrelevant inconvenience. But I want what he’s got (the potential fountain of youth) so I don’t fuck off somewhere else. Anyway, I’m home now, with some injection marks in my face sitting here with a cup of coffee (decaff of course, I still want to get pregnant) taking a break from the housework.

So last night we left the story at Major Tom’s Social in Harrogate where the guy at the bar had told me he’d been raped as a boy. I can see my husband rolling his eyes as he’s thinking “here we go again”. As soon as anyone finds out I’m a therapist, there goes my night. Totally ruined with people’s problems. When will I learn?

I feel bad for the guy. He asks me how I can help someone like him. He wants me to do something now, but I’m pissed at a bar, I haven’t done an assessment and therapy takes months or even years to see an improvement. I try to explain this to him but he just seems to want some quick fix which just doesn’t exist. I ask him a few solution focused questions and we get out of there at what seems a polite point. I’m well oiled now. We go over to the thai restaurant, Sukkothai, but there’s no tables until 9pm and it’s 7:30. No problem! There’s a bar over the road! Yes! That’s a really good idea!

Now my husband tells me I was talking to every fucker in there. A bloke who owned a spaniel (dogs are my weakness), a brewer, a bloke who was tall (I don’t remember this) and then a group of women started talking to me. I think they’d spied my husband who is, FUCKING MASSIVE and were talking to him/about him about his height. Standard. I don’t really mind. He is a show stopper.

These women were mother and daughters, and here’s where things become really blurred. I remember there were some weird family dynamics were one sister seemed upset that the mum seemed to overly prefer the other sister. I remember telling them I’d had a miscarriage and was in tears. One of them was a nurse and was majorly kind to me and gave me a hug as I sobbed loudly on her shoulder. She tried to reassure me and told me medical things, none of which I remember, but she was lovely. No wonder her mum preferred her. Joke. Her sisters were lovely too. She insisted on giving me her phone number and said we could chat and meet up. I know I didn’t want to do this as I’m a bit of a shy type. But she insisted and I was touched by her interest and her kindness. So there she sits. In my phone contacts. and I in hers. A drunken act of kindness that I never want her to regret. I don’t want to be to her what the drunk man in Major Tom’s is to me. I bet she gets this sort of shit every time she goes out. This time it was me. How the tables turned so quickly!

Thankfully, it was time for thai and I think I inhaled it as I don’t remember eating it. I remember the husband having a massive go at me for talking to EVERYONE and ‘being condescending’ although I can’t establish from him what I was doing that he thought was condescending. We argued all through the thai, all the way back to the B&B and until he fell asleep in an alcoholic stupor. I stayed up, had a cup of tea and took a recovery sachet to halt the impeding hangover that was in the post. I was confused as the husband loves it when I’m chatty and gregarious as I tend to be a bit anxious and introvert. I was trying to establish this in the argument but we were both pissed and it just wasn’t working. I think what he was trying to say to me was that he felt left out, which I can totally understand. And I bet he probably felt uncomfortable with my telling people about the baby and crying my eyes out. I was THAT girl in the pub.

Thankfully, the next day we said our sorries and had a lovely day. We went Xmas shopping, had a few drinks (not too many), had a nice lunch at the Fat Badger, went back to Major Tom’s and entered the Geek Pub Quiz and won quite a lot in their raffle, including a Shooting Stars book and game (I’m a huge Vic and Bob fan) as well as cinema tickets for the Everyman cinema in Harrogate. A lovely ending to the day. A very different ending to the evening before. The next day we went to the cinema, which was absolutely beautiful with it’s mid-century styling.

We went and saw Justice League, which was just stupid, mindless fun. Nothing amazing but certainly entertaining. We had the whole cinema to ourselves and a sofa with a side table where I had a latte in a proper cup. All this and it was still cheaper than the Odeon and the Vue. Such a beautiful cinema. Please do go even just for a drink if you are in Harrogate. They have a lovely lounge/coffee area which is just a delight with a balcony for those summer months. A lovely end to a really mixed weekend! Oh, and I cried in the famous Betty’s tea rooms too before I left. FFS.

Day 41: The lost week roundup

Well, it’s been thoroughly nice to receive people’s e-mails and tweets with well wishes and asking after me.  It’s certainly made up for the lack if interest and empathy in many close friends around me. I sometimes think I’m a sensitive soul surrounded by emotional bulls in a china shop.

All the days are kind of running in to each other as it’s been so long since I blogged. Of note we had a very eminent therapist and long time hero of mine come to our clinic and he actually observed me leading a session and gave me some feedback on it. I was so worried. I was scared that he was going to pick holes in my practice and I wasn’t emotionally robust enough to take it. I didn’t want to miss an opportunity to learn about my performance and practice by one of the greats in the field. He’s almost retired so it was a not to be missed event. It was such a great pleasure to meet him. I have met him before once or twice, but usually in a massive conference type event. This was 4 of us with him. All afternoon. I was praying he would have something good to say about me and that things would start to turn on an upward trajectory for me.

Thankfully, dear reader, he did. He liked the cut of my jib it seemed. But, o! The nerves beforehand. I swear I could have shit through the eye of a needles’ needle. He told me that I have a lovely way of turning theory into everyday language and an elegant use of metaphor. There was constructive stuff too. Lots of constructive stuff. But he didn’t make me feel criticised. He made me want to learn more. A true great. He did not disappoint. He also made some mistakes while he was there. Whilst the mistakes were not pleasant for the other therapist involved (nothing serious), there was something very levelling about how even one of the greats can have a slip or an error of judgement. I often have a fantasy he never gets anything wrong and he could get out of any tight situation. Like a dexterous, enigmatic action hero in a jagged therapeutic post-apocalyptic landscape.

That was a sustaining experience. I started to feel like I was maybe clawing back a bit of skill and a bit of my mojo.

Then Harrogate happened.

So I booked and paid for a mini break for the both of us as something to look forward to. I’ve always been very enlivened and invigorated by mini breaks. I’m a bit of a mini break junkie. I greedily sniff up Lakeside breaks, smoke the crack pipe of city breaks, and chase the dragon of…complimentary coffee and tea trays in the hotel room. So I was hoping this city break was the stuff of recovery. And in some ways it was.

We had both never been to Harrogate but always heard good things about it. You have to wait 2 weeks following a miscarriage to use spas and saunas to avoid infection so 2 weeks had well elapsed, but I was still passing miscarriage remnants so I didn’t feel confident going to the famous Turkish baths, but I felt that there was enough there to keep us going over 2 days.

I had booked a B&B a ten minute walk from the town centre. It was bitter cold with a wind that whipped you to your core. When I got there, I abandoned all hope of wearing my pretty midi dresses and nice heels. It was tights under the jeans and whatever was going to keep me warm no matter how shitty I looked. Warmth trumped looks. What no woman wants on a post miscarriage mini break.

The B&B was just OK and it had a tiny ensuite. My husband is 6 foot 8 and couldn’t sit on the toilet without turning sideways. We were out there pretty quick and into Harrogate for an explore. It felt so Christmassy. So cold but so sunshiney. My spirits began to lift and I felt a bit giddy gnashing around this lovely town, hand in hand with my beau. We walked past a lovely looking pub and this mischievous feeling came over me. This desire to just let my hair down. I said to the husband “come on, let’s go in here for a little drink!” He smiled. He loves it when I’m like this. Plus, suggesting a drink to my husband is the key to his heart. We bundled in, laughing, into the warmth. The Alexandra.

This is where the decline began.

I love stout and I cannot lie. Once I’d had a half I got a bit of a taste for drink, and whilst we promised we had just popped in there for a quick one and then to further get our bearings, but then we walked past the new Ivy that had opened in Harrogate, and well, I love me some fancy schamscy shit. I knew it was going to be pricey but I wanted to have a lovely experience so I dragged the husband in, promising to pay for it. The magic phrase.

Typically, he picked the most expensive cocktail on the menu and I got  salted espresso martini which was just beautiful. I started to get a bit more giddy as we sat at the bar with our fancy, expensive drinks. I began making jokes, cracking with the bar staff, guessing was was in the fancy silver domes dotted across the bar (it was dried orange slices as it turns out). We then nipped to a vintage shop and enjoyed looking at the ‘tat’ as my husband calls it. 20171125_170043.jpg

Then we barelled into a bar above that called Major Tom’s Social

This was a great place with pizza, craft beer and very popular. Immediately some fella started talking to us at the bar. Things started to go radically downhill at this point. The fella clearly wanted some company and I was in chatty-pissed mode by this point. We talked about all sorts and he asked me why we were in Harrogate. I told him exactly why. I wanted to hear myself say the truth to someone. We are here because we lost a baby.

We are here because our baby died and we are trying to cheer ourselves up.

I said it. I just wanted to say it. I wanted to hear myself just be honest with people about my loss. It felt good to say it, to hear it ring out loud rather than in my head, although I thought my husband might be pissed off with me being so dramatic.

It wasn’t long before the bar-fly asked me what I did for a living. Reader,  I don’t like to lie and I always try to be honest, sometimes to my own detriment, so I told him I was a therapist. Then the flood gates to his personal tragedies came flooding out. He told me he’d been raped as a boy. I thought he was brave to tell me. But this was my time, my mini break, my telling the truth out loud to see what happens. I selfishly didn’t want his.

To save this being the longest blog post ever, the Harrogate tale continues tomorrow.


Hope you are all well.



Day 28: 1 month today

Hey there LBC readers

Well, today is a landmark of sorts. That’s right. I’m one month on from finding out that the baby had died. One month of life further on. One month of missed parenthood.

Today I kept myself busy as I could as I knew there was potential for weepage. I went to acupuncture which was a bit sad. It was acupuncture I’m sure that got me pregnant (well, that and my husband but I don’t want to ‘over-egg’ (lolz) his contribution) so it was tough starting over. My acupuncturist isn’t the most compassionate of beasts but he seemed to be a bit warmer to me today. He had dialled up his compassion gauge from ‘fuck off’ to ‘do I have to touch you? Oh alright’ He even put a heat lamp on my poor, wounded carcass that I felt pathetically grateful for. He stuck pins in me in silence.  It was hardly the Vengabus going to Ibiza levels of fun.

I decided today would be productive and busy. I needed to keep my activity levels high to avoid my mood dropping. Petrol was bought, groceries were ‘sourced’ from the local artisan market (Tesco), smoothies were made, almond butter was made, the house was cleaned and Love Island was watched (I’m binge watching nonsense so I don’t think about the baby too much) and then body pump was , er, pumped.

I went around to see my folks and talked a bit about the baby. It felt good to talk about he or she. The first time I’ve properly talked about the baby in a meaningful way with my family and what I can do to remember he or she. I decided to buy some jewellery I can wear. My mum said something about it not being a proper baby and just being a load of cells which hurt. Husband has said that too. I don’t know why they say this. Maybe to try and protect me but it feels hugely minimising and invalidating. It was a fetus, it wasn’t a ball of cells!!! FFS!

I shared with them my upset at my best friend not texting me once since I told her the baby had died. I shared my upset that my other best friend hadn’t been in touch for 4 months so didn’t even know I was pregnant, let alone miscarried. I told her yesterday when she got in touch with me. She asked me a couple of questions and then spent the rest of the time telling me about the Jeremy Kyle type scandal she was involved in. It felt like 5 minutes about the baby, 2 hours about her stuff.  I was feeling lonely in my grief. Husband doesn’t even realise it’s 4 weeks today. Men seem to move in so easily. I’ve learnt that through watching Love Island too.

So, I’m surviving. I’m living. I’m hurting less but still hurting and the physical ache and yearning for the baby is just a memory now. I did actually have a little cry at acupuncture today. It was only a little one. I am still here. I am still on the Vengabus.