Day 19: The first week of work

Hola.

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m sitting here having been to fertility reflexology and done a ‘big shop’ in the Holy Trinity: Aldi, Booths and Home Bargains. Yes, there were babies. No, I didn’t cry by the kidney beans like I did last time I was in there. Progress. I did feel sad by the bakery goods though, but I held onto my shizzle this time. I am THE big brave soldier your mother told you about.

Whilst I was pottering at home, I looked out the landing window to see over the road feeding their child in the window. They were proffering a spoonful of baby food and the baby was turning away indignantly. I was a motherhood voyeur of the life that could have been. An orange-lit advent calendar window of despair. It wasn’t nice. The ghost of motherhood future.

At Booths I treated myself to a free coffee and a bottle of Ilkley oatmeal stout. It promises treacle and chocolatey flavours. I have started drinking again, but I feel conflicted about it. Part of me thinks I deserve a break the other part is scowling, saying it’s going to affect my fertility. That bit of me is a mean mo fo. My brother sister in law has invited me around for drinks at their house to cheer me up. They have promised upbeat conversation and fun. My brother can be a bit dour at times so I hope they live up to their promises and I am touched by their thoughtfulness to try and raise me out of this funk.

So, yes, I went back to work last week. It was hard. There were a few crying moments at my desk. The first day back we had paediatric life support refresher training. I hadn’t really thought too hard about this (surprisingly) so when my assistant clinical lead sidled up to me asking me whether I needed to do this today, I was puzzled, assuring her I was fine to do this training. Then they brought out the baby resuscitation dolls. Reader, it was difficult. Someone was sitting across the door as the room was packed. The room was red hot, my eyes were brimming and there was no escape. I had even been warned. This was such a stupid situation. I completed the training and went back to my desk and cried my sodding leg off.

In family therapy, a particularly ebullient teenage boy asked me if I had children. I haven’t been asked this for years by the families we see. He was a sweet boy so it took the edge off it a bit. He also told me I was very good at my job which was like music to my ears after feeling like such a failure. It’s so hard in work. Themes are always around motherhood, parenting and loss. The first two, tantalisingly within my grasp then taken away by the latter.

Colleagues had been instructed that I had a “bereavement” but not to ask me about it. I was in work for 2 minutes before someone said “Sorry for your loss” and started ramping up to talk to me about it. Bloody therapists. Play by their own bloody rules. I politely but firmly said I wasn’t up for talking about it. Not being asked about it has really helped me feel a bit more normal, but last time in work I was pregnant and I can’t help but look at it through these eyes.

I am dealing with the pain better though, I do feel more resilient now. Possibly my anti depressants kicking in or possibly the efforts I have been making to face the world and engage in life. Going back to work was a good idea as a welcome distraction in some ways. Work have given me a bit of leeway just to have a few weeks where I’m just in, managing and not seeing many clients. I’m not sure how much use I’d be to them anyway. I think my mental health needs are probably greater than theirs at the moment. I might ask them to listen to my problems for a change. The camaraderie and companionship of colleagues has been good and writing technical reports has been absorbing although I will drift off into baby-zone in my head at times. One of my colleagues has found out her husband has been cheating on her and that has been absorbing our shared office in a lot of dialogue as she wrestles with what has happened and tries to decide what to do. I really feel for her. Life is shit sometimes. Your life can change in a second. It really is true isn’t it?

As you know, comedy has been getting me through this. I found a new comedy to watch but sadly I binge watched it all in one go. GameFace, Roisin Conaughty’s sitcom. I can thoroughly recommend it. Brilliant to see female writers getting platforms for their work. I was hooked after the pilot. I possibly enjoyed it more than Toast of London and Catastrophe and I really liked them. I need a new comedy to indulge in now. Please, suggestions in the comments section.

Right, I’m off to get ready to go to my brothers. Hope life is treating you well and you are liking the blog. Do you think I might like your blog? If so, let me know about it in the comments section.

Day 14: The lost days round up

Hey LBC readers

Those eagle of eyed of you will have noticed that I haven’t updated daily like I usually do. This is because I have thrown myself out of the house into the world. It’s not been easy, let me tell you, but what is the alternative? Sitting in the house, thinking about the baby, how I’m crap at everything and wondering how I’m going to get on with my life. That’s the alternative. I know that no amount of hiding in the house is going to make this better. I actually need to start being in life again.

The day after the hospital was a shaky one. I went into Wigan town centre (it’s a smallish local town and a lot more manageable than going into Liverpool city centre to take back a maternity style dress I had bought. I asked my mum to come with me and she and my dad tagged along. I also wanted to buy a nice winter coat, hoping that it would make me feel nice and smart and presentable again. Mum and dad acted like personal shoppers and even though they are in their late sixties-early seventies, they chose a rather nice tan coloured crombie that was actually rather beautiful.

As it was during the day, there were so many young mums out with their infants. I swear I’m being stalked by them. I managed to keep my shit together though and actually not run away from them although I noticed I would stop talking when I saw one.

Mum and Dad tolerated the shopping trip but they seemed desperate to go home. I tried to entreat them to a coffee out but they just wanted to get off. I went home and went to the gym and just did a half hour hill walk watching the last Toast of London. Shit, what comedy am I going to watch now. Suggestions please in the comments section (no I haven’t got Netflix but I do have Sky). Some horrid bitch from school was in the gym so I didn’t stay long.

On the Saturday a lovely friend of mine came to see me. She had a similar experience to me. She found out at the 12 week scan that the baby had died but she had her miscarriage induced by medication whereas mine happened a few days after the scan. It was so lovely to find compassion and understanding in another human who aches like you do. She brought me artisan doughnuts, wrote me a lovely poem in a card and bought me a glass angel to put up in my house to remember the baby by. She is amazing. We went out for lunch and laughed and cried. We called ourselves ‘the miscarriage club’ and looked angrily at the babies and mothers who came into the coffee shop. Unwelcome reminders of our stolen futures.

My friend said she was amazed at how well I seemed to be doing and that at this stage, she still had been unable to leave the house. She expressed concern about me going back to work on Tuesday (am I mad?). We talked about how the loss of a baby leaves you in limbo in so many ways. You don’t know what decisions to make…where will you be? What processes will you be going through? Will a baby ever be in the future, and if not, does that affect what decisions you make now?

Whilst it was so wonderful to see her and feel the warmth of camaraderie, the talk awoke a dormant feeling that I had managed to bury for a few days and once the warmth of her company faded as she drove off, a gnawing ache replaced it. Some of her fears that she spoke of had become my fears. I had lots of complicated feelings. I started pining for the baby again. We both talked about the physical ache in your heart of losing a baby and mine was back with a vengeance. I was in bits again. I sat down with my husband and watched a film. Moonlight Kingdom if you’re wondering. I felt so sad. Sad and lost. I went to bed with podcasts in my ears to try and escape the horrible thoughts.

Sunday morning brought back bad feelings sitting on my chest once more. That horrible feeling that nothing in my life goes right. I lay there for hours. Thinking and thinking and thinking. No good ever comes of this thinking. Why do I still do it? I decided enough was enough and got up and went to the gym. I ran a mile. Probably nothing to some of you but it’s something to me. It was good to be out of the house. It did definitely lift my mood. I watched a comedy called ‘The end of the F***ing world”. Aptly titled. I’m not sure whether I like it. I will persevere. It’s quite dark and I’m not sure lingering in the shadows is good for me at the moment.

When I got home, I put a nice dress on and me and the husband decided to go out for a pub tea. We went to a country pub that have recently been refurbished that neither of us had been to before. When we walked in, I immediately spied Titanic cappuccino stout on draught and that cheered me up. The food had finished, but it was nice to be in a new place that we might come back to. We went to another pub and had some tea and came back and watched Louis Theroux’s film on Scientology and that programme where the engineers have to escape the scene of a disaster. I was tired and slept well. The ache had gone for now. It will be back, I have no doubt.

So today I have been for a facial treatment called Profhilo. It’s meant to take years off you and I feel like that’s what I need at the moment. It was expensive mind. I’m not sure I should be spending like this but I just want to feel better about myself in some way and my face is looking a bit sad and shit. I’m going to go to bodypump for the first time tonight (weights and stuff) which will be hard as I haven’t been there for ages. People will remark upon it and I don’t want to say “well I was pregnant and didn’t want to miscarry, that’s why I didn’t come but I miscarried anyway, so I’m back, mother fuckers!” because it would be a) rude, b) inappropriate and c) too much information. However, I also don’t want to deny what has happened to me, betraying the memory of my baby. “oh I was ill” or “Yeah I went away”. I am changed as a person.

Tomorrow I go back to work. Wish me tons of luck. I will most definitely need it.

P.s Thank you so much for the emails and likes on the blog. You don’t know how much it means to this little lost soul!

Day 9: Back to hospital

Today I tried to get on with raising my activity levels, but the shadow of going to hospital later that day was hovering over me like a ominous bird of prey. I got up, watched a bit of telly to ease me in to the day, washed my hair (I had left the hair mask on for 2 days because I couldn’t be bothered washing it-nice) and put my make up on and some nice clothes. I then did the dishes, made a smoothie, swept the floors and hoovered the carpets. Then it was time to go to the hospital.

I retrieved my maternity notes from the drawer I had hid them in and husband drove me there. He asked if I was ok going into the scan on my own. He had felt really uncomfortable with the way they had done the transvaginal scan last time. They asked me to get undressed and ready for the scan in front of my husband and there were two healthcare workers in the room. I was fine with that. It made me uncomfortable too.

I was hoping and praying we never had to come back to this place again. I had found them chaotic. The had lost my blood at the booking in appointment. Always kept us waiting, scan machines broken etc. I wanted closure. I wanted it all over with.

I waited with husband outside the scan department. We were waiting with pregnant women of course, excitedly waiting with family and I was just waiting to find out whether everything had gone. After waiting for 20 minutes I was called in after watching a young couple buy their scan photos and crowd around with family to look at them. Husband told me just to stare at a photograph opposite on the wall. I was then called in by a male spanish sonographer with a kind face.

He told me my husband could come in and I said it was OK, and he looked taken aback. Of course he would. He thought this was just a repeat scan. I sat down and told him I had miscarried and he looked shocked and said there was no point doing the scan then as it had only been a week. It was likely that everything in my womb hadn’t gone. He said the women’s hospital (this was a satellite clinic) dealt with the miscarriage stuff. I cried and told him that I had phoned the hospital and they told me just to wait for the scan. He looked exasperated and said “yes, they do that and they shouldn’t”. I cried and told him how confusing it all was and how hard it was alone dealing with the loss of a baby in the face of these conflicting systems. I just wanted closure today. He was lovely. He apologised and asked me to wait while he discussed it with a midwife. Whilst he was away, I was left with the healthcare assistant who was a bit of a harridan.

She drawled at me, devoid of warmth

” Are yez gutted you’ve lost yer baby?”

No, I’m ecstatic at losing my baby. In fact we had a big family party and invited all the neighbours.

“Yes”

“How many weeks was you?”

How is this helping exactly? Hurry back spanish sonographer! This woman is in dire need of some kind of additional training.

“twelve weeks”

I don’t even know if I was as the baby stopped growing at some point. However, it’s an answer and she doesn’t give a flying fuck anyway. I could say I was pregnant with the messiah and she wouldn’t give a fucking shit.

Spanish sonographer re enters. Thank fuck.

He told me they could do a transvaginal scan if I was up to it. To try and give me some closure, but really it was too early. I agree. I didn’t want to come here for nothing but the thought of a man shoving a probe up my vagina with a harridan observing wasn’t the kind of increase in activity I was looking to increase. I agree.

They go out the room and I undress my bottom half and lay back and hope for the best. The health care assistant turns the light off so he can’t see where to stick the probe. This is excruciating. He asks her to put the light on. What a fucking cake and arse party. The sonographer sticks the probe up me. Fun. He looks intently at the screen at what seems like an eternity without speaking. Eventually he takes it out and tells me to get dressed.

When they come back in after I am dressed he tells me that I am right, I have miscarried. There is no baby and no gestational sac. He said he will get the midwife to come and talk to me. He said the womb lining still looks a bit thick but it is early days. This worries me as I have stopped bleeding, what else is there to come away? I ask him how long I will have to wait for the midwife. He looks concerned and asks why. I start crying in the corridor and say I just want to get out here and go home and then it all pours out. Seeing other women with their photos, coming to an antenatal appointment, losing my baby, paying for parking (yes I know!). He apologises for the mix up, being sent here too early getting the wrong advice from the hospital, seeing other women with their photos, he offers to give me his parking permit to get out the car park (I know, he was lovely). He takes me into the bad news room to wait for the midwife.

The midwife takes an age. Husband has to keep leaving as the hospital is so hot his blood is boiling. We are offered cups of tea by a health care assistant which we decline. Eventually the midwife comes in. She is on the phone. She explains she is on the phone to Gynae ER to get some advice and she leaves. I’m baffled as is the husband. Is this so unusual? Is ER necessary? Why do they need advice? I’ve miscarried.

She eventually returns and says she has spoken to the registrar. They have advised a pregnancy test in 3 weeks and if it still shows I am pregnant, I have to phone gynae ER. Seems a bit of an overreaction. Surely this could be managed as an outpatient rather than an emergency? She confirms I have lost the baby (I know!) and the gestational sac is gone. She is sympathetic and goes over what to do in an emergency, counselling support, and self help/informational websites (which are all on this website, refer to page on support following miscarriage). She repeats all this a few times. The husband is getting restless and standing up saying “come on, lass” to me. He wants to get me out of there but it looks rude. She says that she hopes she can book me in again one day and tells me when I can start trying again. She says something that starts me off crying. Husband starts urging me to leave. The midwife repeats all the info again. All of it. Husband is looking annoyed. Midwife puts her hand on my arm. I’m touched by this compassionate gesture.

It looks like I never have to go back there again. Me and husband leave with some sense of closure. I tell him “let’s get the fuck out of here”. Husband says “Let’s get shit faced”.

Day 8: lofty intentions

Well today was a total wash out despite my good intentions.

Yeah, so today I was fitting the puzzle pieces of my life back together wasn’t I? Being good to myself, drinking smoothies, going the gym, going back to work, being a productive member of society once more rather than a sofa shaped sad sack with a perpetual down-turned mouth and eyes always brimming with the threat of tears.

That was the plan.

The reality was, I woke up with a crippling headache and nausea. I ended up getting out of bed at 12 noon and lying on the settee, popping co-codamol like Halloween sweets. I did absolutely nothing good for me. I ate chocolate and skittles. I don’t know whether these are side effects of re-starting my anti depressants or some rogue virus. Either way, I feel like shit.

Work were understanding. I think largely because they weren’t expecting me back so soon. They told me to take pressure off myself and not to come back this week and to look after myself. I just feel like I’m letting everyone down. I’m sucking at everything; working, breeding, existing…

I have this horrid sense of cabin fever. I’m so sick and bored. The house seems dark, dirty, shabby and small. It feels like one step forward and two steps back. That’s recovery I guess. Perhaps I over exerted myself the day before? I ache all over. I had started taking 20 mg of citalopram after a couple of days of taking 10mgs so I don’t think that was very wise. Perhaps this is the culprit for the headache and nausea? Usually you take 10mgs for a week or two but I felt like I needed all the chemical help I could get and went to 20. I gave the citalopram a break today and will go back to 10mgs tomorrow. There will be enough in my blood stream to sort me for today. Moral: Don’t mess around with your meds, kids.

This is the first day I haven’t cried.

Husband and I feeling both very dissatisfied with life. He rings me on his way home from work and we chat about it. I wonder whether we are being hard on ourselves for being down. Is it not normal for us to feel fed up and dissatisfied? Do we feel more fed up because we are fed up and feel we shouldn’t be? Should we both be acknowledging more that we have lost something special to us so things are going to feel shit for a while? We plan a mini break away to Harrogate for later in the month to give me some time to physically get over the miscarriage. This feels like a positive step. He gives me a massive cuddle in the kitchen and tells me he loves me. I am glad this loss hasn’t driven a wedge between us. I am so glad I have him and my family. I need to keep focusing on the living.

Back at the hospital tomorrow for another scan. Dreading it. Going to the antenatal department after losing a baby feels like a cruel joke. I really hope one day I can be visiting these places securely and successfully.

Day 7: Forcing it

It’s been a week since the scan showed the baby had died.

In a week my life has tipped upside down.

Again, the familiar dread when I wake up. The anger and resentment. The hopelessness. It’s crippling. I force myself out of bed, again, knowing the longer I lay there, there worse it will get for me.

I decide today is the day I’m going to start being good to myself and taking care. Even though my family want to love me with Tunnock’s tea cakes and blueberry muffins, it’s not good for my healing so I make myself a fruit smoothie-I intend to go to the gym later on. It’s a big step. I have neglected myself. I apply a hair mask, a face mask and ped-egg my trotters into something resembling feet once more. I take off the old nail varnish that reminds me of my happy pregnancy days on holiday and rub cream into my sandpaper dry feet.

I make an appointment for fertility reflexology (here we go again) and start taking my vitamins to try and get my body ready for trying again. Have I even got it in me?

My sister has lent me a film ‘Big Hero 6’. It’s a cute animation with an adorable robot and I sit down with my attempts to ‘pamper’ (hate that word) myself and watch the film. As soon as the adorable robot comes on I’m crying my sodding leg off. He really cares about people. He wants to make their grief better! He hugs them and contacts their friends when they are sad! I could do with a Bay-max robot right now to cuddle me and help my levels of pain. I should have known better than to watch that film. It’s full of loss.

I e-mail work and make arrangements to come back. I know it’s early. I surprise myself. I am very emotionally delicate but sitting around the house is boring and sad and I know, ultimately, not good for my mood. Work is hard though. In the NHS you get hammered from all angles. Will the hammering help me to move on or send me whimpering into a corner, a broken woman? My manager e-mails back with surprise and agrees for me to come back if I can manage it. She offers to meet me in the morning if I want to, which is touching. I ask her to send a team e-mail to let them know I’ve had a bereavement but for no one to ask me about it so I can stay calm and containing. Most people in work didn’t even know I was pregnant, so I don’t want them to know I’ve lost my baby. Part of me feels like in some way, some one would use this vulnerability against me. I want to seem like I’m childless by choice and I don’t give a damn ‘cos I’m an independent woman hmm-mm,  sister.

I go visit my folks and then I’m off to the gym for some gentle exercise. It’s only been a few days since I miscarried so I try to take it easy. I can’t believe what I’ve managed to do over the past two days, albeit forced and reluctant. I still physically ache and yearn for my baby but I have to start fitting the jigsaw puzzle pieces back into my life. My folks ask me what I want for Christmas as they can’t think of anything to get me. I cry as I remember I was going to ask for baby stuff for Christmas. I was excited as this was my last Xmas just me and husband and my first Xmas pregnant. When I’m at the gym, I’m watching Toast of London. It is a great distraction. I need to keep using comedy to power me through. I look at the other gym goers and angrily project my thoughts at them

“THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I’VE BEEN THE GYM SINCE I LOST MY BABY! LAST TIME I WAS HERE I WAS PREGNANT, AND YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW OR CARE!”

Why would some university youth gym-head know or care? What shits would they give about my plight? I feel like they should.

The plastic bag went from the bathroom today. I have said my final au reviour to le sac du miscarriage.

Day 6: Take Me Out

I wake up at my parents’ house and flick through people’s perfect instagram lives whilst in bed. I look at all the mommiebloggers with their shiny offspring on their subsidised holidays in Mauritius. Eugh.

I stumble to the loo and pass a lot of fibrous tissue which upsets me. I thought everything had gone, but I still ache in the stomach and back as if I’ve been kicked about by the miscarriage gods.

Mum and dad are up and about and try involve me in their daily quizzes and crosswords. Mum bring me a tray of tea and a warm croissant and asks me if I want to go to the pictures with them to see Death of Stalin. I’m not sure. I don’t feel like doing anything, as usual. I see a small picture of my brother’s children on my parents’ mantelpiece. It brings me to tears. Will my parents ever have a picture of a child of mine? I cry but try and hide it from my parents.

I decide to go home and clean myself up. I might feel better. It’s a sunny autumn day and I feel tiny and fragile walking away from my parents house wondering what they are thinking watching my pathetic carcass slope off. I go via a parcel pick up to pick up a dress to cheer myself up and try it on when I get home. Its brightly coloured with parrots and monkeys on, a beautiful teal colour. I try it on and pray it fits so I don’t have to carry on not feeling good enough. My frame is now practically pre-pregnancy now. My belly has gone and is almost flatish again (its never been flat). I look like I’ve never been pregnant. The bleeding has almost stopped. I can stop using the industrial oil spillage pads and soon I will be able to chuck out the plastic bag in the bathroom which I have christened ‘le sac du miscarriage’ full of pads, painkiller boxes and tear scrunched tissues.

I shower and decide to put my make up on. This is the first time I have worn my full make up since the scan. I just kept crying it off so stopped bothering to apply it. I have decided to have fun today. My husband had fun last night and now I need to try to have fun. I put on my new dress and colour my face in. I look almost normal. I say to my husband “no one would be able to tell I was ever pregnant”. Everything has gone.

The husband and I go out for a few drinks and a meal. I feel full of trepidation and fuel up on rescue remedy. It’s Sunday, a bizarre evening to go out. The bars are empty and feel cold and unwelcoming. I’m trying to have fun but not quite succeeding. Drinking again feels strange. I compare everything to the ‘pregnancy days’. I just feel like going out for a drink is like waiting to go home with a beverage. I get some lovely texts of friends who have been through miscarriages, encouraging me and congratulating me on going out. Maybe I am doing OK? I do feel quite proud of myself for going out and like it is possible to claw something back from this awful experience.

We go home and watch a film and then go to bed. I lay in bed feeling sick and anxious. I can’t tell whether it is pan-asian cuisine that has done this or my general sense of foreboding about the future.  I listen to podcasts to help me sleep.

 

Day 5: the care package and intervention

I woke up with an overwhelming sadness. Now that the worst physical pains were over, the emotional pain came to sit on my chest like a heavy crow. I lay in bed crying feeling useless. Intellectually, I knew that moving around was going to lift the grief sitting on my chest and staying in bed was going to intensify it. It was hard to summon up the energy, but I did it.

Husband was going out to spend the day and night with his friend at an art exhibition and then piss up in Manchester. A massive part of me wanted him to stay and accompany me in wallowing in grief, but the rational, therapist part of me (yes, I’m a therapist) knew that we had to start having fun and living our lives. While he wasn’t as affected by the grief as me, and certainly not the trauma of miscarrying, I knew seeing me so sad was affecting him. We both talked about how the fun seemed to have been sucked out of our lives. We needed a fun injection. A funjection. If I couldn’t experience fun yet, husband needed to recharge his batteries to help support me. I waved him a tearful goodbye. He sent me pictures and checked in on me later on on Whatsapp, which was nice.

Mum and dad came around unexpectedly with a care package from my sister. I burst out crying with her kindness and thoughtfulness, although I swear my family are going to love me to death with food and booze. It contained an emotional hug in the form of:

• Bach rescue remedy. I couldn’t tear the seal off quick enough to take it.
• Box set of Pride and Prejudice
• Soaper Doaper natural body balm that smelt of Tuberose
• 4 bottles of cappuccino stout (I love stout)
• Cath Kidson handcreams
• a Kew Gardens colouring book
• Pukka night time sleep herbal tea
• Scented candle
• Tunnock’s tea cakes
• Look Magazine
• Earl Grey tea
• Aldi dark chocolate
• Liz Earle Eye bright and skin tonic.

I couldn’t believe how much trouble and care she had taken. I whatsapped her to thank her and thanked her for the expense. She said “it’s only money and I only have one sister”. Cue tears.

I had started taking my antidepressants a couple of days ago. I had stopped them when I got pregnant (I’m prone to dark moods-a unwanted side effect of being a therapist in the NHS). I know it will take a while for then to kick in, but the rational part of me is still there telling me “you know the drill for the darkness. Take your pills, increase your activity levels gradually. Don’t withdraw from people and places. You can do this”. Thank god for that part of me.

My sister in law, the GP, checks in on me. She’s been an absolute rock. I love her. I am so grateful to her. Nothing has been too much trouble. She has told me to get in touch any time if I’m worried about the miscarriage process. I have been reluctant as she has a small infant and a lot of people counting on her, but she has helped me manage this at home and keep it in proportion. She has also allowed space for my feelings and has been prepared to hear the painful stuff that my family have found harder to tolerate. If you are going through this shit, you need someone who can sit with you in the pain and mess and not try and tidy it up for you and make it nice. I ask her whether I am a bit of a weirdo for not seeing a doctor at any part of this process. Everything I read on the internet suggests you should see a doctor. She reassures me that this is a natural process that doesn’t need medicalising. Plus “a young buck sticking a speculum in you isn’t going to make you feel great after what you’ve been through”. That makes me laugh. That would not make me feel great. Not at the moment anyway. Maybe if it was just a normal day, perhaps.

Family decide to have a games night with pizza to lift my spirits whilst husband is out. We play trivial pursuit, cards, and some kids game with an exploding tree. I see my sister and mum throwing surreptitious glances to see how I am reacting. I put on a brave face. I have left the house for the first time in days and I am back in the land of the living. I watch my family with love but also with an aching in my heart for my lost baby. I make a decision to focus on the living, not on the dead.

I get a couple of messages from blog readers, which show me such lovely compassion. One from a long time reader of my ‘comedy’ blog that I have had for about 12 years. In the midst of feeling such a failure it makes me feel I am doing something right. For strangers to be so interested and moved by my life. Thank you Graham.

I go to bed at my folks house, like I am a child again. In the spare room my mum has pictures of my nan and grandad and their brothers and sisters. All now long passed. I cry my leg off. My loss connecting with my other losses of people I have loved. I consider asking her to remove them but don’t. I start wondering whether my nan and grandad are aware I’ve lost my baby, and if so, are they looking after it? I don’t know what to believe in anymore.

I listen to a podcast to try and get some sleep. Athletico Mince in case you were wondering. Comedy has got me through the darkest times in the past, so I use my known recovery strategies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Day 3: Miscarriage aftermath

Day 3 was spent mostly in a daze of co-codamol and a thankful sense that the intense pains were over. I didn’t get dressed. I sat on the couch in my pyjamas watching any old shite on the TV. My family made contact today. I told them I had miscarried and my mum and dad came around to see me. They looked tired and stressed and I felt guilty for putting them through this. I felt like I had to show them I was alright, and in a sense I was because I was just so thankful I was over the night before. I was still bleeding and in pain but nothing like the extent of the day before. My mum said sorry for walking out on me and said to see me so upset made her feel like she was going to throw up. She had a little cry and hugged me. She said imagine how I feel about my baby that I’d had for 12 weeks and how sad I felt. She said she’d had her baby (me) for 40 years so imagine how it feels to see your 40 year old baby hurt so much. I knew what she was trying to say. She said the whole family was upset for me and even my sister had cried all the way home from work when she found out the baby had died.

My sister whatsapped me and offered to come around and do nice things for me but I just wasn’t ready to make contact. She told me she had a box set of Pride and Prejudice waiting for me when I was ready.

Later that night, my mum rang and suggested I might need to go to hospital to get checked out. She had started to panic about seeing me in pain and thought I might need to have checked whether all the pregnancy tissue had gone and if I had passed all the tissue why was I still in pain? This whipped me up into a frenzy. I was feeling ok, but then I began to think, is it normal not to see a doctor after you have miscarried? I whatsapped my sister in law, a GP, to check and she reassured me. She said that Gynae ER isn’t a fun place to be and if I could, it would probably be better managed at home. She suggested I ring the hospital to put my mum’s mind at rest. I phoned the Gynae ER and spoke to a nice women who said I was fine to wait for my scan on Wednesday and only to come in if I was filling a pad every hour, which I wasn’t (I was the day before! I probably should have gone in???). I couldn’t settle after this, even though sister in law and Gynae ER had reassured me. Everything felt so dangerous, shifting and tragic. Everything can turn in a moment. I felt sick to my stomach.

Day 2: The agony

What can I say about day 2? Where to start?

I cried in the shower. My body still looked pregnant which upset me. I felt like I wanted to clean everything away. I cried looking at my toenails. I hadn’t painted them since I went on holiday because I didn’t want to expose the baby to the nasty chemicals in them. I thought about painting them in a kind of commiseration prize gesture. Yes, you might not have a baby, but you can have lovely shiny nails again. Then I thought “nah. I can’t be fucked. I don’t even care about my toenails anyway”.

I spent half the day cleaning the house while watching Toast of London on the i-pad. I found myself amused which I was surprised at. I didn’t think anything would get a laugh out of me. The cleaning was top scale. Even the brasso came out and the furniture polish. Trying to impose some order on the chaos going on inside of me. Sitting around was boring me and making me ruminate.

I kept checking my phone to see whether my family had contacted me. Nothing. A bumblebee buzzes past me as I hang the washing out. I throw out all the mum-to-be packs the hospital gave me and hide my maternity notes in the bottom of a drawer. I put all my pregnancy vitamins out of sight and the ‘motherkind’ herbal tea that I was so excited to buy looks at me mockingly, so I throw it. I feel so stupid when I look at them. So stupid. Like such a failure. How had I dared to hope that this could happen to me?

Then the bleeding started in full force. I was miscarrying.

Clots falling away, running to the toilet to avoid making a mess of myself. Ruining my gym pants (the only things I could be arsed to wear). This continued for hours. Husband and I started watching box set of Twin Peaks Series 1 to try and distract me from the upsetting process. He wasn’t keen to start watching out, but I begged him to watch it with me, something we could be involved in together, not in our separate bubbles. He cuddled me and agreed and I felt relieved. This really helped.

At 11 at night the cramps started to intensify. By 1 am I was experiencing contractions and writhing in agony in bed. Painkillers weren’t touching this one bit.  Running between bed and bathroom passing blood. At one point my vision started to become grey and fuzzy and I ran back into the bedroom and asked husband to take me to the hospital. I felt so weak and the contractions were so unbearable with only minutes in between. He tried to get me to calm down and not to go the the hospital. I was so frightened.  I tried to ride the contractions by imagining turning an imaginary dial down on the pain. It didn’t fucking work.

After an hour, the contractions died down and I fell into a thankful sleep.

Lone Bee

I am the lone bee that drones through the October noon

I am all alone, no hive to support me

My pollen supports nothing and no one.

Day 1 continued: empty bins

Mum took me to the shops today to get some food. The supermarket has two pregnant women in it and 2 women with tiny babies. I broke down and cried next to the baking goods. It felt like the supermarket was attacking me. My heart was breaking and I was having babies pushed into my face when I had lost mine.

Mum told me not to be silly. “you can’t avoid babies”. I was really upset that one day after my bad news I could be considered silly for being upset at losing my baby. I said “Mum, it was only yesterday, I’m not being silly”. I am entitled to my feelings. They are real and normal and people have to allow you to feel them, not bury them and let them fester like an infected sore. I love my mum, but this hurt.

I asked her to take me home. I just needed to be at home alone. Mum tries to carry my heavy shopping, but there is no point as the baby is dead. I have started to bleed. It feels like an empty gesture from a privilege lost.

I break down in front of mum. I miss my baby so much. I miss all the promises swept away by a scan. I weep for my lost identity. I weep because I am nearly 41 and what chance do I have again? I weep because my body hurts with the loss and I can’t bear it. Mum walks out on me. She says it hurts her too much to see me like this and she can’t bear it. She gets in her car and drives off and I am left shocked and alone. I have to be OK for her to be around me, and that sucks that no one can bear and tolerate my pain.

I make appointments for beauty treatments in the hope that if I look alright I will feel alright. I feel stupid for thinking this will work. I feel that I have to get some sense of normality back. I worry about the outside world upsetting me. I work with children. How will I be able to do this? Will I look at other people’s children and always see the sad shadow of my lost baby?

Husband comes home. I am pleased to see him but I feel so alone that he isn’t hurting. He says he is disappointed but he is not upset. This is congruent with how he is acting so I believe he isn’t burying his feelings. He gives me a long hug and tells me we still have each other and he loves me. I cry and cry and cry.

The bleeding gets heavier that evening. I am glad it is happening naturally, I hope. I pray for the ability for me and the baby to let each other go. I google “how long does a natural miscarriage take?” and “what to expect” and find relief in some of the stories and terror in the others.

Thankfully I am able to sleep.

Emptying Bins

Wanted, now useless

The bins are emptied

Cleared away,

Made empty

The things inside hold no charm

Just discarded remnants of usefulness

Life sucked out of them.

Clear the bins, clear your feelings.

No one likes your feelings.