Friday, 7 May 2010

i actually felt more normal yesterday than i've done any other day this week.

(probably more normal than i've felt for the last couple of weeks, in fact.)

i found the days preceding incredibly difficult. maybe that made the day itself less hard? it's hard to tell.

it did also help knowing quite how many people were thinking about us. about me, about D. about the baby. i have no shame about the fact i asked for this on facebook.

(i'm always in favour of letting people know what i need. i would hope that people would remember the dates that matter, but people are busy, and these things aren't as important to them. other people's children will never be as important. other people's dead children even less so. so if i need people to remember, i'd rather remind them than be disappointed and hurt.)

but anyway. today i'm back to feeling uneasy, and hollow, and nervous, and sad.


i've never admitted it out loud before, although i do suspect i've written it here. but i admitted this to my counsellor today.

when i was pregnant. i never actually saw us with a baby. i never imagined us with a baby. in our arms, in a cot in our room.

in our hearts. but then, i didn't need to imagine that bit.

every day, i expected to start bleeding. i had no reason to expect that. i thought the fear would stop after the 12 week scan.

it didn't.

i was convinced - convinced - that at our 12 week scan they were going to tell me the baby had no heartbeat. the scan was on a monday; i spent a large proportion of the weekend googling 'missed miscarriage' and trying to work out what our risk was.

i was amazed - amazed - when all was well.

ironically, that must have been about the time things started to go wrong for the baby. it stopped growing only ten days later.

about the same time that i started to think that everything was ok. ironic, huh?


i do believe that my subconscious mind knew something was wrong. long, long before my conscious mind was clued in.

i wish my subconscious mind had given me a heads up.


i still feel guilty.

that i never imagined. my baby, in my arms.


lis said...

i have to ask if you had a chance to see of hold your baby afterward? i worry about asking this, but i know that when people aren't sure if they should ask me something, i am soo glad that they did.

try not to beat yourself up, just as i wish i named my baby something other than star-crossed juliet, what you thought or envisioned can't really have mattered, in my opinion.

b, things will be so different for us next time, won't it?


B said...

oh lis, no. i didn't get that chance. it's one of the things that haunts me.

(this is far TMI for most people so if you are in the slightest bit squeamish you should REALLY look away now. if you don't then consider yourself warned. there is blood and stuff and it's unpleasant. still reading? i'm giving people plenty of chances to stop.)

i had my miscarriage medically induced. what that means for anyone who doesn't know is that i was given tablets to make my body expel my baby. i went into hospital for this to happen and for the day i was there, i had to use a bedpan every time i went to the loo and ring for the nurse every time i used it. she had to check what came out to make sure that nothing was retained.

for a long time all that came out was blood. when the baby finally came out, i knew. i glanced down and saw a huge red lump and basically wiped and ran to the other side of the bathroom while i waited for her to come and take it away. i was terrified in case i saw anything i would recognise as a baby.

and because the baby had died at 13 weeks and would only have been about the size of a peach, and because it had been dead for about four weeks before it came out, noone said 'do you want to see it?'. they don't do the cleaning up that happens with later losses.

there probably would have been little recognisable to see. but it still haunts me, that that was the only chance i had to see my child. my first and so far only child. it hurts that i was so terrified to look. what would have been so bad?

and then it hurt knowing for the next six weeks that it was just sitting in a mortuary drawer somewhere, waiting for the communal cremation ceremony. i wished i could have seen it, so badly.

and i still kind of wish that i'd bought something to be cremated with the baby. i didn't want to do so til afterwards, after it was too late. i wish i'd thought earlier.

juliet is a beautiful name. do you watch lost? juliet was kick-ass in lost and although she was tragic and died too, i still think it's an amazing name for a child.

and i hope you are right and that things end differently for us next time. i hope i hope i hope.

(i never want to sound too confident. just in case fate is watching and laughing at our optimism.)

thank you for asking honey.

lis said...

oh im so glad i didn't offend you, my friend.
i worried that i may have. and nothing bothers me medically anymore. bring on the blood and gore. i have seen it all. :/

and there are many things i too wish i had done differently. both of us were over-medicated and under duress. how could we expect ourselves to have done things that would have made the rest of our lives easier? we were trying to get through those seconds, those minutes, not even allowing ourselves the foresight of what the next day would bring.

im sorry you have regrets, as i do, but im inclined to think that if we had done the things we wish we had, that we would find something else to dwell upon and lament. this all sucks.

thank you. i love the name juliet as well and i wish more than anything my juliet was in the next room napping. but she will always be in my heart.
and i don't know your religious affiliation, but this website/church helped me have a little bit of closure.
name and honor your unborn children

thinking of you

B said...

i didn't think the blood and gore would bother you, it was other readers i was warning :s

and. thank you.

it helps so much that people understand.