Within the space of a couple of minutes I went from happy to sad tonight. Maybe it was the red wine. We ate cheese fondue and talked about the future. It seemed ok for a while. Positive, solid, strong together. Then, from nowhere, tears. Maybe it was waiting for Toby to play his Scrabble turn that did it. I only need an extra second here, the gift of a silent moment there, and wham, bam, I'm all welled up and trying not to cry in public.
Don't get me wrong, this skiing trip has done wonders to help mask the pain. I feel happier than I have done since 28th November. But happiness is a transient emotion when your baby dies. You can only keep it up for so long (maybe 12 or so hours at a time) and then, what do you know, you're back in the pit.
Up and down, round and round, it is a mogul field of emotions. I miss my boy. And that is what it all boils down to.
Tuesday, 8 February 2011
Monday, 7 February 2011
Stillbirth in the news
I find it mad how life works. You don't hear about stillbirth at all. You are ignorant - or at least I was. Then it hits you when your back is turned and now a celebrity has given birth to a sleeping baby too. Hearing that Amanda Holden's son was stillborn is deeply upsetting.
Unfortunately, I know how she feels.
When you hear of someone else going through this evil journey it somehow gives you perspective on your own. I can see it from the outside looking in and it is, well, I already know it's tragic. But now it seems more tangible in it's desperation and emptiness. I want to call Amanda Holden and talk to her. That was my first thought. I could help. But of course, I won't get through. It's funny, in my day job as a journalist I thought nothing of telephoning a celebrity and conducting an interview. Which would invariably turn into a bit of a chit chat. I have actually already asked work for Lily Allen's details as I have some far flung idea about a celebrity/fashion charity event that I thought she'd perhaps consider putting her name to. After all, only last month she was sparring with Piers Morgan over Twitter about appearing on his new American television show. She'd only do it if he donated one million pounds to SANDS. How amazing of her. He agreed to a five figure sum, but Allen said no.
So now what. Maybe this charity event isn't such a silly dream. There needs to be so much more research done into the causes of stillbirth and early neonatal deaths. The figures have barely changed in fifty years. Can you imagine some of the other big killers having so little medical attention paid to them?
Our poor babies are overlooked. And I'm going to call Lily's people when I get back. Even if she isn't interested, I'm sure I can use my fashion contacts wisely and perhaps help in some small way to stop the evil witch in her tracks. Money for research will, one day, mean less babies dying and less sad Mummies like me.
As a post script, I caught sight of Bear's face on my phone today. What a beautiful boy we made.
Unfortunately, I know how she feels.
When you hear of someone else going through this evil journey it somehow gives you perspective on your own. I can see it from the outside looking in and it is, well, I already know it's tragic. But now it seems more tangible in it's desperation and emptiness. I want to call Amanda Holden and talk to her. That was my first thought. I could help. But of course, I won't get through. It's funny, in my day job as a journalist I thought nothing of telephoning a celebrity and conducting an interview. Which would invariably turn into a bit of a chit chat. I have actually already asked work for Lily Allen's details as I have some far flung idea about a celebrity/fashion charity event that I thought she'd perhaps consider putting her name to. After all, only last month she was sparring with Piers Morgan over Twitter about appearing on his new American television show. She'd only do it if he donated one million pounds to SANDS. How amazing of her. He agreed to a five figure sum, but Allen said no.
So now what. Maybe this charity event isn't such a silly dream. There needs to be so much more research done into the causes of stillbirth and early neonatal deaths. The figures have barely changed in fifty years. Can you imagine some of the other big killers having so little medical attention paid to them?
Our poor babies are overlooked. And I'm going to call Lily's people when I get back. Even if she isn't interested, I'm sure I can use my fashion contacts wisely and perhaps help in some small way to stop the evil witch in her tracks. Money for research will, one day, mean less babies dying and less sad Mummies like me.
As a post script, I caught sight of Bear's face on my phone today. What a beautiful boy we made.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Clarity
My mind feels clearer after a day on the slopes. I was getting pretty overwhelmed there and while I still have heaviness in my heart I don't feel panicky today. It's a relief.
There is something wonderful about using your mind to control your body and not having the space to think. While I'm skiing I'm focused on my technique. This means that the minute I get on a chairlift or in the bubble car, I'm straight back to Bear. It's ok. I quite like it. He's my boy and I enjoy that he takes up lots of time. I can waste hours (as I did on the transfer) just going through everything.
I still cannot believe this has all happened.
Sometimes I think, and hope, that it's some kind of temporary misdemeanour that will pass.
While we ate lunch today a family on a nearby table enjoyed cooing at their lovely baby girl. We were meant to take Bear skiing with the rest of the family in April. And last time I was in the mountains I was 6 weeks pregnant and full of hope.
Being back is bittersweet.
There is something wonderful about using your mind to control your body and not having the space to think. While I'm skiing I'm focused on my technique. This means that the minute I get on a chairlift or in the bubble car, I'm straight back to Bear. It's ok. I quite like it. He's my boy and I enjoy that he takes up lots of time. I can waste hours (as I did on the transfer) just going through everything.
I still cannot believe this has all happened.
Sometimes I think, and hope, that it's some kind of temporary misdemeanour that will pass.
While we ate lunch today a family on a nearby table enjoyed cooing at their lovely baby girl. We were meant to take Bear skiing with the rest of the family in April. And last time I was in the mountains I was 6 weeks pregnant and full of hope.
Being back is bittersweet.
Friday, 4 February 2011
Enough already
I feel strange today. I feel strange and angry and normal and sad and strange.
My blog is confusing me too. I'm one part enjoying it and one part mystified by it. Who am I talking to? Am I doing it for myself? Am I doing it for others? Am I try to help someone? Am I trying to help myself?
Every evening I look at the stats page. It tells me how many people have logged on, which countries they come from, which posts have been most read. It is interesting. I like the feedback. But I'm not sure if I like it because I'm proud of myself, or because in a sense, it makes me feel less lonely?
Sometimes, I want to pick up my blog and throw it against the wall. I hate that it's here. That I have this life where I write such sad stories. On better days, I like the space if gives me, the way it helps crystallise my thoughts and lets others get close and understand.
Tomorrow we are going skiing. The blue sky is calling. I need the space on the mountains and the wind in my ears. And I need proper, uninterrupted time with Toby - time on the chairlifts to cuddle up, talks over dinner, laughs in the boot room, privacy.
I don't feel the uneasiness about leaving London like I did in December when we went to the Lakes. Bear has found his place and he'll be with us too. Not in some sick, deluded sad Mummy kind of way, but just there, in our hearts, on the slopes, near the snow. Because it snowed that night, when Bear was born.
It is scary facing up to my new life without the baby that was meant at its centre. I waited so patiently for him to arrive and now time seems huge and daunting. Hopefully, the skiing will take some of this pressure away.
My blog is confusing me too. I'm one part enjoying it and one part mystified by it. Who am I talking to? Am I doing it for myself? Am I doing it for others? Am I try to help someone? Am I trying to help myself?
Every evening I look at the stats page. It tells me how many people have logged on, which countries they come from, which posts have been most read. It is interesting. I like the feedback. But I'm not sure if I like it because I'm proud of myself, or because in a sense, it makes me feel less lonely?
Sometimes, I want to pick up my blog and throw it against the wall. I hate that it's here. That I have this life where I write such sad stories. On better days, I like the space if gives me, the way it helps crystallise my thoughts and lets others get close and understand.
Tomorrow we are going skiing. The blue sky is calling. I need the space on the mountains and the wind in my ears. And I need proper, uninterrupted time with Toby - time on the chairlifts to cuddle up, talks over dinner, laughs in the boot room, privacy.
I don't feel the uneasiness about leaving London like I did in December when we went to the Lakes. Bear has found his place and he'll be with us too. Not in some sick, deluded sad Mummy kind of way, but just there, in our hearts, on the slopes, near the snow. Because it snowed that night, when Bear was born.
It is scary facing up to my new life without the baby that was meant at its centre. I waited so patiently for him to arrive and now time seems huge and daunting. Hopefully, the skiing will take some of this pressure away.
Thursday, 3 February 2011
Confusion
As everyone knows, there are several stages of grief.
First comes shock.
Here you are as near to emotionless as at any time. This is what allows you to get through all the big news, the tough decisions, the first few weeks of, 'hang on, this wasn't meant to happen.'
Second comes sadness.
It does not require an explanation. Plain and simple, you cry and cry and love and wonder, why?
Now we are in confusion.
The sadness is still there. Alongside it, curiosity has caught up. Old thoughts fill your mind. Usual stuff. And you are spinning all the plates and working out where to turn next.
We are standing at a crossroads. We know we are moving forward. And yet this is almost the most difficult time to handle. There is no clarity of thought or pure tears. We are torn, we are still grieving, do people understand?
Thank goodness, then for our ski holiday next week. Time on our own. Time to sleep. Time to not worry about what others think or expect. Hopefully, there will be sun too and that will help our healing.
First comes shock.
Here you are as near to emotionless as at any time. This is what allows you to get through all the big news, the tough decisions, the first few weeks of, 'hang on, this wasn't meant to happen.'
Second comes sadness.
It does not require an explanation. Plain and simple, you cry and cry and love and wonder, why?
Now we are in confusion.
The sadness is still there. Alongside it, curiosity has caught up. Old thoughts fill your mind. Usual stuff. And you are spinning all the plates and working out where to turn next.
We are standing at a crossroads. We know we are moving forward. And yet this is almost the most difficult time to handle. There is no clarity of thought or pure tears. We are torn, we are still grieving, do people understand?
Thank goodness, then for our ski holiday next week. Time on our own. Time to sleep. Time to not worry about what others think or expect. Hopefully, there will be sun too and that will help our healing.
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Me, Myself and I
Today I am going to be kind to myself. The blood test at the doctor's surgery aside, I am going to spend the day exactly as I please. So far, I have had poached eggs for breakfast and read the paper slowly at the kitchen table. Now, I am fiddling around on the internet and not feeling guilty.
I will also do my Creative Writing homework and make a mozzarella salad for lunch. Crucially, I will be alone for as long as possible. When I am on my own, I feel still and calm. I still cry but the tears can roll and I don't need a tissue or have someone looking at me with concern.
We have counselling at 5 o'clock. This is when I expect my quiet state to be interrupted. It has been a big week, so there will be plenty to talk about. Most importantly, it is pure Bear time.
I realised yesterday that although our boy isn't here, we still have some of the same life changes faced by every new parents. My brain has gone to mush and I can't get anything done because I'm too busy thinking about my baby. Toby is knackered because it is hard to fit in work, sleep, chat and Bear time. We do not go out much. And when we do, it is generally for a walk in the park. To me, this is what all new babies bring. Unfortunately, we just don't have the smiles and the stinky nappies.
I will also do my Creative Writing homework and make a mozzarella salad for lunch. Crucially, I will be alone for as long as possible. When I am on my own, I feel still and calm. I still cry but the tears can roll and I don't need a tissue or have someone looking at me with concern.
We have counselling at 5 o'clock. This is when I expect my quiet state to be interrupted. It has been a big week, so there will be plenty to talk about. Most importantly, it is pure Bear time.
I realised yesterday that although our boy isn't here, we still have some of the same life changes faced by every new parents. My brain has gone to mush and I can't get anything done because I'm too busy thinking about my baby. Toby is knackered because it is hard to fit in work, sleep, chat and Bear time. We do not go out much. And when we do, it is generally for a walk in the park. To me, this is what all new babies bring. Unfortunately, we just don't have the smiles and the stinky nappies.
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