There is one every day.
Without wanting to sound absurdly OTT, I feel as though I am a solider. Under constant fire. Without defences.
Maybe I will feel more positive tomorrow.
Monday, 31 January 2011
Saturday, 29 January 2011
Two months
29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. I love you. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. I miss you. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. Don't be scared my boy. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. 29th. I think about you always.
Friday, 28 January 2011
Feeling sentimental
Tomorrow, it will be two months since Bear was born. Even though I know the date, I no longer have a sense of days or hours. Time is one big, rolling ball of emotion that does not adhere to the usual luteal rhythms.
I cannot remember what my life was like before Bear was born. And to be honest, I quite like it like that. What I am not pleased about is that every morning means we move further from that place when he was here, when I could stroke his nose. How dare the world revolve and the sun still rise when my heart aches like this.
If you asked me whether I would do it all again, I'd say it in a flash, shout it from the rooftops: ABSOLUTELY!
Even, when I take into account all the pain and tears, such raging anger and emptiness that I had never known before. I am fuller, richer for having my boy. My body now knows a new kind of love. A pure, strong, guttural love that hurts and aches and makes me smile.
Having children is about enhancing your heart. Sure, I've missed out on cuddles. I've missed out on his perfect bottom. I've missed out on sitting back and admiring this wonderful, innocent person made from tiny pieces of Toby and I. But my heart is bigger. In fact, I feel as though my organs have shifted about a bit to make room for my little wonder. He is with me always, and no one can take that away.
I cannot remember what my life was like before Bear was born. And to be honest, I quite like it like that. What I am not pleased about is that every morning means we move further from that place when he was here, when I could stroke his nose. How dare the world revolve and the sun still rise when my heart aches like this.
If you asked me whether I would do it all again, I'd say it in a flash, shout it from the rooftops: ABSOLUTELY!
Even, when I take into account all the pain and tears, such raging anger and emptiness that I had never known before. I am fuller, richer for having my boy. My body now knows a new kind of love. A pure, strong, guttural love that hurts and aches and makes me smile.
Having children is about enhancing your heart. Sure, I've missed out on cuddles. I've missed out on his perfect bottom. I've missed out on sitting back and admiring this wonderful, innocent person made from tiny pieces of Toby and I. But my heart is bigger. In fact, I feel as though my organs have shifted about a bit to make room for my little wonder. He is with me always, and no one can take that away.
Thursday, 27 January 2011
The Game
This week I feel like an unfortunate ball-bearing in an old-fashioned pin ball machine. I've been bounced about and knocked against the walls.
You cannot predict what the day will bring when you feel like this. Sometimes, for no reason at all, I am strong. Others, I am not. There is no choice in this mourning game.
Today I have my ceramics course. It is nice to be working with my hands and creating something physical, alongside all of these emotional building blocks.
I did something very out of character on Tuesday. I wrote and complained to Channel 4. I was 'shocked and saddened' (proper complaining words), when I watched a pregnant mother, who was sent home because her labour wasn't progressing on One Born Every Minute, saying that she felt upset that she was leaving the hospital with nothing. It was totally inappropriate, considering the number of women, like me, who actually go home empty handed. This mother was back again within four hours and delivering her baby girl safely. Obviously, I am sensitive to these things, but it still felt wrong. So I wrote. And I complained and I received a proper apology. Apparently, my comments will be passed onto the producer. I doubt they actually will, but it's nice to know that I did not just keep quiet.
I don't recognise myself at the moment. My life feels like a nuclear bomb has been detonated, with pieces flying in every direction. I do things like complain to a television company. Next, I'll be a Daily Mail story.
You cannot predict what the day will bring when you feel like this. Sometimes, for no reason at all, I am strong. Others, I am not. There is no choice in this mourning game.
Today I have my ceramics course. It is nice to be working with my hands and creating something physical, alongside all of these emotional building blocks.
I did something very out of character on Tuesday. I wrote and complained to Channel 4. I was 'shocked and saddened' (proper complaining words), when I watched a pregnant mother, who was sent home because her labour wasn't progressing on One Born Every Minute, saying that she felt upset that she was leaving the hospital with nothing. It was totally inappropriate, considering the number of women, like me, who actually go home empty handed. This mother was back again within four hours and delivering her baby girl safely. Obviously, I am sensitive to these things, but it still felt wrong. So I wrote. And I complained and I received a proper apology. Apparently, my comments will be passed onto the producer. I doubt they actually will, but it's nice to know that I did not just keep quiet.
I don't recognise myself at the moment. My life feels like a nuclear bomb has been detonated, with pieces flying in every direction. I do things like complain to a television company. Next, I'll be a Daily Mail story.
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
The NHS - part two
So I had my check-up. Thankfully, it was just a chat and a blood pressure test. The doctor felt very uncomfortable. She kept correcting herself and talking v-e-r-y slowly so that she wouldn't say the wrong thing. Even though she did, on a number of occasions. The wrong thing, I've realised, is awkwardness.
There is no nice way to say that my darling baby has died. So it's easier for everyone involved if we all just adopt some straight talking confidence and get it over and done with. I didn't feel as though she was an intelligent professional, I felt like I was sitting with a five year old who had stolen a bag of sweets. She was all, shifting her weight in her chair, and playing with her hair and keeping her eyes down in shame.
I did well not to cry out of pure frustration.
I told her, of course, about the rather major slip up earlier in the day. She, er, apologised, er, and kept shaking her, er, head and not quiet, er, getting out what she meant.
What a joy.
There is no nice way to say that my darling baby has died. So it's easier for everyone involved if we all just adopt some straight talking confidence and get it over and done with. I didn't feel as though she was an intelligent professional, I felt like I was sitting with a five year old who had stolen a bag of sweets. She was all, shifting her weight in her chair, and playing with her hair and keeping her eyes down in shame.
I did well not to cry out of pure frustration.
I told her, of course, about the rather major slip up earlier in the day. She, er, apologised, er, and kept shaking her, er, head and not quiet, er, getting out what she meant.
What a joy.
A Rant, with a capital R.
I can't knock the NHS. It was there for us in our hour of need and its midwives and obstetricians were faultless. But by golly it still has problems.
I received a letter just after we left the hospital, a copy of which went to my doctor's surgery. It was concise, to say the least, and said something along the lines of:
'Alice Pullen has suffered a stillbirth. Baby was born not breathing on 29.11.10'
It didn't make pleasant reading, but it was necessary. My doctor needed to know.
Then, a fortnight or so later, I received my post-birth check up appointment from the same doctors surgery. It asked me to come in today, January 25, at 2.50pm - with my baby. To be honest, I looked at it as some kind of administrational slip up.
I was too kind.
Just now, the practise called to confirm the time and date and again, and I knew it was coming, she said, 'And don't forget to bring your baby.'
I WOULD LOVE TO BRING MY BABY YOU ILL-INFORMED FOOL. BUT I CAN'T. HE ISN'T HERE. AND I DON'T NEED REMINDING.
The receptionist went silent. Literally, she just sat on the other end of the phone, I assume her mouth was open in shock and her stomach had left her several seconds previously.
I finished, by saying that yes, I would be there today, thank you very much.
You would think, wouldn't you, that these stupid receptionists would read your notes or put a big BE NICE TO HER sign by my name.
I received a letter just after we left the hospital, a copy of which went to my doctor's surgery. It was concise, to say the least, and said something along the lines of:
'Alice Pullen has suffered a stillbirth. Baby was born not breathing on 29.11.10'
It didn't make pleasant reading, but it was necessary. My doctor needed to know.
Then, a fortnight or so later, I received my post-birth check up appointment from the same doctors surgery. It asked me to come in today, January 25, at 2.50pm - with my baby. To be honest, I looked at it as some kind of administrational slip up.
I was too kind.
Just now, the practise called to confirm the time and date and again, and I knew it was coming, she said, 'And don't forget to bring your baby.'
I WOULD LOVE TO BRING MY BABY YOU ILL-INFORMED FOOL. BUT I CAN'T. HE ISN'T HERE. AND I DON'T NEED REMINDING.
The receptionist went silent. Literally, she just sat on the other end of the phone, I assume her mouth was open in shock and her stomach had left her several seconds previously.
I finished, by saying that yes, I would be there today, thank you very much.
You would think, wouldn't you, that these stupid receptionists would read your notes or put a big BE NICE TO HER sign by my name.
Short and sweet
He is beautiful.
I love him.
One day we will hug and be close again.
And that will be like rainbows and candy floss all rolled into one.
I love him.
One day we will hug and be close again.
And that will be like rainbows and candy floss all rolled into one.
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