There is always something that manages to smack me in the face... every time I start to feel 'ok' something happens that knocks me down again.
I was feeling ok this morning, I was just about to get ready to go to the cemetery before I go to work this afternoon and checked my emails - I have one that says 'Is your nursery ready yet' and I felt the icy chills run down my spine and that crashing feeling...
Or like last week when I started back at work I was doing OK till I was clearing out my 600+ emails and came across one from one of my colleagues organising a collection to send me flowers and telling them about Emily. I actually collapsed off my chair and had to run out the office crying. I got sent home early.
Then the other night again in work I had been laughing and joking with colleagues getting on OK, I am on a phased return so working less hours so I said goodbye to them at 8pm and headed for the door only to walk right into my other colleague who is pregnant (due 4 weeks after I was) talking to someone else about how big her bump was - that was it - instant tears I had to sit in my car for over 20 minutes before I could gather myself enough to drive home.
I could keep going on and on with the examples!
Why does this happen? Every single time I think I am coping, getting on with things I get smacked in the face again! I know its only a stupid email but its made me feel so bad - like I'm upset now I've seen it but why wasnt I upset before it? How dare I be thinking I feel 'ok' when my daughter is dead.
Monday 24 October 2011
Monday 17 October 2011
Joy and Sorrow
I will not let the pain of her death overshadow her life. The joy and love she brought will forever outlive the pain of her loss.
- Mary Young
I have read this quote before. It is one of the quotes used on Carly Marie's Babylost Calendar 2011. And it came back to me tonight during a conversation with my mum about Emily. I think I may have mentioned it in an earlier blog too but our conversation has made me want to touch on it again tonight.
Most people assume that because my pregnancy ended in tragedy and despair that this is what describes it. There's that girl, you know the one that lost her baby. So tragic. And whilst its true that not having a baby to bring home is indeed tragic and causes more despair than words can adequately convey I also have so many happy and positive feelings associated with my pregnancy. And it's nice to speak about these times and remember them too.
I remember the conversation my partner and I had when we decided to try for our first baby, to start our family. It sort of came out of the blue. Don't get me wrong in the 8 years we have been together we have always spoke about our future family but this was different - this wasn't about 'one day' this was about 'today'. We decided the time was right and I remember being so excited! I am a planner, a list maker and I started straight away. I spent hours in the following days looking on baby websites, daydreaming about cots and prams, blankets and bottles, teddies and trinkets. We discussed possible names for hours on end, never finding one that we actually agreed on and eagerly planned how the spare room would look as a nursery. Excited was an understatement of how we both felt!
I also remember vividly the day we told our parents. We had my mum come over and when we told her 'Your going to be a granny' she shrieked with happiness! She hugged me and cried and then hugged my partner and said 'Well Done'. Then we all laughed at her. We took the dogs to the local park and the whole hour we were walking she couldn't stop grinning from ear to ear. I'm not sure who was more excited!
I remember laughing so much at my partners face when we had our private scan at 8w+4 - he had been so sure it would be twins (wishful thinking more than any kind of foresight) that when the sonographer said there was one baby he almost looked disappointed!
Or a few days before my 12 week scan when my mum and I had went shopping in town. We had just about finished when we decided we would take a wander into John Lewis and have a look at the baby section - in particular the cots because my mum had decided she wanted to buy her grandchilds cot and bedding. We ended up spending over an hour ohhhing and ahhhing at all the cute baby items they had and had a wander over to Mothercare where we ended up buying their 'Jungle Family' bedding because it was on special. I remember we had a conversation about whether it was OK to buy it or not because I hadn't had my scan yet and then dismissing our doubts as silly. Oh if only. What a perfect day we had, no worries just lots of happiness - looking forward to our future little bundle of joy.
And even when things were getting bad and we had the Turner Syndrome result confirmed I remember feeling also a strange kind of happiness that I was carrying the little girl I had wished for. My very own little princess.
It is these and many more moments, which at the time seemed just ordinary everyday happenings, that now fill me with a sense of comfort, joy and happiness.
She is my daughter and yes we lost her to Turner Syndrome and that has devastated our lives but she also brought us so much happiness that will never be forgotten..
Love you Emily xxx
On Joy and Sorrow
(Kahlil Gilbran)
Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.
And he answered:
Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your
laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your
tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your
being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very
cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your
spirit, the very wood that was hollowed
with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into
your heart and you shall find it is only that
which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in
your heart, and you shall see that in truth
you are weeping for that which has been
your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than
sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is
the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits
alone with you at your board, remember
that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales be-
tween your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at
standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to
weigh his gold and his silver, needs must
your joy or your sorrow rise or fall
Sunday 16 October 2011
A Day of Rememberance... A Day of Reflection
Yesterday, October 15th was International pregnancy and infant loss awareness day. And it's a day as a baby loss mother we were well aware of approaching. But I wonder how many others were aware of it? This October so far I have heard about Breast Cancer awareness week and even chocolate week but so little from other people about the 15th.
And yet the statistics and percentages of losing a baby happening to you or someone you know are horrific. 17 babies die every day in the UK from stillbirth, neonatal death and SIDs. That doesn't take into account the tiny ones lost through miscarriage, or 2nd trimester loss before 24 weeks. I dread to think what the numbers would look like with these included. And that's just for the UK.
An estimated 1 in 4 women will suffer from pregnancy or infant loss. 1 in 100 woman will suffer multiple losses. And still people wont talk about it. People wont admit it is such a common occurence. So many are left to grieve in silence, alone.
October 15th is everyones chance to stand together and say - We remember our babies. To show the world that the did exist, that they were wanted, that they are loved and missed always.
Emilys memorial candle, her name in the sand pic, willow tree 'guardian' ornament - female clutching newborn infant close to her, tiny hat knitted by an angel mum from Calvins Hats, tiny teddy that Emily also has one of in her forever bed and 17 lit tealight candles to represent all the angel babies.
Lit candles in rememberance of all our babies gone too soon.
Always in our thoughts.
Forever in our hearts.
Whilst lighting my candles and photographing them I felt myself reflecting on lots of different aspects of my loss and how it has changed me. I felt strangely comforted later when I seen photographs of other lit candles from all over the world via facebook, blogger and an online forum I am a member of. It was comforting to know that candles were glowing bright all over the world for all our angels. It gave me a sense of unity, of friendship of 'belonging' that I feel has been missing since losing Emily. On that day my world stop turning - everything changed and for those around me their lives kept moving forward. Yes they were affected by my loss but for them life had to continue. And I guess I felt alone, isolated, left behind. Even in a room full of people. October 15th made me realise that I am not alone and for that I am grateful.
I light this candle in memory of
Emily McDonald
Born sleeping on the 24th July 2011
To remember is painful,
To forget is impossible.
Monday 10 October 2011
Gone and Left a Beautiful Hole In My Heart
78 days.
11 weeks.
2 months, 2 weeks and 2 days...
I thought I would get stronger, as time passed. I thought the hurt would feel less raw. I thought I was one of lifes 'copers'. I thought I could learn to cope even with this. But now I don't know if I ever will. I can't cope anymore. I'm not coping. Infact as time passes I feel like I've got less and less control over myself. Instead of getting easier, it feels like everything has gotten ten times harder. I've lost count of the amount of people who keep giving me some platitude or other - It will get easier, Times a great healer, etc. But they're wrong, I don't think it will ever get easier.
And it's all I think about every single second of every single day. Round and round and round my head - Emily, Emily, Emily! My baby, my daughter, my princess. She should be here soon. I should be feeling her kick. What would she have been like? What would life have been like? I would have loved her no matter what. Why her? Why me? Why does she get to have her baby and I can't have mine? Did I do the right thing? I wish I could go back in time and see her again. Does she forgive me? All of these questions at a million miles an hour over and over and over again. No matter what I do she is there and even when I do smile or laugh my thoughts at the back of my mind are still about her.
I sit and watch people around me going on with their lives and I feel stuck. I don't want to get better if 'better' means forgetting her or not thinking about her 24/7, because she deserves to be remembered. But I can't go on like this either. My head hurts from it all. Everything hurts. I just want everything to stop. I want to scream and shout and stamp my feet - THIS IS NOT FAIR!
I know it's such a cliché but it's true - I feel like someone has carved a huge hole out of my insides. My heart physically aches and nothing I try and do stops that hurt. I can't even explain it properly. I feel empty. Incomplete. Adrift. And I feel like no-one around me understands and not for want of trying. I mean, I know my family and friends try to understand - they have their own pain over losing her too. And no doubt it is painful for them to see me hurting. But it's not the same. No-one truly knows how I feel. It's such a basic human thing isn't it? To be pregnant, millions of people all over the world do it every single day. And yet I couldn't. I was the one responsible for growing her, for keeping her safe for 9 months - and I couldn't even do that properly. I know they tell me it was chromosomal and there was nothing we could have done - that it was 'just one of those things' but it doesn't take away any of that sense of failure. I let her down and then I let them take away her life.
What kind of mother does that make me?
11 weeks.
2 months, 2 weeks and 2 days...
I thought I would get stronger, as time passed. I thought the hurt would feel less raw. I thought I was one of lifes 'copers'. I thought I could learn to cope even with this. But now I don't know if I ever will. I can't cope anymore. I'm not coping. Infact as time passes I feel like I've got less and less control over myself. Instead of getting easier, it feels like everything has gotten ten times harder. I've lost count of the amount of people who keep giving me some platitude or other - It will get easier, Times a great healer, etc. But they're wrong, I don't think it will ever get easier.
Time does not bring relief
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892–1950).
And it's all I think about every single second of every single day. Round and round and round my head - Emily, Emily, Emily! My baby, my daughter, my princess. She should be here soon. I should be feeling her kick. What would she have been like? What would life have been like? I would have loved her no matter what. Why her? Why me? Why does she get to have her baby and I can't have mine? Did I do the right thing? I wish I could go back in time and see her again. Does she forgive me? All of these questions at a million miles an hour over and over and over again. No matter what I do she is there and even when I do smile or laugh my thoughts at the back of my mind are still about her.
I sit and watch people around me going on with their lives and I feel stuck. I don't want to get better if 'better' means forgetting her or not thinking about her 24/7, because she deserves to be remembered. But I can't go on like this either. My head hurts from it all. Everything hurts. I just want everything to stop. I want to scream and shout and stamp my feet - THIS IS NOT FAIR!
I know it's such a cliché but it's true - I feel like someone has carved a huge hole out of my insides. My heart physically aches and nothing I try and do stops that hurt. I can't even explain it properly. I feel empty. Incomplete. Adrift. And I feel like no-one around me understands and not for want of trying. I mean, I know my family and friends try to understand - they have their own pain over losing her too. And no doubt it is painful for them to see me hurting. But it's not the same. No-one truly knows how I feel. It's such a basic human thing isn't it? To be pregnant, millions of people all over the world do it every single day. And yet I couldn't. I was the one responsible for growing her, for keeping her safe for 9 months - and I couldn't even do that properly. I know they tell me it was chromosomal and there was nothing we could have done - that it was 'just one of those things' but it doesn't take away any of that sense of failure. I let her down and then I let them take away her life.
What kind of mother does that make me?
You've gone.
Gone and left a beautiful hole in my heart.
Sunday 9 October 2011
Freaking out
I have resumed back to work. I start back tomorrow. I am totally freaking out tonight 
Its been 11 weeks I should be stronger. I should be able to do this. But I dont think I can. I just had to call in as a formality to log my return to work and it was one of my colleagues I got on the phone - he said 'Oh are you feeling fighting fit now' and I felt like sobbing right there and then - no I'm not fighting fit I want to spend another 11 weeks curled under the duvet But I cant. My pay stops on wednesday and I cant afford to live with no pay.
Then one of the managers just called me to tell me the new carpark rules as I wont be able to park there tomorrow because I dont have a new pass - well she said 'it will be good to have you back, we're all excited to see you' which should be good right? but its not. I dont want people to look at me - I cant stand that look of pity in their eyes.
I cant do this. I cant breathe. I cant stop crying. But I have to. I have to get a grip. Just breathe. Just do this.
I'm sure after tomorrow it will be easier. I just have to get this out of the way.
Its been 11 weeks I should be stronger. I should be able to do this. But I dont think I can. I just had to call in as a formality to log my return to work and it was one of my colleagues I got on the phone - he said 'Oh are you feeling fighting fit now' and I felt like sobbing right there and then - no I'm not fighting fit I want to spend another 11 weeks curled under the duvet
But I cant. My pay stops on wednesday and I cant afford to live with no pay. Then one of the managers just called me to tell me the new carpark rules as I wont be able to park there tomorrow because I dont have a new pass - well she said 'it will be good to have you back, we're all excited to see you' which should be good right? but its not. I dont want people to look at me - I cant stand that look of pity in their eyes.
I cant do this. I cant breathe. I cant stop crying. But I have to. I have to get a grip. Just breathe. Just do this.
I'm sure after tomorrow it will be easier. I just have to get this out of the way.
Friday 30 September 2011
Courageous or just desperation?
Immediately after losing Emily I told my partner that I never wanted to go through this again, that I never wanted to have another loss so that had to mean that I never would have another child.
The next day that thought completly u-turned and I was suddenly desperate to have another baby. To try again. I hate that phrase by the way, to try again, it sounds like something you would say to a child who picks the blue crayon when you asked them to find the red one - Oops you got that wrong, lets try that again. Anyway with the 8 weeks of bleeding we obviously didn't have the chance to "try again" and we wanted to wait and speak to our doctors etc first.
Well our OBGYN consultant said she recommends waiting 6 months but that there is no real reason why we cannot try as soon as we wanted. A week after that appointment I was rushed into hospital for an emergency ERPC due to retained placenta! But again the doctors said there was no real reason to wait. I even triple checked with my GP who said the same thing!
So off we starated on this journey again - Trying to Conceive.
We haven't told anyone yet and I dont think we will. I change my mind on a daily basis about when I will tell people we have actually managed it again. There are days when I think I would want to shout it from the rooftops - I am pregnant - I have something to smile about again! And there are other days when I think I wont tell anyone until we get that first ultrasound that puts us in the clear because I dont want to tempt fate. I am undecided so I guess we will simply have to wait and see what happens when it happens!
So anyway, the point of this blog was that someone on an online support forum called me 'courageous' for wanting to try again. But I dont know. Is what I am doing courageous? Or is it sheer desperation?
I certainly dont feel courageous.
But desperation?
I certainly feel desperate to be pregnant again.
Desperate to have that little life growing inside me.
Desperate to have the chance to do it right this time.
Desperate to see my healthy baby on an ultrasound.
Desperate to hear the sonographer say 'congratualtions' instead of 'I'm sorry but...'.
Desperate to feel my baby kick inside me.
Desperate to be able to buy things and to decorate the nursery.
Desperate to bring my baby home and hold them.
Desperate to be a family - to make my partner a daddy.
Desperate to be able to buy my baby things and not just memorial items to take to a grave.
I am desperate. Desperately wanting my Emily back. And now I'm not so sure if that desperation of wanting her back is the same as wanting another child. Do I just want these things? Or do I want to do these things with her? Because it is her I love - not just A. N. Other child. *sigh* I dont know.
Its not the first time either where people have commented about how 'brave' I am or how 'strong' I am being. I am neither courageous, brave nor strong. There is no other option but to battle through these dark times. Trust me if there was another way I would have done it by now! You really do just have to get on with things. That doesn't mean I am strong, it doesn't mean that I like it either - it just means what it is. Life. And life sucks!
So onwards on our journey we go... Who knows where it where the road will take us this time?
The next day that thought completly u-turned and I was suddenly desperate to have another baby. To try again. I hate that phrase by the way, to try again, it sounds like something you would say to a child who picks the blue crayon when you asked them to find the red one - Oops you got that wrong, lets try that again. Anyway with the 8 weeks of bleeding we obviously didn't have the chance to "try again" and we wanted to wait and speak to our doctors etc first.
Well our OBGYN consultant said she recommends waiting 6 months but that there is no real reason why we cannot try as soon as we wanted. A week after that appointment I was rushed into hospital for an emergency ERPC due to retained placenta! But again the doctors said there was no real reason to wait. I even triple checked with my GP who said the same thing!
So off we starated on this journey again - Trying to Conceive.
We haven't told anyone yet and I dont think we will. I change my mind on a daily basis about when I will tell people we have actually managed it again. There are days when I think I would want to shout it from the rooftops - I am pregnant - I have something to smile about again! And there are other days when I think I wont tell anyone until we get that first ultrasound that puts us in the clear because I dont want to tempt fate. I am undecided so I guess we will simply have to wait and see what happens when it happens!
So anyway, the point of this blog was that someone on an online support forum called me 'courageous' for wanting to try again. But I dont know. Is what I am doing courageous? Or is it sheer desperation?
I certainly dont feel courageous.
But desperation?
I certainly feel desperate to be pregnant again.
Desperate to have that little life growing inside me.
Desperate to have the chance to do it right this time.
Desperate to see my healthy baby on an ultrasound.
Desperate to hear the sonographer say 'congratualtions' instead of 'I'm sorry but...'.
Desperate to feel my baby kick inside me.
Desperate to be able to buy things and to decorate the nursery.
Desperate to bring my baby home and hold them.
Desperate to be a family - to make my partner a daddy.
Desperate to be able to buy my baby things and not just memorial items to take to a grave.
I am desperate. Desperately wanting my Emily back. And now I'm not so sure if that desperation of wanting her back is the same as wanting another child. Do I just want these things? Or do I want to do these things with her? Because it is her I love - not just A. N. Other child. *sigh* I dont know.
Its not the first time either where people have commented about how 'brave' I am or how 'strong' I am being. I am neither courageous, brave nor strong. There is no other option but to battle through these dark times. Trust me if there was another way I would have done it by now! You really do just have to get on with things. That doesn't mean I am strong, it doesn't mean that I like it either - it just means what it is. Life. And life sucks!
So onwards on our journey we go... Who knows where it where the road will take us this time?
Thursday 22 September 2011
Facing my reality... in my nightmares.
As the days turn to weeks and the weeks into months I am getting better at my 'Public Face'. I'm sure anyone coming through babyloss will know this face well... It's that smiley happy face, that face that says 'I'm OK'. The face that makes people think - she's coping well, she's handling things, she's finding her way through, she'll get there.
Some days I think I manage to fool even myself with the face so firmly positioned. Other days I feel like I want to rip the face off and show people the ugly truth that lurks beneath. I want to scream and shout and rave 'My baby, I want her! I miss her! I ache for her! Let me be with her, I need to be with her'.
I'm tired. So tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying to get through the day. Tired of trying to make it through the night.
In the beginning I sought comfort in sleep. When I slept I didn't hurt - so I slept a lot. But now, in some cruel twist of fate I can't even seek solace in sleep anymore because as soon as my eyes close the nightmares start. Really they are more like night terrors - I shake, writhe and scream in my sleep. I wake up sobbing and struggle to close my eyes again. I see her everynight - but not in my dreams. They are never nice. I never feel love in my nightmares - only sheer terror. I re-live that day. That day. But it's even more horrific in my dreams, if that is even possible. And then it will change. There are different variations but always the same subject. Last night I was screaming as I was gribbing fistfuls of earth and mud - clawing at her grave - desperately wanting to be with her.
Maybe the face isn't such a good idea. Maybe my sub-concious is trying to tell me that I have to take the face off and deal with my reality. Maybe its trying to tell me that its impossible to outrun reality.
This is my reality now... This is my now. And I guess I can't hide from it forever because it will always find a way to get me.
Some days I think I manage to fool even myself with the face so firmly positioned. Other days I feel like I want to rip the face off and show people the ugly truth that lurks beneath. I want to scream and shout and rave 'My baby, I want her! I miss her! I ache for her! Let me be with her, I need to be with her'.
I'm tired. So tired. Tired of hurting. Tired of pretending. Tired of trying to get through the day. Tired of trying to make it through the night.
In the beginning I sought comfort in sleep. When I slept I didn't hurt - so I slept a lot. But now, in some cruel twist of fate I can't even seek solace in sleep anymore because as soon as my eyes close the nightmares start. Really they are more like night terrors - I shake, writhe and scream in my sleep. I wake up sobbing and struggle to close my eyes again. I see her everynight - but not in my dreams. They are never nice. I never feel love in my nightmares - only sheer terror. I re-live that day. That day. But it's even more horrific in my dreams, if that is even possible. And then it will change. There are different variations but always the same subject. Last night I was screaming as I was gribbing fistfuls of earth and mud - clawing at her grave - desperately wanting to be with her.
Maybe the face isn't such a good idea. Maybe my sub-concious is trying to tell me that I have to take the face off and deal with my reality. Maybe its trying to tell me that its impossible to outrun reality.
This is my reality now... This is my now. And I guess I can't hide from it forever because it will always find a way to get me.
Tuesday 20 September 2011
Drama!
Friday 16th September was my sisters 23rd birthday. And what a 23rd birthday she had!
We went to visit my mum in hospital and she was not in the best of moods and understandabley so! She was really pissed off with the doctors and nurses, sore, fed up and tired - so it wasnt the best hospital visit ever and I think it upset both of us quite a bit. At 4pm mum noticed her drain had fallen out of her back and I went to tell the nurses - they asked my sister and I to step outside and wait whilst they tried to fix it. When I stood there I felt blood pouring out of me so I ran down the stairs to the toilets. I had soaked through a whole super-maxi pad and the blood was coming through my underwear and trousers. I went back up the stairs and stood beside Laura - I couldn't leave as my bag and jacket where in the room with mum. I went to sit down as I could feel the blood starting again - I started to cry and had to tell Laura what was happening. She went to try and get my bag and jacket by the time she came back and I stood up the blood was everywhere - there was a huge pool of it in the chair I had sat on. I got it in my head I had to get home so I tied my jacket around my waist and headed for my car - but I didnt get that far. As I got outside the hospital I could feel the blood getting worse - I ran down the hospital and into the A&E.
By the time I got there the blood was pouring down my legs and pooling on the floor. There was queue at the reception and I stood there crying not knowing what to do. Eventually a nurse noticed me and came and took me into the triage room. I managed to tell her what was happening in between huge sobs and they got me into a cubicle.
I was seen by the doctor and referred to gynae. The gynae doctor wanted to admit me due to the blood loss and so I was sent by ambulance to the Royal hospital and admitted into ward 56A where I was put on a drip overnight and then scanned in the morning. The scan showed I had retained placental tissue and the doctor said it would need to be removed via surgery. On Saturday night I was taken for an ERPC (Evacuation of Retained Products of Conception). Going to theatre was scary - it was an emergency theatre they were using so there was no anaesthetic room - I was taken straight in and could see the whole team standing there, equipement and drugs and everything lying around waiting for me to go to sleep! It was rather unnerving.
So that is it over now. I am quite annoyed that the medical profession let it go on for this long. I was lucky that I happened to be in the hospital grounds at the time of the bleed, but what if I had been out in the middle of nowhere walking the dogs on my own!?
At least now I feel we can try and move forward. Maybe.
We went to visit my mum in hospital and she was not in the best of moods and understandabley so! She was really pissed off with the doctors and nurses, sore, fed up and tired - so it wasnt the best hospital visit ever and I think it upset both of us quite a bit. At 4pm mum noticed her drain had fallen out of her back and I went to tell the nurses - they asked my sister and I to step outside and wait whilst they tried to fix it. When I stood there I felt blood pouring out of me so I ran down the stairs to the toilets. I had soaked through a whole super-maxi pad and the blood was coming through my underwear and trousers. I went back up the stairs and stood beside Laura - I couldn't leave as my bag and jacket where in the room with mum. I went to sit down as I could feel the blood starting again - I started to cry and had to tell Laura what was happening. She went to try and get my bag and jacket by the time she came back and I stood up the blood was everywhere - there was a huge pool of it in the chair I had sat on. I got it in my head I had to get home so I tied my jacket around my waist and headed for my car - but I didnt get that far. As I got outside the hospital I could feel the blood getting worse - I ran down the hospital and into the A&E.
By the time I got there the blood was pouring down my legs and pooling on the floor. There was queue at the reception and I stood there crying not knowing what to do. Eventually a nurse noticed me and came and took me into the triage room. I managed to tell her what was happening in between huge sobs and they got me into a cubicle.
I was seen by the doctor and referred to gynae. The gynae doctor wanted to admit me due to the blood loss and so I was sent by ambulance to the Royal hospital and admitted into ward 56A where I was put on a drip overnight and then scanned in the morning. The scan showed I had retained placental tissue and the doctor said it would need to be removed via surgery. On Saturday night I was taken for an ERPC (Evacuation of Retained Products of Conception). Going to theatre was scary - it was an emergency theatre they were using so there was no anaesthetic room - I was taken straight in and could see the whole team standing there, equipement and drugs and everything lying around waiting for me to go to sleep! It was rather unnerving.
So that is it over now. I am quite annoyed that the medical profession let it go on for this long. I was lucky that I happened to be in the hospital grounds at the time of the bleed, but what if I had been out in the middle of nowhere walking the dogs on my own!?
At least now I feel we can try and move forward. Maybe.
Friday 16 September 2011
Moving on...
It's a strange feeling watching everyone around you moving on - getting on with their own lives - leaving you floudering behind. I get the feeling they think 'It's been 8 weeks now, its time to move on'. And maybe that is true, for them, but not for me. Who said they got to put a time limit on losing a child?
Throughout all of this - right from the minute things started to go wrong at our 12 week scan - people have been texting and calling making sure we are OK, asking if there is anything we need. I noticed that after July 24th when Emily was born that we got an influx of calls and texts - people sending their sympathies - but then they started to dwindle until after her funeral when they almost stopped altogether. Apparently after the funeral we dont need support anymore? Or did I manage to fool enough people by telling them I was 'Okay'? Who knows. Would I have been different if the shoe were on the other foot? If I was the one in the position to offer comfort. I dont know. I honestly dont. Because if this has taught me anything its that you never know what you will do in any given situation until you are in it - until you have to come face to face with your fears you can not say with ultimate clarity what you would do.
For me, I feel like everything is getting worse rather than better or easier 8 weeks on. People keep telling me that time heals all wounds, well that may be true, but it seems that learning to live with the scars that are left behind is the hard part.
Throughout all of this - right from the minute things started to go wrong at our 12 week scan - people have been texting and calling making sure we are OK, asking if there is anything we need. I noticed that after July 24th when Emily was born that we got an influx of calls and texts - people sending their sympathies - but then they started to dwindle until after her funeral when they almost stopped altogether. Apparently after the funeral we dont need support anymore? Or did I manage to fool enough people by telling them I was 'Okay'? Who knows. Would I have been different if the shoe were on the other foot? If I was the one in the position to offer comfort. I dont know. I honestly dont. Because if this has taught me anything its that you never know what you will do in any given situation until you are in it - until you have to come face to face with your fears you can not say with ultimate clarity what you would do.
For me, I feel like everything is getting worse rather than better or easier 8 weeks on. People keep telling me that time heals all wounds, well that may be true, but it seems that learning to live with the scars that are left behind is the hard part.
Thursday 8 September 2011
Needing the needle...
I've often thought about getting a tattoo and then laughed at myself for even thinking about it! I would no doubt get something and then 2 days later wish I had gotten something else. Or wish that I could rub it out altogether. I tossed around some ideas in my head of what I would get but nothing has ever seemed right.
So I decided it was unlikely I would ever get a tattoo.
And then we lost Emily.
Since losing her I have felt an intense desire to find some way, any way, of keeping her with me. With pregnancy loss being such a taboo subject - no one wants to even imagine it exists so why would they talk about it? So I'm struggling along. I have found a lot of support online, connecting with other baby loss mothers. Other families devastated by the loss of a much wanted baby. And it helps, it really does, to have someone understand just what you are feeling and thinking - someone to walk this path with.
But I still have this longing, this need for something physical. The only way I can describe it is a longing to hug someone - I physically ache for Emily, I want to hold her in my arms and protect her. But I cant. I know thats impossible so I have decided to get something that will act as a constant reminder that she existed - that she was my baby girl.
The first thing I done was order a beautiful necklace from Allison at www.pastelprints.co.uk. It is called the Angel Wings Memorial Necklace and this is mine -
It is incredible. And it means more to me than words can ever tell. It has an angels wing, a little tag with Emily on it, 2 birth-stones - Ruby for July when Emily was born and Garnet for January when she was due as well as her hand and footprint on charms. I wear it everyday with pride and hold it close at night whilst the tears fall as I go to sleep.
But even now I am scared of the day when I take it off. Right now I cant imagine ever taking it off - but years down the line I know I probably will. And then what?
And so I have decided to finally get that tattoo.
I dont get to see my baby growing in front of me I dont get to hold her. I believe that a tattoo will be my way of taking that emotional pain to a physical place. I will be changing my body in a physical way just like my emotional side has been forever changed when I lost Emily.
I even have an idea in my mind of what I want it to look like. Now I just need to find someone to do it and the courage to go through with it.
So I decided it was unlikely I would ever get a tattoo.
And then we lost Emily.
Since losing her I have felt an intense desire to find some way, any way, of keeping her with me. With pregnancy loss being such a taboo subject - no one wants to even imagine it exists so why would they talk about it? So I'm struggling along. I have found a lot of support online, connecting with other baby loss mothers. Other families devastated by the loss of a much wanted baby. And it helps, it really does, to have someone understand just what you are feeling and thinking - someone to walk this path with.
But I still have this longing, this need for something physical. The only way I can describe it is a longing to hug someone - I physically ache for Emily, I want to hold her in my arms and protect her. But I cant. I know thats impossible so I have decided to get something that will act as a constant reminder that she existed - that she was my baby girl.
The first thing I done was order a beautiful necklace from Allison at www.pastelprints.co.uk. It is called the Angel Wings Memorial Necklace and this is mine -
It is incredible. And it means more to me than words can ever tell. It has an angels wing, a little tag with Emily on it, 2 birth-stones - Ruby for July when Emily was born and Garnet for January when she was due as well as her hand and footprint on charms. I wear it everyday with pride and hold it close at night whilst the tears fall as I go to sleep.
But even now I am scared of the day when I take it off. Right now I cant imagine ever taking it off - but years down the line I know I probably will. And then what?
And so I have decided to finally get that tattoo.
I dont get to see my baby growing in front of me I dont get to hold her. I believe that a tattoo will be my way of taking that emotional pain to a physical place. I will be changing my body in a physical way just like my emotional side has been forever changed when I lost Emily.
I even have an idea in my mind of what I want it to look like. Now I just need to find someone to do it and the courage to go through with it.
Sunday 4 September 2011
Today...
Today is not a good day. Today is a bad day. Today is a day where I want the world to end. Today I cant imagine getting to tomorrow. Today I dont know how I got here - where did it all go wrong? What did I do to deserve this?
Today I should be 23 weeks pregnant. I should be walking around with a big belly bump, buying cute pink outfits, decorating my nursery. I should be excited - counting down the days till I get to meet my baby girl. So why am I instead 6 weeks on from saying goodbye to my precious girl. Why did I have to spend the morning sat on the wet damp grass by the side of my daughters grave tears streaming down my face wanting to scream - Why cant I have her? Why cant I hug her? Why couldn't I keep her safe inside me? What did I do wrong? Why did it have to happen to her? How is that fair? Why is life so cruel?
There is a huge gaping hole in my heart and I dont think it will ever go away. Its been 6 weeks and yes some days I feel stronger but some days, like today, I dont want to face the world.
Why did this have to be my today?
Today I should be 23 weeks pregnant. I should be walking around with a big belly bump, buying cute pink outfits, decorating my nursery. I should be excited - counting down the days till I get to meet my baby girl. So why am I instead 6 weeks on from saying goodbye to my precious girl. Why did I have to spend the morning sat on the wet damp grass by the side of my daughters grave tears streaming down my face wanting to scream - Why cant I have her? Why cant I hug her? Why couldn't I keep her safe inside me? What did I do wrong? Why did it have to happen to her? How is that fair? Why is life so cruel?
There is a huge gaping hole in my heart and I dont think it will ever go away. Its been 6 weeks and yes some days I feel stronger but some days, like today, I dont want to face the world.
Why did this have to be my today?
Friday 26 August 2011
Such a precious gift
Dont they realise how precious you are? What a gift they have been given? Dont they realise they should cherish every minute, no every second they have with you because you just dont know what the next second will bring?
I feel like I want to shake people - I want to scream and shout at them - "Love what you have - take a minute and just look at your childs face, that child is the most precious thing on this earth, dont waste a second of it, love them, cherish them, make them your whole life, they deserve that more than anything - please dont waste a second of it - it can all get taken away in a breath"
Why dont they realise? I wouldn't wish babyloss on anyone, not even my worst enemy but sometimes I just wish others could feel my pain, know what I have been through if only just for a minute so they will realise too just what a precious gift they hold in their hands.
I feel like I want to shake people - I want to scream and shout at them - "Love what you have - take a minute and just look at your childs face, that child is the most precious thing on this earth, dont waste a second of it, love them, cherish them, make them your whole life, they deserve that more than anything - please dont waste a second of it - it can all get taken away in a breath"
Why dont they realise? I wouldn't wish babyloss on anyone, not even my worst enemy but sometimes I just wish others could feel my pain, know what I have been through if only just for a minute so they will realise too just what a precious gift they hold in their hands.
Saturday 20 August 2011
Great expectations
Why is it always last thing at night when I am trying to go to sleep that my mind starts racing - a thousand thoughts per minute running through it. I always think to myself - I should turn the laptop on and write some of this down, get it out, but I never do. Instead the thought - I really should go to sleep - wins out and eventually the tears stop and I fall asleep probably through exhaustion. I should probably keep a notepad on the bedside table so that I can take notes, as normally by morning I have forgotten the detail of what was going through my mind and therefore have nothing to write! I should add that although I forget the detail I dont ever forget the main theme - and that is always Emily. She is in my every waking thought.
Someone said to me on the day of Emilys funeral "You may not know why this has happened to you now, but in years to come maybe you will begin to understand that there is a reason for everything." And I remember thinking 'You insensitive bitch' How would I ever come to accept that my daughter dying, that my daughter not having a chance to live, to be loved, happened for a reason? What possible reason is there on this earth for that to happen!? I dont know how I managed to not explode on that person that day - I think it probably helped that I was on auto-pilot otherwise I might have said or did something I would regret. Either way I was thinking about it again today and got just as angry and upset as the first time they said it. I dont think I will ever understand it. It makes no sense. Why do other people get to keep their children? Take home their babies? What did we do that makes us unworthy? Undeserving? Why are we being punished?
It made me think of this quote
"That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. But it is the same with any life. Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day."
And I suppose its true. This whole experience has changed me, I've said it before. I could never have predicted this would happen, but it has and my life will carry on. It will never be the same as before, everything has changed and that will affect my future forever. And I do think of how different it could have been - I spend most of my day thinking this! What if we hadn't conceived on the day we did? Would I still be pregnant? Would we still be eagerly awaiting the arrival of our little one? Maybe, but then that wouldn't have been Emily - it would have been someone else, someone different. And as much as I wish she were still here and still going to be a part of our family I do not for a moment ever wish she never was. So here we are, the present, changed people in a changed world forging on with our future but wishing so hard for the past - the time when everything was 'ok'.
Wednesday 17 August 2011
In a daze... 24 days.
24 days. 24 days since my world fell apart. How can that be? How can 24 days have passed by already?
24 days...
I still struggle to believe this has happened. How can this have happened? I still find myself absently putting my hand to my stomach as I would do when my girl was still in there and then it hits me again - shes not - shes gone. Gone, 24 days ago.
Each day is a daze still. I go through the motions, what other choice is there? If I could I would just stop. But I cant life carries on regardless and sweeps me along with it.
24 days...
24 days...
I still struggle to believe this has happened. How can this have happened? I still find myself absently putting my hand to my stomach as I would do when my girl was still in there and then it hits me again - shes not - shes gone. Gone, 24 days ago.
Each day is a daze still. I go through the motions, what other choice is there? If I could I would just stop. But I cant life carries on regardless and sweeps me along with it.
24 days...
Friday 12 August 2011
A touch from a stranger...
Yesterday I found this poem:
And thought about how true it is. I feel I have more in common with strangers - other mums who have suffered the same loss as me - than with some of the people I have known for years. Only they know my pain and grief - there are really no words to describe it. How do you grieve for a person you never got to know, for a relationship that ended before it really began. Its not a sadness for the person who lived and died but for the hopes, plans and dreams that you had for your baby and your family. I grieve for the loss of the future I dreamed we had, of never having the chance to be a mummy to my beautiful daughter. I'm sad not only for what I have lost but also for what will never be.
Yesterday I went to visit Emily's grave. Its so peaceful there and yet so very very sad. She is in the Baby Garden section of the cemetery so all the surronding graves are of babies who never got to make it into their mothers arms, or babies who died shortly after birth. I was there tending to her flowers, silent tears flowing when another family came to visit one of the graves nearby. They were only there for a few minutes just tending their baby boys grave but as they were leaving the mother noticed I was crying and asked if I would be okay. I stood up and told her that I would be fine and she wrapped her arms around me and just hugged me. It was the most heartfelt hug ever. In that moment without words we both knew we shared the same pain. We spoke for a while about our babies and our losses and she made me realise something important - I'm not just a person who has lost her baby - I am a mother who has lost her daughter. My daughter might not be here, she might never have looked at me and said 'mummy' but I am no less a mother than any other.
Its true, other people will probably never speak of me being a mother. Losing a child is an unthinkable horror that no-one wants to think much less talk about it, so for others it will be easier for them to pretend it never happened - to brush it under the carpet. I will forever be that 'thing in the room' that everyone knows is there but wont ever speak of. And because no-one ever got to meet Emily it will be easier for them to be that way - they didn't see her so she wasnt there. But she was, I went through my pregnancy - we seen her on the scans waving her arms and legs, sucking her thumb. I felt her move inside me. I seen my body change through pregnancy. And I gave birth. We seen her perfectly formed but tiny little body and wished her goodbye.
I am Emilys mum and I always will be.
I will never forget my daughter. She may not be with my physically but she will never leave my heart. She is a part of me, the whole of me. And whilst the loss of her is the worst sorrow of my life it is only true because her being was the greatest joy.
Angel mums together
We have shared our tears and our sorrow,
We have given encouragement to each other,
Given hope for a brighter tomorrow,
We share the title of grieving mother.
Some of us lost older daughters or sons,
Who we watched grow over the years,
Some have lost their babies before their lives begun,
But no matter the age , we cry the same tears.
We understand each others pain,
The bond we share is very strong,
With each other there is no need to explain,
The path we walk is hard and long.
Our children brought us together,
They didn't want us on this journey alone,
They knew we needed each other,
To survive the pain of them being gone.
So take my hand my friend,
We may stumble and fall along the way,
But we'll get up and try again,
Because together we can make it day by day.
We can give each other hope,
We'll create a place where we belong,
Together we will find ways to cope,
Because we are Angel Mums
and together we are strong!
We have shared our tears and our sorrow,
We have given encouragement to each other,
Given hope for a brighter tomorrow,
We share the title of grieving mother.
Some of us lost older daughters or sons,
Who we watched grow over the years,
Some have lost their babies before their lives begun,
But no matter the age , we cry the same tears.
We understand each others pain,
The bond we share is very strong,
With each other there is no need to explain,
The path we walk is hard and long.
Our children brought us together,
They didn't want us on this journey alone,
They knew we needed each other,
To survive the pain of them being gone.
So take my hand my friend,
We may stumble and fall along the way,
But we'll get up and try again,
Because together we can make it day by day.
We can give each other hope,
We'll create a place where we belong,
Together we will find ways to cope,
Because we are Angel Mums
and together we are strong!
And thought about how true it is. I feel I have more in common with strangers - other mums who have suffered the same loss as me - than with some of the people I have known for years. Only they know my pain and grief - there are really no words to describe it. How do you grieve for a person you never got to know, for a relationship that ended before it really began. Its not a sadness for the person who lived and died but for the hopes, plans and dreams that you had for your baby and your family. I grieve for the loss of the future I dreamed we had, of never having the chance to be a mummy to my beautiful daughter. I'm sad not only for what I have lost but also for what will never be.
A wife who loses a husband is called a widow.
A husband who loses a wife is called a widower.
A child who loses his parents is called an orphan.
But...there is no word for a parent who loses a child, that's how awful the loss is!
Yesterday I went to visit Emily's grave. Its so peaceful there and yet so very very sad. She is in the Baby Garden section of the cemetery so all the surronding graves are of babies who never got to make it into their mothers arms, or babies who died shortly after birth. I was there tending to her flowers, silent tears flowing when another family came to visit one of the graves nearby. They were only there for a few minutes just tending their baby boys grave but as they were leaving the mother noticed I was crying and asked if I would be okay. I stood up and told her that I would be fine and she wrapped her arms around me and just hugged me. It was the most heartfelt hug ever. In that moment without words we both knew we shared the same pain. We spoke for a while about our babies and our losses and she made me realise something important - I'm not just a person who has lost her baby - I am a mother who has lost her daughter. My daughter might not be here, she might never have looked at me and said 'mummy' but I am no less a mother than any other.
Its true, other people will probably never speak of me being a mother. Losing a child is an unthinkable horror that no-one wants to think much less talk about it, so for others it will be easier for them to pretend it never happened - to brush it under the carpet. I will forever be that 'thing in the room' that everyone knows is there but wont ever speak of. And because no-one ever got to meet Emily it will be easier for them to be that way - they didn't see her so she wasnt there. But she was, I went through my pregnancy - we seen her on the scans waving her arms and legs, sucking her thumb. I felt her move inside me. I seen my body change through pregnancy. And I gave birth. We seen her perfectly formed but tiny little body and wished her goodbye.
I am Emilys mum and I always will be.
I will never forget my daughter. She may not be with my physically but she will never leave my heart. She is a part of me, the whole of me. And whilst the loss of her is the worst sorrow of my life it is only true because her being was the greatest joy.
Thursday 11 August 2011
A new kind of okay
People keep asking me the question 'How are you?' and I have no idea how to answer it. I find myself saying 'I am OK' but I am anything but ok. I want to scream and shout and cry every minute of every day. There isn't a second that passes where I dont think about Emily, where I dont wish things were different. Oh how I wish they were different.
I guess I should start saying 'I am coping' because thats probably a better description of my day. I had a doctors appointment today because my sick line was due and she, like everyone else, asked me how I was and if I was eating and sleeping... I said I was 'ok' (theres that word again) and that yes I was eating and sleeping. What I didn't say was that I am not 'ok' but I am getting good at faking it and although I eat I dont taste anything and I sleep because its the only time I dont hurt - from the minute I wake I spend my day counting down the hours until it seems acceptable to go to sleep again. I stare at the TV but dont watch anything. I basically go about my normal day doing normal things but feeling anything but normal inside.
Its hard to describe to anyone who hasnt been through it. How do you go about being OK when all your hopes and dreams have been shattered? When the world you thought you knew has changed so completely? When tomorrow feels like forever away, another whole day apart from Emily... just another day to cope through.
I guess this is my new kind of okay.
I guess I should start saying 'I am coping' because thats probably a better description of my day. I had a doctors appointment today because my sick line was due and she, like everyone else, asked me how I was and if I was eating and sleeping... I said I was 'ok' (theres that word again) and that yes I was eating and sleeping. What I didn't say was that I am not 'ok' but I am getting good at faking it and although I eat I dont taste anything and I sleep because its the only time I dont hurt - from the minute I wake I spend my day counting down the hours until it seems acceptable to go to sleep again. I stare at the TV but dont watch anything. I basically go about my normal day doing normal things but feeling anything but normal inside.
Its hard to describe to anyone who hasnt been through it. How do you go about being OK when all your hopes and dreams have been shattered? When the world you thought you knew has changed so completely? When tomorrow feels like forever away, another whole day apart from Emily... just another day to cope through.
I guess this is my new kind of okay.
Life is a rollercoaster...
To start at the beginning...
What a rollercoaster the last 5 months has been. My partner and I had always spoke about having children but the time never seemed right. Then one night a random conversation started about babies and suddenly we were talking about trying to conceive. We had always wanted to wait until the time was 'right' but that conversation made us realise that there probably would never be a 'right' time. We have been together over 7 years (now nearly 8), had just bought our first home together, both had good paying jobs that allowed us to lead a nice life - OK they arent in the professions we ultimately seen ourselves in but they paid the bills etc. So we decided to begin to try. I started taking prenatal vitamins straight away, went to the doctor for a check-up and visited the family planning clinic to have my contraceptive coil removed. We were ready to go!
It seemed like my body wanted a baby as much as my heart now did because within 2 weeks of having the coil removed we had conceived! I didn't even have time to have a period in-between. I thought it would take a few months as I had been on the coil for 7 years and thought it would take a while for my body to regulate - obviously not. We got our first positive pregnancy test really quickly too - at only 6dpo. We were over the moon! So excited that I couldn't stop testing - the thrill of that little line getting darker day by day was amazing. I finally stopped testing 2 weeks later when the line was appearing before the control line!
We were so excited and told immediate family almost straightaway. Our parents were just as excited as we were. For both sides it was going to be their first grandchild! I could barely stop my mum jumping up and down in excitement!
I'll be the first to admit, my pregnancy was not an easy one. I didn't 'bloom' in pregnancy instead from about week 7 I was diagnosed with Hyperemisis - I couldnt keep anything down not even water. But even that wasn't enough to stop our happiness, I may have been miserable and being sick constantly but we were still looking forward to our little one's arrival in a few months time and began to plan our new lives.
We were so excited that we couldn't wait until our 12 week scan to catch our first glimpse of our little one so we paid for a private scan at 8w+4 - and we both sat in awe as we seen that little bean appear on the screen with a strong beating heart. A few short weeks later we were seeing her again at our 12 week scan! She was jumping around, waving her legs and arms and looked so perfect (to us) but not so perfect to the sonographer who uttered those words I will never forget at the end of the scan 'I have some concerns about your babies development'. Our whole world came crashing down around us with those few words. She explained that our baby had something called a Cystic Hygroma at the back of her neck and her measurement for the NT fluid was well over the normal limit at 11mm (the normal being below 3). She went to get the consultant who confirmed the same. From then on I felt like my world stopped and some evil nightmare had taken over. This was something you read about happening to others - not something that could actually happen to us, right? Surely someone had made a mistake? Or this really was a nightmare and I was about to wake up and be happy again?
But there was no mistake, this was really happening - and it was happening to us. The consultant confirmed that the NT fluid was very abnormal. She told us that 70% of babies would test positive for a Chromosomal Disorder the main 2 being Downs and Turner syndrome. We agreed to a CVS test, not because it would change our minds on what to do with out little one but because I just had to know what was going on and if anything could be done to help her.
In the end I had to have 3 CVS tests because the first 2 did not get enough tissue sample for the lab to grow. The third test came back positive for Turner Syndrome.
For those that dont know Turner Syndrome only affects females, instead of their chromosomes containing 'XX' like a typical female they are single X or 'X0' - X-nothing, they have only one sex chromosome. This causes various problems including infertility and short stature but didnt seem the end of the world until we read that for some reaon the medical profession has not yet answered almost 95% of babies diagnosed with Turner Syndrome will miscarry.
Those statistics terrified us. We were offered a termination at that point but declined it - we had to give our baby girl a chance she so deserved. So we fought on, determined that our little girl could prove the doctors wrong and make it be with us.
The next few weeks felt like hell on earth. We went from being happy and excited parents to be to two people who were terrified beyond words. We were classed as a 'high risk' pregnancy and put under consultant care for the remainder. The consultants wanted to keep a close eye on our little girl so arranged for regular scans. The news we did not want to hear came at our 16 week scan. I could see this time for myself as soon as the scan started that it was not good news. The consultant confirmed that our little girls Cystic Hygroma had gotten much worse - it had went from 11mm to over 40mm in just a short few weeks, it was now all over her head and looked like she was wearing a helmet. She also had a build up of fluid in between her skin, I think this is called Edema and also fluid on her lungs - the doctors said this build up of fluid was known as Hydrops and babies with Hydrops have a 0% chance of survival.
How could this be happening to our baby girl? Our precious, much wanted baby girl who was going to be loved more than anything? Who had a whole family eagerly awaiting her arrival.
The consultants were lovely and still gave us options, they told us we could stop the pregnancy now or we could continue and let our little one pass away on her own time but made it clear that these were sadly now the only options and that she would not make it to birth. We were never going to hold our baby girl in our arms.
We went home to think about it overnight and I did some internet research determined to find a story similar to ours with a positive outcome. Instead all I found was the horrible outcomes - the 0% was upehld time and time again.
We came to the difficult decision to stop the pregnancy. I couldnt go on thinking about my precious little girl getting worse inside me. The doctors told us she was in heart failure and she was smaller than she should be because of the pressure of the fluid on her little body already. They couldnt answer me when I asked them if she was suffering but I didnt want her to go that way. As a mother I couldn't live knowing that my child could be suffering and I wasn't doing anything to help her.
So we went into the hospital the next day and were given the first tablet. We went home and returned to hospital 48 hours later on the 24th July 2011 where they began to induce me at 9:30am. Nothing much happened for most of the morning and early afternoon apart from beginning to feel uncomfortable. I was much calmer than I thought I would be. I think deep down I knew we were doing what we had to for our little girl. It wasnt fair to keep her going when she was suffering so much. I wished so hard that I could do something to make it different, I would have done anything to change things so that she could make it.
My waters broke later in the afternoon and the pain started soon afterwards. I was given diamorphine and it made me so woozy and so sleepy I felt out of it for the next few hours. I had the first lot at 5pm and by 8pm the pain was back so they gave me more. At 11pm they done an internal and told me they wanted me to try and push. They came back at 11:30 and I delivered my beautiful baby girl shortly afterwards into a bedpan on the bed because it was the only way I could push down properly.
They took her away and came back to try and delivery my placenta - but it was so far away and too well attached still to come away on its own. They started talking about taking me to theatre but in the end the doctor managed to remove it with forceps.
We got to see our gorgeous girl shortly afterwards. She looked so perfect - all fully formed and peaceful looking just so very very tiny. We named her Emily. I couldnt bare to look at her for long it literally broke my heart into tiny pieces so they took her away just after midnight.
The midwives were so lovely. The one who was there when I delivered even cried when Emily arrived. I dont know how they do their jobs. I just hope the good times outweigh the bad for them. They are truly angels. And made what was the worst day of my life so much more bareable.
I still dont quite believe she is gone and that this has all happened. I feel like I am in a daze most of the time. Our sweet baby girl that we wanted so very very much and were so looking forward to holding in our arms is gone and we will never get her back. Instead we are having to face life without her.
We were offered cremation or burial and opted for a burial because she was so small we wouldnt get any of her ashes back to scatter with a cremation so it felt more like a 'disposal' than a goodbye. At first I thought I wanted her in the shared baby garden at the cemetry but then when once I had made the arrangements with the funeral directors I paniced and we have now bought her a private lair where she can have her own headstone and little space for a garden. It is still in a part of the cemtetry that is only for babies and although I know in my head that she is not there and it makes no difference I still find it nice to think of her playing with the other angel babies and having friends.
Emily was buried on the 1st August 2011 in the Baby Garden at Linn Cemetery, Glasgow. Seeing that little white coffin was horrific and that image will forever be in my head. Our baby girl in a coffin before her life had even begun. How wrong!! I dont remember much of the day - I was so scared of not being strong enough to make it through that I think my natural defences took over and I spent the day in daze. I suppose thats natural, the bodies way of coping. I cant remember anyone around me or what they were doing - the only thing I was concentrating on was that tiny white coffin with my daughters name on it.
Walking away from her grave was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I was so torn. I didn't want to leave her there, alone in the ground but at the same time I couldnt stand to be there staring at her.
My mum read a poem at the funeral called Little Snowdrop -
Or ever comes to be,
Touches the world in some small way
For all eternity.
It says everything really.
I then read No Hello, No Goodbye
What a rollercoaster the last 5 months has been. My partner and I had always spoke about having children but the time never seemed right. Then one night a random conversation started about babies and suddenly we were talking about trying to conceive. We had always wanted to wait until the time was 'right' but that conversation made us realise that there probably would never be a 'right' time. We have been together over 7 years (now nearly 8), had just bought our first home together, both had good paying jobs that allowed us to lead a nice life - OK they arent in the professions we ultimately seen ourselves in but they paid the bills etc. So we decided to begin to try. I started taking prenatal vitamins straight away, went to the doctor for a check-up and visited the family planning clinic to have my contraceptive coil removed. We were ready to go!
It seemed like my body wanted a baby as much as my heart now did because within 2 weeks of having the coil removed we had conceived! I didn't even have time to have a period in-between. I thought it would take a few months as I had been on the coil for 7 years and thought it would take a while for my body to regulate - obviously not. We got our first positive pregnancy test really quickly too - at only 6dpo. We were over the moon! So excited that I couldn't stop testing - the thrill of that little line getting darker day by day was amazing. I finally stopped testing 2 weeks later when the line was appearing before the control line!
We were so excited and told immediate family almost straightaway. Our parents were just as excited as we were. For both sides it was going to be their first grandchild! I could barely stop my mum jumping up and down in excitement!
I'll be the first to admit, my pregnancy was not an easy one. I didn't 'bloom' in pregnancy instead from about week 7 I was diagnosed with Hyperemisis - I couldnt keep anything down not even water. But even that wasn't enough to stop our happiness, I may have been miserable and being sick constantly but we were still looking forward to our little one's arrival in a few months time and began to plan our new lives.
We were so excited that we couldn't wait until our 12 week scan to catch our first glimpse of our little one so we paid for a private scan at 8w+4 - and we both sat in awe as we seen that little bean appear on the screen with a strong beating heart. A few short weeks later we were seeing her again at our 12 week scan! She was jumping around, waving her legs and arms and looked so perfect (to us) but not so perfect to the sonographer who uttered those words I will never forget at the end of the scan 'I have some concerns about your babies development'. Our whole world came crashing down around us with those few words. She explained that our baby had something called a Cystic Hygroma at the back of her neck and her measurement for the NT fluid was well over the normal limit at 11mm (the normal being below 3). She went to get the consultant who confirmed the same. From then on I felt like my world stopped and some evil nightmare had taken over. This was something you read about happening to others - not something that could actually happen to us, right? Surely someone had made a mistake? Or this really was a nightmare and I was about to wake up and be happy again?
But there was no mistake, this was really happening - and it was happening to us. The consultant confirmed that the NT fluid was very abnormal. She told us that 70% of babies would test positive for a Chromosomal Disorder the main 2 being Downs and Turner syndrome. We agreed to a CVS test, not because it would change our minds on what to do with out little one but because I just had to know what was going on and if anything could be done to help her.
In the end I had to have 3 CVS tests because the first 2 did not get enough tissue sample for the lab to grow. The third test came back positive for Turner Syndrome.
For those that dont know Turner Syndrome only affects females, instead of their chromosomes containing 'XX' like a typical female they are single X or 'X0' - X-nothing, they have only one sex chromosome. This causes various problems including infertility and short stature but didnt seem the end of the world until we read that for some reaon the medical profession has not yet answered almost 95% of babies diagnosed with Turner Syndrome will miscarry.
Those statistics terrified us. We were offered a termination at that point but declined it - we had to give our baby girl a chance she so deserved. So we fought on, determined that our little girl could prove the doctors wrong and make it be with us.
The next few weeks felt like hell on earth. We went from being happy and excited parents to be to two people who were terrified beyond words. We were classed as a 'high risk' pregnancy and put under consultant care for the remainder. The consultants wanted to keep a close eye on our little girl so arranged for regular scans. The news we did not want to hear came at our 16 week scan. I could see this time for myself as soon as the scan started that it was not good news. The consultant confirmed that our little girls Cystic Hygroma had gotten much worse - it had went from 11mm to over 40mm in just a short few weeks, it was now all over her head and looked like she was wearing a helmet. She also had a build up of fluid in between her skin, I think this is called Edema and also fluid on her lungs - the doctors said this build up of fluid was known as Hydrops and babies with Hydrops have a 0% chance of survival.
How could this be happening to our baby girl? Our precious, much wanted baby girl who was going to be loved more than anything? Who had a whole family eagerly awaiting her arrival.
The consultants were lovely and still gave us options, they told us we could stop the pregnancy now or we could continue and let our little one pass away on her own time but made it clear that these were sadly now the only options and that she would not make it to birth. We were never going to hold our baby girl in our arms.
We went home to think about it overnight and I did some internet research determined to find a story similar to ours with a positive outcome. Instead all I found was the horrible outcomes - the 0% was upehld time and time again.
We came to the difficult decision to stop the pregnancy. I couldnt go on thinking about my precious little girl getting worse inside me. The doctors told us she was in heart failure and she was smaller than she should be because of the pressure of the fluid on her little body already. They couldnt answer me when I asked them if she was suffering but I didnt want her to go that way. As a mother I couldn't live knowing that my child could be suffering and I wasn't doing anything to help her.
So we went into the hospital the next day and were given the first tablet. We went home and returned to hospital 48 hours later on the 24th July 2011 where they began to induce me at 9:30am. Nothing much happened for most of the morning and early afternoon apart from beginning to feel uncomfortable. I was much calmer than I thought I would be. I think deep down I knew we were doing what we had to for our little girl. It wasnt fair to keep her going when she was suffering so much. I wished so hard that I could do something to make it different, I would have done anything to change things so that she could make it.
My waters broke later in the afternoon and the pain started soon afterwards. I was given diamorphine and it made me so woozy and so sleepy I felt out of it for the next few hours. I had the first lot at 5pm and by 8pm the pain was back so they gave me more. At 11pm they done an internal and told me they wanted me to try and push. They came back at 11:30 and I delivered my beautiful baby girl shortly afterwards into a bedpan on the bed because it was the only way I could push down properly.
They took her away and came back to try and delivery my placenta - but it was so far away and too well attached still to come away on its own. They started talking about taking me to theatre but in the end the doctor managed to remove it with forceps.
We got to see our gorgeous girl shortly afterwards. She looked so perfect - all fully formed and peaceful looking just so very very tiny. We named her Emily. I couldnt bare to look at her for long it literally broke my heart into tiny pieces so they took her away just after midnight.
The midwives were so lovely. The one who was there when I delivered even cried when Emily arrived. I dont know how they do their jobs. I just hope the good times outweigh the bad for them. They are truly angels. And made what was the worst day of my life so much more bareable.
I still dont quite believe she is gone and that this has all happened. I feel like I am in a daze most of the time. Our sweet baby girl that we wanted so very very much and were so looking forward to holding in our arms is gone and we will never get her back. Instead we are having to face life without her.
We were offered cremation or burial and opted for a burial because she was so small we wouldnt get any of her ashes back to scatter with a cremation so it felt more like a 'disposal' than a goodbye. At first I thought I wanted her in the shared baby garden at the cemetry but then when once I had made the arrangements with the funeral directors I paniced and we have now bought her a private lair where she can have her own headstone and little space for a garden. It is still in a part of the cemtetry that is only for babies and although I know in my head that she is not there and it makes no difference I still find it nice to think of her playing with the other angel babies and having friends.
Emily was buried on the 1st August 2011 in the Baby Garden at Linn Cemetery, Glasgow. Seeing that little white coffin was horrific and that image will forever be in my head. Our baby girl in a coffin before her life had even begun. How wrong!! I dont remember much of the day - I was so scared of not being strong enough to make it through that I think my natural defences took over and I spent the day in daze. I suppose thats natural, the bodies way of coping. I cant remember anyone around me or what they were doing - the only thing I was concentrating on was that tiny white coffin with my daughters name on it.
Walking away from her grave was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I was so torn. I didn't want to leave her there, alone in the ground but at the same time I couldnt stand to be there staring at her.
My mum read a poem at the funeral called Little Snowdrop -
The world may never notice
If a Snowdrop doesn't bloom,
Or even pause to wonder
If the petals fall too soon.
If a Snowdrop doesn't bloom,
Or even pause to wonder
If the petals fall too soon.
Or ever comes to be,
Touches the world in some small way
For all eternity.
The little one we longed for
Was swiftly here and gone.
But the love that was then planted
Is a light that still shines on.
Was swiftly here and gone.
But the love that was then planted
Is a light that still shines on.
And though our arms are empty,
Our hearts know what to do.
For every beating of our hearts
Says that we love you.
Our hearts know what to do.
For every beating of our hearts
Says that we love you.
It says everything really.
I then read No Hello, No Goodbye
I never got to hear you laugh
you never saw me cry
Didn’t get a chance to say "Hello"
you never said "Goodbye"
I didn't think that I could feel
so sad, lost and forlorn
I never knew God chose his Angels
before some of them were born
Your life was short yet special
I shared it all exclusively
I felt you breathe, I felt you kick
you were alive inside of me
And although we are not together
we're not really apart
For you'll always occupy a space
deep within my heart
Time they say will ease my pain,
but every day now I cry
When I wish I could have said "Hello"
and heard you say "Goodbye"
you never saw me cry
Didn’t get a chance to say "Hello"
you never said "Goodbye"
I didn't think that I could feel
so sad, lost and forlorn
I never knew God chose his Angels
before some of them were born
Your life was short yet special
I shared it all exclusively
I felt you breathe, I felt you kick
you were alive inside of me
And although we are not together
we're not really apart
For you'll always occupy a space
deep within my heart
Time they say will ease my pain,
but every day now I cry
When I wish I could have said "Hello"
and heard you say "Goodbye"
Now the funeral is over with I feel lost. For 5 months I have been on a rollercoaster and I feel like now it is stopped - suspended upside down. The world is continuing on around me but I am just stuck here. For 5 months I have had something - getting pregnant, that initial excitement, the scan, the worry, the fighter for her to make it, the hoping, the fear, the worry, then devestation, trying to face reality, delivering Emily, saying goodbye, arranging the funeral, guilt, desperation... and now... well now there is just nothing. Nothing but hurt and loneliness. A world of sadness, a world that is too frightening to imagine.
Sometimes I feel so guilty and think I done the wrong thing - should I have just let her carry on and waited to see when she was ready to go? Did I make the decision because it was really best for her or was it because it was easier for me? Could I have done something different?
But its too late to question things now. My daughter is gone. I will never get to see her smile or hear her laugh and cry, never get to hold her or hug her. Instead I can only have her in my dreams. I visit a graveside with flowers and ornaments instead of singing my baby to sleep in my arms.
I long for her. I wish for her. I ache for her
Shattered dreams...
I suppose I'm really doing this the wrong way around. I did think about starting a journal at the start of this journey but time just seemed to slip away and before I knew it we are here. I'm not entirely sure I know where 'here' even is - its a place I never imagined I would be thats for sure. Its a place that is sad and frightening all at once, a place where even when people surrond you you feel alone and vulnerable, a place I wish no one had to be, ever. But its a place where I belong now and a journey I must travel no matter how much I wish things could have been different. I am a completely different person to the one I was at the start of this journey but more than that its not just me thats changed - its the whole entire world I live in. Nothing is the same anymore. Nothing will ever be the same again. I have woken up with new eyes and this new world is a scary place to be.
So I start this journal a changed person, a new me. My dreams shattered into a million pieces on a day that will forever be etched in my memory - the 24th of July 2011, the day my world stopped - the day my daughter died.
So I start this journal a changed person, a new me. My dreams shattered into a million pieces on a day that will forever be etched in my memory - the 24th of July 2011, the day my world stopped - the day my daughter died.
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