loss

Three weeks after our wedding S's mother passed away.  She was 92 and had had a full life: married for 70 years to a man she was still in love with, lived to know her great-grandchildren and never lost her impish sense of humour.  We miss her.

five

Tomorrow (Thur 6th Feb) will be five years since I lost my daughter Tilly.  It's been five years so, naturally, no-one else remembers.  Not my parents, not my friends and I am sure not even A.

There's no-one else I can tell, no-one else who will tell me that it is okay to still grieve except you who read this because you have also gone through similar.

I am very sad tonight.

out of nowhere

So there I was yesterday, immersed fathoms deep in a journal article I am writing with Dr Beardie, when this thought floated, unprompted and so unchecked, across my conciousness:
"I am never going to have a child"
 I lost my breath for a moment.

Infertility: the gift that keeps on giving.

stuff

Monday - not a good day.  After crying for 3 hours solid I forgot I am a 42-year-old independent, professional woman and phoned my mummy.  She came over and spent most of the day with me, force-feeding me toast and tea and bananas.
Monday was also the day I spent over £200 without going further than the end of my road.  An alarming clacking noise when I had driven the car to the gym on Saturday meant that I had to pay the RAC an extra £69 to upgrade to "home start" and call someone out.  He told me that the brake pads were rusty and slow to respond and the cure for this is to drive the car more. Just to be clear - in order to make my brakes work properly, I have to drive around on rusty and poorly responsive brakes.  I know...
That done, I put in a load of laundry and water came streaming out of the bottom of the washing machine.  The plumber diagnosed not only a broken pipe in the machine, but two more leaks in the kitchen sink plumbing and a broken kitchen tap.  I didn't believe him about the tap until he detached it and showed me where the pipe had a huge hole in it.  I had to run to the plumbing supply shop and buy a new mixer tap (£65) and an hour later the washing machine, leaks and new tap were sorted (£110).

Tuesday was a worse day.  After even less sleep I woke up to find that the plumber had failed to turn on all the water pipes he had turned off the day before.  And instead of going to the airing cupboard and trying all the valves to see which pipes I needed to open, I collapsed into tears.  And rang my dad.
It was at this point I realised that Something Was Amiss, so I went to the GP who signed me off work for 2 weeks and prescribed some anti-depressants and some sleeping pills.  I took the first pill that morning, today was my third dose and I think I already feel a little better.  I have only cried 3 times today, which is huge progress.

Yesterday I went into town to see Lovely Therapist.  I had already sent her a text on Monday morning to cancel our appointment and to tell her that A had left and she suggested I go to see her on my own anyway.  It was a difficult journey in, I had a panic attack half-way there because I realised I was "far" from home / sanctuary.  I had to finish the journey in a cab, but when I got there Lovely Therapist was even more lovely and the session really helped me to start to think about this as a loss (just as you equally lovely people had already told me).  I'm not pathetic or weak or cowardly; I'm grieving.

This morning I put a load of washing into my newly-mended machine and water started pouring out from the bottom.  If this had happened yesterday I think I would have seriously lost it, but instead I just called the plumber back, who told me that clearly the pipe couldn't be fixed and my washing machine was, in technical jargon, kaput.  So today I managed to spend £240 without leaving home and late next week I should have a new washing machine.
And this afternoon, I walked in to the bedroom to find that my darling little cat had been sick.  I've cleaned up and given her a cuddle but she is very subdued, off her food and just doesn't seem quite right.

So, Universe - what next?

lost

The blessed numbness that comes with shock has worn off and I don't know how to cope with this.

I thought I was stronger than this but I have been up since 4.30am (having fallen asleep at 2), just sobbing.  I know it's not the end of the world, it is not like A died, he just left.

But - oh hell this hurts.  It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

re-setting the Matrix

Almost exactly a year ago, A said he was leaving and only a lot of heartfelt words on my part made him stay.

Then, in August he left, thinking he would rather do that than take anti-depressants.

A week later he was back and we said that that was it - we made our best effort to make our relationship work without children.

This time last week, he told me he was going to start taking his anti-depressants again and  that since August, he had "often thought" of leaving.

Last night he told me that he stopped taking the tablets after 3 days because he wanted to live life without them.

This afternoon, he packed his bags with as much stuff as he could carry and left again.  And this time he's not coming back to me.

This hurts so much I don't know if I can stand it.

wrong

I thought things were changing, getting better, albeit slowly.

I was wrong.

At first I didn't realise.  A came back from his trip, we were pleased to see each other (I thought).  We went to see the Lovely Therapist last week and during that session A said that he would like the two of us to start thinking about looking in to international adoption.  My heart soared.

Then on Saturday night, A said that he was actually very depressed again and was going to start back on his anti-depressants the following day.  

Sunday afternoon it all came out: since getting back together in August, he has "often thought" of leaving.  He doesn't - or hasn't so far - because he feels that he is never going to be happy so he may as well stay with me.

He says he loves me still, though.  But I don't think I can believe him.

How could I have been so wrong, so blind?  So fracking stupid that I didn't see this coming?

a day like any other

Every day I think about my babies.
Tomorrow will be the same.
Every day I miss my babies.
Tomorrow will be the same.
Every day I wonder what Starchild and Bean and Little Stars would look like now.
Tomorrow will be the same.
Every day the hole in my heart is almost tangible.
Tomorrow will be the same.
Every day there is something missing.
Tomorrow will be the same.
Every day something, some thought, some sight, will make me catch my breath at the pain of loss.
Tomorrow will be the same.

Tomorrow is just another day like any other; I will mourn my babies no more or less than today.  But tomorrow is 6th February and two years to the day that we lost our precious daughter Bean and it hurts so much that I feel like I am going to shatter into shards.

everywhere

From the barista at my local coffee shop to the receptionist at work (22, unplanned) via one of the nurses, it seems that everyone in my working day is pregnant.

I am so bitter and envious and raw and hurting that I don't recognise myself.

days like these

Most of the time I potter along, doing okay. And then - bam! It all hits me all over again.

To be fair, today didn't come completely out of the blue, I've been teetering on the edge of a wobble since the weekend. Saturday went better than I expected (a post on that later) but it was a gathering where A and I were the only adults who weren't parents.

I have spent the days between then and now thinking about our losses.

I have a work colleague who regularly sends out forwarded emails (you know the kind). Usually she sends religious texts or prayers or miracle stories (all of which I find difficult being agnostic). This morning she sent a prayer which was illustrated by maybe 12 pictures of babies. Smiling, happy, healthy, living babies.

Three hours later I discovered another colleague is pregnant. No-one told me, she has just started to show.

And now I am undone. I miss my babies. I know that if Starchild had lived, I wouldn't have been pregnant with Bean. And if Bean had been born, I wouldn't have had my little stars inside me. But I miss my babies, all of them. I want to hold them and kiss them and feel their hearts beating and hear them laugh and watch them play and tell them how much I love them and how I will always love them.

I want my children back.

FB status - updated

You know all those "repost this if you are a mummy" status updates we see on In Yer Faceb00k? Well my cousin (mother of two living and one lost) posted this an hour ago.

This week we remember all babies born sleeping or who we have carried but never met and those we have held but could not take home. Make this your profile status if you or someone you know has suffered the loss of a precious baby. The majority won't do it, because unlike cancer, baby loss is still a taboo subject. Break the silence............... In memory of all our sleeping angels ♥ ♥

Updated: I hadn't re-posted this on my FB page - but I am just about to.

recommended reading

A little while ago, B recommended this book for the way it deals with grief. I got all excited because I bought and read a copy years ago when my BFF died. I turned the flat upside down in my hunt for it to no avail, but I did uncover this, which I bought after we lost Starchild.

I can't believe I had forgotten it because I found it to be incredibly sensitive, moving, helpful. It is rather UK-centric as well, in its practical advice, but the experiences other women share within the book made me feel like perhaps I wasn't lost in the wilderness all alone. (I found this book before I found the online ALI community).

Anyway, I recommend it.

dreaming

I haven't been sleeping too well recently - not falling asleep until about 1.00am and waking up around 4.30 each day. Mostly I have been having bad dreams and nightmares and I wake up with my emotions in turmoil. But I realise pretty soon that I'm in my own bed, my darling little cat is safe curled next to me, Significant Other is still snoring beside me and I calm down.

Last night I dreamt about Bean. She was barely a month old, we had called her Meg and we were showing her off to my cousin.

That was five hours ago and my emotions are still in turmoil and I have yet to calm down.

moved

I bit the bullet and asked the wonderful Mel to move my blog from the "general infertility" room to the "child-free living" section of her amazing blogroll.

It may not sound like much, but it was.

The next step will be to give away the pregnancy books and the maternity clothes from my first two pregnancies. That is going to have to wait a while though. I want them out of the house, but I'm not strong enough yet to retrieve them from where we hid them after Bean died.

I guess it's really true. I'm never having children.

crumbling

28th April 2008 we lost Starchild. It was the worst day of our lives, and both Significant Other and I were the saddest we had ever been. A week later, I was still crying a lot and Significant Other, in his own pain, told me that he couldn't face my sadness and was thinking of leaving me.

My tears dried instantly and he never saw me cry again until February 6th 2009 when we lost Bean. Mindful of what had happened less than a year before, I was careful, after that first outburst of pain, not to let him see me sad. Not when I didn't respond as well to the IVF drugs as expected, not when I miscarried for a third time on Christmas Eve, not even when my beloved grandmother died.

In retrospect, I might not have been as wise as I thought.

On Sunday morning, Significant Other woke up and said he was leaving. That he no longer wants to be in this relationship. And he packed his bags.

I crumbled. The held-back tears of two years' unremitting pain started to flow, as did the held-back words. I now don't remember exactly what I said, but whatever it was it has bought me some more time and Significant Other is still here, at least for now. What's more, he agreed to see someone and we have an appointment with a councellor at Rel@ate on Wednesday evening.

Please let this help. I can't lose three children and their father, I just can't.

it's over

Significant Other told me last night that he doesn't want to do IUI with injectables after all, that he wants to stop TTC.

That's it, we're done.

My parents will never be grandparents.

I will never be pregnant again.

I will never hold our baby in my arms.

I will never be able to look into the face of that unique human who is the best of him and me.

I will never be a mother.

Will I ever stop grieving?

extinguished

Just got the call from the clinic with the results of my second blood test. My beta hCG level is down to 38 (from 41) and the progesterone only increased slightly.

The nurse said that I can expect to start miscarrying in the next week.

That's two pregnancies lost in one year, 3 in less than 2 years. Starchild, Bean and now my little stars.

I don't know how we are going to bear this because this is so hard. It's too hard.

baby blues

Tomorrow would have been our baby's due date. This is the second time in 8 months that I am facing this empty day but our first lost baby's due date wasn't so bad because we had just found out I was pregnant again. No such distraction this time, alas.

I don't know if Significant Other has remembered, he's said nothing and I don't want to bring the topic up as it will hurt him. It's all made a little bit harder because three of my friends are pregnant and while I am delighted for all of them, I do find it tough sometimes. Today I had a wobble and just kept on thinking "it's not fair"!! Rachel and Ross haven't been trying as long and Rachel is years younger than I am, Phoebe and Joey already have a child and Monica and Chandler have a child too and she's younger than me. My better self has resurfaced this evening, though, and I am feeling a little less selfish.