a safe place

I was pregnant three times but there is no evidence of that to the outside world. I saw Starchild’s heartbeat twice. I saw Tilly’s heart beating, saw her legs and arms, was starting to see evidence of her under my clothing and started to feel the fluttering which was her tiny movements.  I saw the Little Stars in a Petri dish and as tiny patches as they were put into their all too short-lived home inside me.  Their existence changed my life and I loved them, and I still do.  I would have done anything, anything for them because they were then and always will be, my babies. But I never met them or saw their faces or held them.  I could never present them as whole to other people.

Perhaps this is why, when I mentioned them in a conversation with a friend last week (part of a conversation which is a topic for another post), she told me that I was “over sentimentalising”. She didn’t expand, but then she didn’t have to.  I knew what she was thinking.

I make no apology for feeling as I do about Starchild, Tilly and the Little Stars.  But perhaps I shouldn’t expect to be able to talk about them outside of this community.

goodbyes

We said our final goodbyes to Songbird this week (there was a delay arranging her funeral for reasons too lengthy and distressing to explain).
Songbird was a woman of deep, but quiet, faith and the service was held in the church where she had been an active member for the past 40 years.  Her fellow choir members were there, the vicar had known her for 19 years, friends from her past and present jobs were in attendance and all in all, it was a wonderful and personal service.
Afterwards we gathered in the church hall for tea and sandwiches and I sat with Too and other friends; we've all known each other upwards of 20 years.  I am the youngest of the group by 7 years and even I had known Songbird half my life.  We shared stories and songs and tears and smiles, then raised a glass in salute and farewell.
Songbird's "work" friends found out about her church life - flower arranging, chief launderer of linens, shopper for the elderly or sick, first port of call for anyone needing a shoulder to cry on.  Her church friends learnt about her professionalism, her kindness and her calm, her insistence that nothing, but nothing, came before patient care (even, famously, a full bladder), and the gratitude of decades' worth of people whose often fraught and frightening wait for a diagnosis was slightly eased by Songbird's gentleness.

This week some of us from my current job (Songbird and I met while we worked together at a different hospital) also attended a memorial service for a former colleague who passed away last month.  This man died while working abroad, having spent 30 years dedicating his life to helping those who lived in unimaginable poverty or in the middle of war zones, or indeed both.  His life touched more people than anyone can count and it's not hyperbole to say that his loss is felt on an international level. 

Songbird was a part of my life; I only knew my former colleague briefly and not well.  But if I had even half the courage, vitality and gentleness of either, I would be lucky indeed.
And finally.  Neither one had children.

slings and arrows

Last week was mainly blue.  Apart from the death of Songbird (thank you all for your lovely comments), and the anniversary of losing Starchild something else happened about which I cannot blog.  (Readers who are my friends IRL may see some links to a page from my FB profile which would explain).

Anyway, before all that happened, I had already booked my next 12 for 2012 event, and last weekend Rock Chick, Goth Girl and I took ourselves off to south of the river (gasp! shock!! the horror!!!) to take a lesson in archery. I've wanted to try archery since I fell in love (aged 15) with this chap, on this show. (What?  I never pretended not to be shallow).  The 90 minutes hurtled by, it was such good fun.  It turns out that, unlike the circus skills, I don't suck at archery.  I mean, I'm no Katniss Everdeen, but I was the only one to never miss the target :-)

In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I found a club in north London (phew!) and have signed up for a 12-week course.

losses

Last February a friend of mine, Songbird, had a massive coronary and lapsed into a coma.  She was on the high dependancy unit of a London hospital for months, and I would go and visit her a couple of times a week.  It's tough when you can't converse with someone, but sitting and silently holding her hand doesn't seem to be enough either.  I ended up reading bits of her favourite newspaper out to her, looking for the lighter stories and also segments about London 2012.
Last Saturday, she died.  It's so sad that I'll never see her again but in truth - for me anyway - she died 14 months ago; it was the outside shell of Songbird I was reading to.  The essence of her, her laugh, her melodic voice, her expressive eyes, the sheer force of her personality, was gone.  But it's still sad.
Also, 28th April 2008 - I lost Starchild.

a year in music

A year ago today A and I parted company.  A whole year!

When he first left I was all http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iY17nf6kvw4

Then, a few months later I went through a phase of http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZBR2G-iI3-I

And now http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vx2u5uUu3DE&ob=av2n

isn't it ironic

I was aged ten-and-a-half when I got my first period and thereafter had one of those perfect, light, mild discomfort only 28-day cycles you read about until I was 14.
Then it was still a regular 28-day cycle but not so much with the light or mild discomfort.  They were so heavy I became anaemic, and so painful I sometimes had to miss school and spend my days worshipping at the porcelain altar.
Then, aged 16, my periods almost completely stopped.  I would have one every 12-18 months or so, sometimes going as long as 2 years between cycles.  This lasted until I was 38 and started on fertility treatment and a whole different party went on in my innards.
Since A left last year, guess how many times I've been visited by Aunt Flo? Twelve. A regular 28-day cycle, still heavy and painful, but a regular cycle.
Now.  Aged 43, single and no longer TTC.  I am finally ovulating.
And that, Ms Canadian Singer, is irony for you.

holiday

I am back home after a week away here.  It seems at first like a strange choice of destination for a holiday but I have never been to the UAE before (well, apart from a couple of hours to change planes on the way to Australia two years ago), and it is also a 90 minute bus-ride away from here.

We stayed in a beautiful hotel which had sea views and a stretch of private beach from which I plunged into the Persian Gulf for the first time in my life (point of interest - it's freaking freezing in March).

On our first full day we took the bus to Dubai, which looks in places like a film set for a science fiction movie:

We didn't get to see the famous Palm Islands or World Islands that day but as we had tickets for the top of the world's tallest building for a few days later, we thought we'd see them then.

Sadly, we had not allowed for the sandstorm which hit the UAE the next day, and stayed for the remainder of our trip. The temperature dropped (but we're British - it felt like a London summer to us), visibility was reduced dramatically and there was sand and dust everywhere: on surfaces, in hair, in eyes, in ears for crying out loud.  Reading by the pool (again, we're British...) meant sand in the pages of books or, in my case, settling on the screen of my Kindle.  Sand also would have settled in the cocktails we treated ourselves to, had they hung around long enough...

If you can't beat it, join it so we took a trip to the desert.

And did embarrasingly touristy things (yes, that is me driving a quadbike* and wearing traditional dress)

A couple of days before we left, we went back to Dubai to go to the top of Burj Khalifa.  Well, they call it "at the top" but it's only (only!) 124 floors up, which is actually about half-way up the building.  The city below looks like a model, although visibility was still hampered by the sandstorm.

While it might be cheating a little bit, I am counting the quadbike driving as one of my 12 for 2012 as I have never done it before and have wanted to for years (I am a woman of simple dreams, apparently).  And I did it in the Arabian desert, which has to count for something!