Under the tree

On the last Friday of each month, the most marvellously magnificent Carly will be hosting "Under the tree"


In her own words,

"So my plan is this. On the last Friday of each month I will post a few questions on here. If you would like to be a part of this support network you can copy and paste the questions to your own blog. Once you have answered them you can copy and paste the link from your blog in a comment here for others mothers to find you. If you don't have a blog and would still like to take part you can leave your answers in a comment. ... I find that my work in the names site introduces me to so many newly bereaved women who have blogs with no readers and zero comments, which means no support. I want that to change."

Me too! Without this support network of marvellous babylost parents my life would be a much darker place.


"So here's to our first gathering under the tree"


I'm late, I know, I know, forgive me please!!!

How long have you been blogging for? Why did you start? What do you want from writing?

I started this blog on the morning of the 27th October 2008, 7 days after losing George. In the afternoon I was rushed back into hospital, bleeding heavily, dizzy and scared, for an emergency D&C to removed bits of placenta.

I blogged quite a lot before on my MySpace page. Since losing George I haven't played much over there and I'm more often to be found twittering or on facebook.

When I began I had so many thoughts and feelings rushing about my head that I needed an outlet. I use it as a way of sorting out my thoughts, recording my grief and connecting with the amazing community I found here. You mean what I'm feeling is normal?

I'm not sure what I want from it. Promising myself to blog every day forces me to organise those thoughts and feelings and sometimes the act of putting them down on the screen helps in my understanding and acceptance of this grief journey. This day is done, this is what I want to share, bring on the next day.

If in sharing, there is one other person who has thought, "oh yes, me too" then I think I'm doing something worthwhile.

Where is safest place for you to share your feelings? Is there anywhere you feel completely accepted just being however you are really feeling?

Here. There is the expectation out there in the real world to hurry up and get over it, move on, pick yourself up, dust yourself off. Hide your pain from the world. But I won't be hurried, I won't be pushed and I insist on allowing myself the time to feel whatever I feel and it makes people uncomfortable.

I talk to Ray and there are a couple of people that understand out there but even they don't want to hear about it all the time. Goodness, even I don't want to hear about my grief all the time!

Can you recommend any books that you have read that have given you a new insight, hope or courage in this new life you find yourself in?

Not really, I read Elizabeth McCrackens book and although I empathised, it didn't really speak to me. I haven't read anything else on the subject of dead babies.

How would you describe yourself before you lost your baby. How have you changed, who are you today?

I was lighter. Now I carry the weight of our dead son. Ray and I had only been together for a year when we got pregnant and everything was wonderful. I knew about miscarriage and stillbirth but I don't think I realised how often it happens but of course, it wasn't going to happen to me.

I have skirted around depression in the past as I am doing now. We eye each other warily without getting too close. I think fighting it makes it worse. Yesterday I was happy and then depressed for a while and today I'm fine. It's normal. It's not out of control and I know it will pass.

Today in some ways I am stronger and in others so much more fragile. I always thought I might want a child; now I know for sure. I'm more aware of time passing than before. Days since Goerge, weeks between hospital appointments, days before due date, time left of babymaking years. My world has higher highs and lower lows than before. I feel more. I laugh more. I cry more. I empathise more. I appreciate more.

How do you think you are coping? Do you see any light in this road or is it all dark right now? Where do you imagine yourself to be in a years time?

I'm doing quite well. All things considered. I think.

In a year? I think that's obvious isn't it?!

The little things

We popped to the supermarket on our way back from today's drive. Rather naughtily we parked in a parent and child extra-space-for-pushchair spaces near the entrance (in our defence your honour, the car park was quite empty and there were loads of extra parent and child spaces).

And then it hit me. Oh. We should have been parking there. George might have been here by now. And so I hung on to Ray and cried a bucketful of tears before wiping my nose and going shopping.

Washed away

We drove today (of course we did!) a little further each time we venture out. To the remains of a village called Hallsands. Which went from this in 1885:
To this, after dredging for shingle off the coast to use in the building of Plymouth's dock yards in the 1890's caused the beach to erode and collapse spectacularly destroying most of the village by 1917.

We ordinary folks can't be trusted not to kill ourselves and aren't allowed down into what's left of the village any more (except for the owners of the two remaining standing houses who obviously aren't stupid enough to kill themselves on the rocks.) So we had to stand on a viewing platform. It was quite spooky. "Modern" ruins.

Some photos from our day. You can click on any of them to see a large version.

From the place where we had to turn the car around because we had taken the wrong turning. You can see the remains of the village hanging on to the rocks. I love our patchwork countryside and all it's shades of green. Eventually we parked down by the beach you can see here.

Look, you can see our car! Oh my aching heel after that climb!

From the viewing platform.
All that remains.

Ray found a tiny path down to this house perching on the top of the cliff.

He went scrabbling about on the rocks to see if we could sneak to the village via the beach. My intrepid explorer has taken me places I probably wouldn't normally go. But not this time and not without a tide timetable and some much tougher shoes!

We sat in the car with a flask of tea and jam sandwiches like two middle aged tourists. It might look warm but it was rather windy.

Every time we go out in our car I imagine George in the back seat. I think of all the places we would have shown him and the many beaches he would have played on. Each day out is always happysad for me. I hope one day we will have a living son or daughter to explore with.


When we got home this evening we opened a letter from the local council refunding some of the council tax paid while I have been off work. More than enough to cover the enormous gas bill that is more than twice as much as it was last quarter. The greed of these utility companies is astounding. Profit for the sake of profit seems pointless to me. Re-nationalise!

Our shameful secret. A gambling habit

Today we bought one new tyre, some gearbox oil and a foot pump using a £20 gift voucher that my brother gave us for Christmas and then went for a drive to another seaside town and played for an hour on the old penny one armed bandits and the tuppence roulette and the tuppence tiny horse race that they keep in the amusement arcade on the pier. We gambled our life savings away (£4), and enjoyed ourselves inordinately.

Ray has snapped out of his "grumpression" (his word) and things were looking great. And then we got home and opened the gas bill. Bah.

Maybe we'll try the casino next time.

Other matters

Over the past couple of days Ray has been quite down. Mostly to do with feeling let down by the guy who was supposed to be helping him change the clutch on our broken car and therefore save us heaps of money. This guy has been finding excuses for the past month. Ray has work and therefore money waiting for him to pick up paint supplies.

I love Ray's attitude towards these things. Change a clutch? It can't be that difficult, I can do it with a little help. I try to culture this attitude in myself. It doesn't always work but I do tend to have a go at fixing most things.

This morning the guy finally called and arranged a time and place. Ray was about to book the car in with a local garage and spend this weeks and next weeks rent. (We have a great landlord that Ray does a lot of work for and so we can get away with being a little behind.) He was that excited/nervous/wound up that he was shaking.

Imagine the scene: Ray half in the car steering and scooting and me pushing the car with an ungainly hobble, skip, limp down the hill to try and jump start it. (I don't drive and I was too scared to steer!) Nope, nothing, no battery power at all. We called the guy who arrived with his jump leads 15 minutes later and off they went.

I'm waiting for him to come home a lot more relaxed.

So with Ray off doing mechanical things I decided that it really was time we had a clean bathroom and set to it with my mini-steamer and an old towel. Sparkling!

I think Ray's restlessness and gloomy mood has rubbed off on me, well, I know it has, of course it has. He feels what I feel, I feel what he feels. I left him feeling excited for him and wondering where we will drive to tonight, assuming they get it finished, because I know he'll want to go somewhere.

I'm feeling better about other things too. I've been getting stuck on the idea that George's due date will somehow be something BIG. I don't think it will be or needs to be. I don't want it to be. Like Carly said about Christian, George's special day has already passed. I think I might like to visit his bit of wild wood and see if any of the bulbs are showing and then just drive somewhere.

Uncertain

At the moment I'm not entirely sure how I feel. I'm not unhappy and I'm not sad but I'm not quite happy either. Still in limbo then?

I meet each moment head on and I often pause during the day to ask myself how I feel. Some things bother me and other things that I think will bother me don't.

Yesterday I cried because lovely Martha wrote that she agreed that George does indeed look like Ray. I don't always do that. It was a nice-sad-warm feeling. Thank you for that gift Martha!

I don't know how I will feel on George's due date. I've never had to face my dead baby's due date before so I've nothing to measure this against. I'm expecting sadness, but then I tell myself that I shouldn't expect anything and I should just let in whatever feelings arrive at whatever point they arrive. I don't want to feel sad just because I think I should feel sad.

I'm not sure how to mark the day either. I'm not even sure that it needs to be marked.

Still standing

Some days I find it difficult to muster up enough enthusiasm to make a cup of tea.

Some days I feel as if I can cope with anything and I'd like to make you all a cup of tea (decaf, green, herbal, whatever you want! Cake?).

Some days I can almost taste my impatience to be fixed.

Some days I'm almost glad that we aren't trying yet.

Some days I just miss my son and stare at his picture and the more I look the more George looks like his father and the more I see our love in his beautiful face.

Some days I wonder how I ever went through what I went through. Was that really me?

How any of us remain standing after experiencing the worst thing in the world amazes me.

Wobbling in the breeze maybe, but still standing.

The outsider

I feel quite satisfied with the feeling that I don't belong in that work place any more with all the stress that went with it (there's a certain irony that goes with the nature of the charity I "work" for and the amount of stress they inflict on their employees but I really shouldn't mention it here... not yet anyway) and the two colleagues that look at me with something akin to distaste when I pop in to drop off another sick note. I could send the sick notes by post but I find that I want to go in there and make them feel uncomfortable, is that wrong of me?

Mischievous?

Moi?

The word nincompoop doesn't get much use any more does it? I think I might bring it back.

My boss is a nincompoop.

A different sort of two week wait

Dr Compassion signed my sick note for two more weeks and is happy to carry on doing that. Two weeks, not a month? He wants to keep an eye on my emotional state. Yes, once again I got the sad-puppy-dog look and, "how are you?" and once again there were the tears. I don't know why it happens with him, when anyone else asks how I am I don't cry, they get the truth, but I don't cry. I think it's because I associate that chair in that room and that concerned face with my pregnancy and all the problems I had during it.

He worries that I'm not sleeping but no thank you, no more sleeping pills, he tentatively mentions antidepressants and seems relieved when I refuse. I tell him I'm going to see a counsellor on monday (yes, finally) and he seems pleased. I'm so glad my regular doctor wasn't available that one day and I was given an appointment with him by default.

We sent off a swab to make sure that the strep b is under control (I think it's gone I hope it's gone it must be gone) and he gave me the choice of taking the swab myself or letting him do it. Ummm... let me see... I went off to the toilet and swished that long cotton bud around feeling like a medical professional, well no not really but feeling glad someone else wasn't getting access to my ladyparts. He's never been there, I think it might change our relationship. I've got enough of that particular sharing experience coming up in two weeks time when I will be back at the hospital exposing said ladyparts to the world once again... well, no, maybe not the world but it surely feels like it sometimes.

Made with love. Part two

Continuing with my theme of optimism. Which, after yesterday is waning a little from its first rush. Which could also have something to do with my foot which is hurting like a §@$& today or maybe from the cramps I'm having quite a few days after my period ended which was mostly cramps and not too much bleeding. I should be glad of that but I hate that my periods are different, it makes me worry that my internal ladybits aren't working properly any more. Even though they weren't actually working properly in the first place. Bah. Roll on evilfibroidectomy.

Where was I? The optimism, where did I leave it? Coo, you put something down for a minute and... ah there it is.

Thank you all for your comments and encouragement about the name tag I made for George. I never realised that such a little thing would make such a big splash!

I'm going to have to sort myself out now, get my hands dirty and do some proper work, figure out a small enough price that is big enough to make a small enough profit and set up a small shop. It feels good to do something creative again. It's a nice feeling, so it is.

And ideas would be welcome. And those of you who commented saying you would like one will be top of my list when I'm ready to go. If you still want one then... or two...

I don't have the resources at the moment to buy chains. So I was thinking of just selling the tags, as many letters as needed, around 5mm wide and 2.5 - 3cm long depending on the number of letters in the name or maybe words (faith, love, courage, etc) and I've just sent for some number stamps so some numbers too if anyone wanted a date. So you get to fill your necklace with as many tags as you want, with whatever combination of words and/or numbers as you want. I know it's all been done before, but not by me and certainly not with such rock bottom, supersaver discounts-for-friends prices as I'm hoping of thinking of promising!!! Well, I havent a clue really but will be doing much research over the next couple of weeks.

If it wasn't for losing George, if it wasn't the mean nastiness of my welcome back to work, if it wasn't for this overwhelming need to create something out of loss I wouldn't be doing this, even though making jewellery has been something I've wanted to get back into for years. It saddens me that it's taken all this to push me into doing something I love again.

Oops there goes the optimism again.

Something in the air

On my own this afternoon as Ray is doing computer stuff for someone. I went out to get milk, bread, chocolate. Just the essentials.

Walking home I started to feel... sad. It came from nowhere. I wasn't thinking sad thoughts, I was concentrating on not putting any weight on my painful heel (will be discussing it with Dr Compassion tomorrow). Small tears welled in the corners of my eyes and that oh so familiar feeling of emptiness whooshed through me.

Spring is definitely in the air over here. That smell of damp earth and green things beginning to grow permeates the air. The smell of potential. My baby would have been a spring baby born in March. Sometimes I think I'll be ok when 5th March comes around and other times I think I'll fold up and blow away in the breeze.

I'm ok now. I know I'm understood in here. And when Ray gets back I'll tell the person out here who understands.

Stressfest

My poor poppet has been having a stressfest today. First it was the old laptop refusing to share files no matter what was done and then it was the police helicopter hovering directly overhead for what seemed like hours and the army of police searching the building opposite (I told you there was a serial killer there!) and then it was the new speaker extension wire that was too cheap to carry good sound and then it was our car that still isn't fixed and therefore adds to the general stressiness of the stress.

Lots of swearing, a bit of throwing, calm computer help from his poppet and some yanking of wires later, the laptop is sharing again, the wire is in the bin, the police have left empty handed and without finding the bodies and sadly the car is still broken. Poppet is calm now and breathing normally.

Phew!

And me? I've been deliberately breathing quite deeply. I don't like it when he's stressed, not that it ever gets aimed at me but it puts me on edge. I like my poppet happy! None of these things matter to me so I've just been supporting and hugging and stopping him from breaking expensive things. The good thing is that when he stresses it comes in a rush and explodes and then it's gone, with maybe just a teeny little sulk left over. With me stress hovers and builds internally until something has to give, usually my health. I think maybe explosions are best. Perhaps I should practice swearing and throwing.

But for now I think we'll just go for a nice relaxing walk/hobble.



And before you go can I ask you to go and see our sweet Carly who needs wrapping up in our support and love right now.

Declutterification

So anyway, with my new found spark of optimism burning in my chest I decided to tackle the pile of clothing in the corner of our bedroom. Mostly mine, I have to admit and mostly clean, mostly summer stuff and mostly a huge enormous mess that mocked me every morning.

This picture isn't it, I couldn't share the real mess, heavens no. What would you think?

It's gone now. I bundled it all onto the bed and if we wanted to sleep tonight I had to sort it out. So I did. My foot with it's stupid plantar fasciitis is paaaaaainful tonight after standing on it for a few hours but I feel a little lighter for getting that one job out of the way. It's true, decluterification is good for the soul if not for the spellcheck. Next on my list is the back bedroom/spare room/George's room/new baby's room.... oh ok, junk room.

I don't think we'll ever be minimalists. *sigh*

Allowing the optimism to sneak back in

I caught myself the other day, really thinking into the future for the first time, assuming there will be another baby.

I say it and write it all the time, when we get another chance, when George has a brother or sister, but it didn't feel quite real until the other morning when we were talking... well, I was talking about what we will need to get for a new baby and how things will be different. Ray gently reminded me that we have plenty of time for that.

But it felt good to hope, to dream and to plan with the pain of loss a little duller in the background. To allow myself to get a tiny little bit excited about the possibilities rather than worrying about the obstacles. To look forward instead of backward. The pain hasn't gone, duh, of course it hasn't. But for today, that stone feels a little more rounded.

Because you are my treasure

...Tears



















Smiles...













...engineering














.love
..love
...love



Happy love day lovely people!

Made with love

I made this yesterday, and with tears in my eyes while I sawed, filed, stamped and polished, I'm surprised it worked! It felt good stamping George's name and rather therapeutic to create something with love.

It doesn't shout, it's tiny, only about 2.5cm, far from perfect and I can't stop touching it. It's already become my talisman, my worry bead, my touchstone. I may even have to make it again with thicker silver in case I wear it away.

Ray brought the butterfly for me on our first (and so far, only) holiday together in Rhodes. Hopefully we'll be going away again soon.

I'm thinking of turning this into a small business, something I can do now and more importantly when we have a baby at home.

Tell me what you think.

And I shall be adding to this necklace at some point. I made another one for me and put it away safely, a blank one ready and waiting for the name of a brother or sister...

Compassion

Yesterday wasn't the best day. I went into work to find that the second hand pram that I'd put aside had been thrown away. It felt like a slap in the face. It wasn't the pram, we can get another. It was the disregard, the assumptions, the thoughtlessness and the palpable lack of compassion.

Later I went to twitter and the Dalai Lama's quote for the day had just been tweeted, yes, even the Dalai Lama tweets, do you?

"If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion." ~H H, the Dalai Lama

I think I might write this out and stick it on the noticeboard.

Each time I go in there it reconfirms my decision. I don't belong in that place.

Guest Post by Danielle. Honest scrap award.

*fanfare*

I feel honoured to present, after my wee challenge, Danielle's (or Dani189's) 10 (or thereabouts) honest facts about her lovely self.



1. When my grandfather was in the Navy he was the sole survivor of a plane crash. The ring he was wearing split in half on impact. I had a ring made for myself out of one of the halves, and I never take it off.

2. Right now, being a therapist is a huge exercise in "do as I say, not as I do." I spend a large part of every day talking about accepting uncertainty, cultivating patience, and practising self care- three things that I am very bad at these days.

3. I have no idea why I don't want to start a blog, but I am beginning to think that it's ill-mannered of me not to have one.

4. I am very shy and self conscious except when I dance. I have taken Bollywood, belly dancing, samba, salsa, and merengue lessons, and even had a brief and disastrous foray into hip-hop. Apparently my hips can do things that the rest of me cannot.

5. Although I was born and raised in the US, there are huge parts of US culture that I simply don't understand. I have never seen an entire (American) football game or an episode of reality TV, I don't believe in the "life on demand" culture that we have around here, and I am very wary of capitalism.

6. I don't know how to ride a bike.

7. I am often surprised at how hard I can laugh, how angry I can get, and how deeply I can love- often one right after the other.

8. Although I am afraid of free fall and get motion sickness, I have climbed pyramids in Guatemala, ridden an elephant in Thailand, and hiked to the top of an active volcano in Greece. I am perfectly all right with fear as long as it doesn't stop me from doing what I want to do.

9. I eat like a very stubborn, very idiosyncratic 6 year-old. Given the option, I would live exclusively on oatmeal, panang curry with tofu, and cinammon-infused chocolate.

10. I can recite all of the movie "Dirty Dancing" by heart. I'm not proud of this. No, wait- actually, I kind of am.

Here's a very genuine one that I forgot to mention.

I believe very firmly in the Jewish principle of "tikkun olam", which means "repair of the world." Though it's often a losing battle, I do believe that since we all share the planet, we all owe it to each other to try to make it a more just, more compassionate, and more liveable place.

I believe this so much, in fact, that I am willing to sacrifice the "Dirty Dancing" reference. or maybe the thing about the oatmeal.

;)


Thank you Danielle! Now to carry on nagging about that blog...

Haunted

Someone once explained the existence of "ghosts" to me as the memory of a significant event in a life recorded in the matter around it, in the molecules of the walls, the ground, the furniture, the trees. Sort of like sound on a tape.

Everything is, after all, made from the same stuff. We are a part of our world as much as the plants and the dirt are, as much as we distance ourselves with our houses and clothes and computers and things.

George is engraved into me, his father and every atom around us. In his tiny life he made a huge impact on us that didn't end with his death. He brought more love with him than I ever thought possible, more sadness than I thought I could manage and connected me to a whole new life of shared experience, support and friendship. George is haunting us. Isn't it wonderful.

A scrap of honesty?

I've been tagged twice with this by Hope's sweet mama Sally and the lovely Cara, mother of Emma Grace, the Bear and the Commedian so I suppose I really should do it now.

The Honest Scrap Award.


The rules:

A) Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.

B) Show the 7 winners names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with "Honest Scrap." Well, there's no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.

C) List at least 10 honest things about yourself.

10 honest things about me:

1. No one I know thinks I'm shy. I am although not as shy as I used to be, I have become quite outspoken at times since George died. I don't make friends easily but when I do they can break my heart.


2. For many years I had very low self esteem, was ridiculously self-conscious and ate for comfort (still do sometimes, chocolate anyone?) It's only over the last 10 years that I finally learned to like myself and feel comfortable in my skin. I no longer need the approval of others; I am content to be me.
   


3. I started my periods at 9. My first one lasted 6 weeks. I think that's where the shyness and self-consciousness stems from. Being different to all the other girls in my class and having breasts and coping with blood whilst playing with dolls makes for a confused little head. I've been coping with periods longer than some of you have been alive, you'd think I'd be good at it by now but.. bleugh!


4. I'm messy, really untidy and I have to fight myself to keep ahead of it and I don't always win. I have a pile of clothes in our bedroom ready and waiting to be sorted out... and waiting. And it's ok. Up to the point when it isn't.


5. I never thought I'd be this happy or this sad.


6. I lived in Geneva, Switzerland for 5 years and worked as a nanny.


7. I don't believe in your religion, whatever it is. Please don't be offended. Please don't try and convert me. I'll explain another day.


8. I'm an artist who hasn't touched a canvas since Ray and I got together and I don't know why. I have 7 blank canvasses of varying sizes ready and willing. And I'm happy to wait for inspiration.


9. I'm about to start making silver jewellery again after a 15 year break. And my first piece will be something for me with George's name on it and I'm rather excited!


10. I'm a vegetarian who hasn't eaten meat or fish for 25 years. The last meat I ate was in a chicken sandwich which my Mum made for my lunch after I told her I was going to be a veggie that morning. (I cook meat for Ray on occasion, I have tongs for that purpose... I'm SO good to him!)


11. And because I'm often stubborn, occasionally I need to be a bit different and I like to be awkward I have 11 honest facts!

I really want to tag Danielle, although she stubbornly refuses to start a blog even though it would be brilliant and insightful and goodness, many of you have been tagged already. So if you haven't and you'd like to play along, please do consider yourself honestly tagged. I tag YOU!

By the way,

Did you know that Birni at All The Little Ponies changed her blog address? Please go and say hello again.

Everyone please go and welcome Clarence's Mommy to our wonderful sad sisterhood, she started blogging in January about the loss of her beautiful boy at the end of November. I think she could do with a little more support.

Taken for granted by the one I love

Ray made some flippant remark about our old age and where we might be living and I came over all warm and fuzzy and butterflies in the tummy-like.

I love the fact that he takes it for granted that my love is constant and that we will spend the rest of our lives together. I love the squiggly feeling I get at some of the things he says even though I'm 41 and quite possibly should be cynical and twisted about romance after years of crappy relationships and frequent bouts of singledom but I'm not! Whoopee for me.

Too many of the woman I know are in such an unhappy place with their relationships. Obviously drawing on her own experience, one woman at work thought that I wasn't "allowed" to go anywhere by myself any more because we always had lunch together and he often came to meet me from work... what? No, I like being with Ray, he's my friend as well as my partner and we like to do stuff together. Sheesh.

Waiting for the tears that didn't fall

I found two pregnancy tests today while looking for something in my bedside drawer. Two of the five, yes five, that I used over 4 days to confirm George's life had begun. The lines have faded to nothing. That seemed such a big sad thing that I sat and stared at them for a while wondering and waiting for the tears. I didn't cry but I can't bring myself to throw them out. Silly little thing really, they are after all just sticks that I've peed on. One day I want to be able to throw them out. But not yet.

Thank you again dear people...

... for your support and kind answers to my blog yesterday. Before I posted I had decided to see the counsellor to see if it will help in any way. I honestly don't think I'm depressed and what I think will help me the most is getting the evilfibroids zapped/sliced/strangled and climbing out of the waiting limbo up into the trying limbo.


On a different tack. I cut my hair today, it's been a while and it was getting far too long. I've been cutting my own hair for years, partly for economy's sake and partly because every time I've seen a hairdresser they have always wanted to straighten my hair and the one time I went in with it straightened? Yup, "Have you ever thought of leaving it natural?" Gah. I think I might have been a bit over enthusiastic with the scissors today. I can't understand how I always seem to forget forget just how much my hair curls and bounces up when it dries. It looks ok though, I'm not afraid to be seen in public without a hat, Ray didn't laugh and it grows like a weed.

Oh and someone needs to take my bank card away from me whenever I get near a computer. Ray's too soft and easily manipulated. I need steel. Might call my Mum.

Dr Compassion.

I had an appointment with Dr Compassion this afternoon. How am I? Tears. Oh dammit I wish I wouldn't do that every time I see him. It's just that he looks so concerned that I feel I must perform. He gives me that raised eyebrows, head tilted to one side and tipped forward, puppy dog look and my lip starts to tremble. I told him that I have ups and downs and at the moment I feel as if I'm in limbo, waiting for things to happen. I'm not sleeping because I can't always switch my head off when I need to. I've never slept well and always coped but I need sleep more these days.

I'm not sleeping? A few sleeping pills, only a few, don't want to become dependant. I don't want I'm not ready to go back to work? Another sick note. My heel is still hurting? Prodding of said heel covered in sock fluff. Ow!

I have, he thinks, plantar fasciitis (which my spell check wants to correct to fascism) and now have another, physical reason to stay away from the toxic workplace. Woo hoo. Lots of rest, padding in the heel, no barefootedness (boo).

My doctor is concerned that I'm slipping into depression. I think I let him think this because it keeps me from having to go back to work, the thought of which really does depress me. But the mere mentioning of depression has me wondering... Am I? I honestly truly don't think that's it. I am grieving. But it seems there is a fine line between grief and depression and the measurement of that line differs wildly depending on who you ask. I feel ok most of the time, I can get up in the morning with only a little trouble, I can talk about George with those who will listen and I laugh a lot and not inappropriately in the middle of the street. I don't hate myself for what happened, I don't blame myself, I don't think I killed my son by somehow not knowing or doing something. I can differentiate between blaming a part of my body and blaming me. Evilbloodyfuckingstupidbabykillingfibroids! See?

I must say, I feel a bit of a fraud for letting Dr Compassion worry about my state of mind. Or maybe he's right? Am I depressed? I know you readers out there don't know the real every day me but do I sound depressed when you read? Or do I sound like someone going through a process of miserably healthy grief? Do tell.

Incidentally, I spoke to my Mum this morning and when I mentioned that Ray had been out building his friend's computer until 2am and we were then both awake until 4am this morning, she told me off for staying up late! And then asked, "what on earth were you doing?!" Well really Mum, we might have been having wild first time in 7 months sex. So perhaps there are some questions you really shouldn't ask your adult daughter! Aaah mothers.


On a much more disturbing note, our friendly neighbourhood serial killer has been dangling bird feeding thingies in the trees outside his building today in between cleaning the blood from his car. Does he think this apparently compassionate gesture will fool anyone?