I will announce the winners on 1st November.
And just to remind you. If you want to order anything from my shop just drop me a line and I'll take 20% off the price.
Friday, 30 October 2009
Almost...
...out of time to enter my giveaway!
I will announce the winners on 1st November.
And just to remind you. If you want to order anything from my shop just drop me a line and I'll take 20% off the price.
I will announce the winners on 1st November.
And just to remind you. If you want to order anything from my shop just drop me a line and I'll take 20% off the price.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Ok, enough now.
Well maybe.
Yesterdays post was odd for me (too). I haven't really relived that time in all it's glorious technicolour detail before. Just the odd flashes in long gone nightmares.
Maybe it was time to let go of the trauma of the whole thing. Maybe it's taken a year to process. Maybe it was about admitting the possibility that maybe I could have died from the blood loss. Maybe I just wanted to show off to you how crappy it was. Yeah, I know. We all had it crappy. It doesn't come much crappier than losing your child. There is no crappy+.
Whatever.
Enough.
I miss my boy every day but I don't need to torture myself (or you) with the traumatic details any more.
And just to prove that I am really quite ok: An amusing kittehpic.
Yesterdays post was odd for me (too). I haven't really relived that time in all it's glorious technicolour detail before. Just the odd flashes in long gone nightmares.
Maybe it was time to let go of the trauma of the whole thing. Maybe it's taken a year to process. Maybe it was about admitting the possibility that maybe I could have died from the blood loss. Maybe I just wanted to show off to you how crappy it was. Yeah, I know. We all had it crappy. It doesn't come much crappier than losing your child. There is no crappy+.
Whatever.
Enough.
I miss my boy every day but I don't need to torture myself (or you) with the traumatic details any more.
And just to prove that I am really quite ok: An amusing kittehpic.
Uuhhm... you're not the only one having flashbacks ya know...
I seem to remember there's a little something of mine missing... down there... no?
I seem to remember there's a little something of mine missing... down there... no?
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
This time last year
I was being rushed back to hospital.
One week after losing George, half an hour after our lovely midwife had visited, I started bleeding heavily. And then more heavily. And then clots started falling from me. And the clots got bigger.
I remember the emergency room. Tiny side rooms, no curtains, like a cabin. Sitting on a portable commode across the room from Ray trying to get on a pair of hospital string knickers, thinking that's enough now. Stop.
I remember feeling dizzy and thinking that oxygen masks smelled bad... or was it the oxygen?
I remember being wheeled to a private room off the gynaecology ward. Thank goodness I don't have to bleed in front of other women. Nurses and doctors obviously didn't count.
I remember sitting dizzily on the toilet with a cardboard pee-catcher underneath me catching huge clots of blood, being watched over by a lovely chatty nurse who told me how much relief she had gotten from a life of heavy periods by having a hysterectomy. Who then trotted of to show the doctors what I'd done.
I remember dizzy. Lots of dizzy.
I remember the gynaecologist hurting me. A lot. I HATED him right then. The next day I changed my mind.
I remember Ray being called back after leaving me for the night. I remember not wanting him bothered. Why was that nurse insisting on calling him? Why did he have to be here? I remember fear.
I remember being wheeled down to surgery late at night. I remember the anaesthetist sort of choking me to stop me choking (?).
I remember waking up in PAIN. I remember that morphine is GOOOOOOD.
I remember Ray sitting next to me. He took one of my sleeping pills when he got home because he hates sleeping alone. He sleep-walked back to the hospital. I remember sleepily loving him even more. I remember sending him home.
I remember trying to sleep but being woken many times by apologetic nurses. I remember the sun coming up.
I remember looking at my poor bruised arms with five cannulas in them. The ones in the back of the hand are the worst. And then some one else making more holes to take more blood. The side of my wrist by my thumb? Is that the only vein left?
I remember feeling weird at having someone else's blood mixing with my own. Whose? Thank you.
I remember watching visitors arrive for the woman across the hall. Six children, all boys, all redheads. It took a couple of visiting hours to count them all.
I remember wishing my visitors would go home. I didn't want to talk. The hospital food tasted like cardboard. Where was Ray? He wouldn't mind me being quiet.
I remember having my "ladyparts" washed by a 20 year old. And feeling old.
I remember the nurse removing the various tubes from my body. The final one being the catheter. I peed just as she was about to take it out. Oops.
I remember taking a shower and feeling afraid to touch my own body or even move too much.
I remember the gale blowing outside.
I remember being very glad to get home after 3 days.
This time last year I survived.
I don't know why I feel the need to write this out. It doesn't give me nightmares any more. It did for quite a while. along with dreams of the day we lost George. Dreams of blood. Dreams of umbilical cords. Dreams of death. I'm still remembering some dreams (I rarely remembered them before) but they are just normally weird now.
One week after losing George, half an hour after our lovely midwife had visited, I started bleeding heavily. And then more heavily. And then clots started falling from me. And the clots got bigger.
I remember the emergency room. Tiny side rooms, no curtains, like a cabin. Sitting on a portable commode across the room from Ray trying to get on a pair of hospital string knickers, thinking that's enough now. Stop.
I remember feeling dizzy and thinking that oxygen masks smelled bad... or was it the oxygen?
I remember being wheeled to a private room off the gynaecology ward. Thank goodness I don't have to bleed in front of other women. Nurses and doctors obviously didn't count.
I remember sitting dizzily on the toilet with a cardboard pee-catcher underneath me catching huge clots of blood, being watched over by a lovely chatty nurse who told me how much relief she had gotten from a life of heavy periods by having a hysterectomy. Who then trotted of to show the doctors what I'd done.
I remember dizzy. Lots of dizzy.
I remember the gynaecologist hurting me. A lot. I HATED him right then. The next day I changed my mind.
I remember Ray being called back after leaving me for the night. I remember not wanting him bothered. Why was that nurse insisting on calling him? Why did he have to be here? I remember fear.
I remember being wheeled down to surgery late at night. I remember the anaesthetist sort of choking me to stop me choking (?).
I remember waking up in PAIN. I remember that morphine is GOOOOOOD.
I remember Ray sitting next to me. He took one of my sleeping pills when he got home because he hates sleeping alone. He sleep-walked back to the hospital. I remember sleepily loving him even more. I remember sending him home.
I remember trying to sleep but being woken many times by apologetic nurses. I remember the sun coming up.
I remember looking at my poor bruised arms with five cannulas in them. The ones in the back of the hand are the worst. And then some one else making more holes to take more blood. The side of my wrist by my thumb? Is that the only vein left?
I remember feeling weird at having someone else's blood mixing with my own. Whose? Thank you.
I remember watching visitors arrive for the woman across the hall. Six children, all boys, all redheads. It took a couple of visiting hours to count them all.
I remember wishing my visitors would go home. I didn't want to talk. The hospital food tasted like cardboard. Where was Ray? He wouldn't mind me being quiet.
I remember having my "ladyparts" washed by a 20 year old. And feeling old.
I remember the nurse removing the various tubes from my body. The final one being the catheter. I peed just as she was about to take it out. Oops.
I remember taking a shower and feeling afraid to touch my own body or even move too much.
I remember the gale blowing outside.
I remember being very glad to get home after 3 days.
This time last year I survived.
I don't know why I feel the need to write this out. It doesn't give me nightmares any more. It did for quite a while. along with dreams of the day we lost George. Dreams of blood. Dreams of umbilical cords. Dreams of death. I'm still remembering some dreams (I rarely remembered them before) but they are just normally weird now.
Monday, 26 October 2009
Thursday, 22 October 2009
Giveaway number 2
In honour of the first anniversary of his death and birth, I would like to give a gift (or two) in George's name.
"a page from my book" such as those pictured. Made from fine silver. With any name(s) and text on the front and back.
Just leave a comment saying which one you would like for yourself or for a friend (a page or a tag) or if you don't mind which one you win, leave a separate comment for each! And don't worry if you've never commented before, please have a go! I post anywhere in the world.
I will assign a number to each comment and pick a winner using some sort of random number generator thingy on the 31st October.
If you would like to order anything from my shop between 23rd and the 31st October send me an email or a message through my shop ("ask seller a question") with "20% off" as the subject and I will take 20% off the price for you.
The holiday season is fast approaching you know and there will be lots of new things listed tomorrow that make jolly nice gifts (if I do say so myself!) so do go and take a look! Ok ok enough with the self promotion.
On offer:
"a page from my book" such as those pictured. Made from fine silver. With any name(s) and text on the front and back.
OR
For someone else, a double tiny tag made from sterling silver, such as these. With a name on one side and a date on the other (or whatever you would like stamped).
To enter:
Just leave a comment saying which one you would like for yourself or for a friend (a page or a tag) or if you don't mind which one you win, leave a separate comment for each! And don't worry if you've never commented before, please have a go! I post anywhere in the world.
I will assign a number to each comment and pick a winner using some sort of random number generator thingy on the 31st October.
AND
If you would like to order anything from my shop between 23rd and the 31st October send me an email or a message through my shop ("ask seller a question") with "20% off" as the subject and I will take 20% off the price for you.
The holiday season is fast approaching you know and there will be lots of new things listed tomorrow that make jolly nice gifts (if I do say so myself!) so do go and take a look! Ok ok enough with the self promotion.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Yesterday
Yesterday morning I awoke feeling strangely calm. I thought I would wake up weeping. In fact I haven't slept much at all for the last three nights so I woke up groggily, at 9:45, having fallen asleep again at 8ish, demanding tea. Ray watched me, wondering. Hysterics (more of)? Silent tears (more of)? Giant snotty sobs (even more of)?
No, the tears started when I started reading emails and the comments on yesterday's blog and then they came and went for the rest of the day. Thank you all for helping me release the inevitable flood. Crying for George, crying for me, crying for Ray, crying for our relationship that has this huge heap of sad right in the middle of fields and fields of happiness and then late yesterday afternoon, crying for the womb that seemed to remember and started cramping even worse than the previous four pre-menstrual days. "That's mean" said Ray and I couldn't argue with that.
We didn't go to George's wood yesterday. It was grey, windy and rainy and I didn't want to see it like that again. I want to go there in the sun and I don't want to make a ritual out of it, so that the one year on the 20th October when we can't be there for whatever reason, the sky won't fall down. I think we'll go soon though. I want to collect some of the earth from that place and mix it in a little corner with the earth from this place and fill that corner with forget-me-nots. We have a big project going on in our garden (I'll post photos soon) which has involved much moving of earth (by Ray), dry stone walling (by Ray), path making (by Ray) and planning and directing (by me). I can't wait to start planting it with flowers, forget-me-nots, heartsease, chamomile, violas, bluebells, and many more. Yesterday afternoon we worked in the garden for a while and then drove up onto the moors to watch the sunset.
On the 19th I finished six pieces of jewellery for my shop and yet another for myself. Birthstones this time; a pearl for June, the month he was conceived, opal for October, the month of his loss, and aquamarine for March, the month he was due to be born. I really must stop making things for myself, there's only so much stuff I can hang around my neck.
I can't thank all of you enough for the kind words and mentions in your own blogs. You are wonderful. You are marvellous. You keep me going. Who remembered out here? Me, Ray and although my Mum was a day early, she remembered too. That's it. My son's life was too little, too tiny, too invisible, too insignificant for people out here to remember. But as Danielle wrote to me, George has changed the world. My world is significantly different because he was here. Because of him I have friends all over the world who care, who cheer us on, who remember. Thank you. THANK YOU.
No, the tears started when I started reading emails and the comments on yesterday's blog and then they came and went for the rest of the day. Thank you all for helping me release the inevitable flood. Crying for George, crying for me, crying for Ray, crying for our relationship that has this huge heap of sad right in the middle of fields and fields of happiness and then late yesterday afternoon, crying for the womb that seemed to remember and started cramping even worse than the previous four pre-menstrual days. "That's mean" said Ray and I couldn't argue with that.
We didn't go to George's wood yesterday. It was grey, windy and rainy and I didn't want to see it like that again. I want to go there in the sun and I don't want to make a ritual out of it, so that the one year on the 20th October when we can't be there for whatever reason, the sky won't fall down. I think we'll go soon though. I want to collect some of the earth from that place and mix it in a little corner with the earth from this place and fill that corner with forget-me-nots. We have a big project going on in our garden (I'll post photos soon) which has involved much moving of earth (by Ray), dry stone walling (by Ray), path making (by Ray) and planning and directing (by me). I can't wait to start planting it with flowers, forget-me-nots, heartsease, chamomile, violas, bluebells, and many more. Yesterday afternoon we worked in the garden for a while and then drove up onto the moors to watch the sunset.
On the 19th I finished six pieces of jewellery for my shop and yet another for myself. Birthstones this time; a pearl for June, the month he was conceived, opal for October, the month of his loss, and aquamarine for March, the month he was due to be born. I really must stop making things for myself, there's only so much stuff I can hang around my neck.
I can't thank all of you enough for the kind words and mentions in your own blogs. You are wonderful. You are marvellous. You keep me going. Who remembered out here? Me, Ray and although my Mum was a day early, she remembered too. That's it. My son's life was too little, too tiny, too invisible, too insignificant for people out here to remember. But as Danielle wrote to me, George has changed the world. My world is significantly different because he was here. Because of him I have friends all over the world who care, who cheer us on, who remember. Thank you. THANK YOU.
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
George
11:05am
One full revolution around the sun.
4 seasons.
It's cold and damp again and my bones have begun to ache in the cold mornings again.
4 seasons.
It's cold and damp again and my bones have begun to ache in the cold mornings again.
From time to time the sky opens wide and soaks us with cold rain again,
The sea becomes slate grey and except for the hardy the beach is deserted again.
The sea becomes slate grey and except for the hardy the beach is deserted again.
From time to time the sky is bright Wedgwood blue and it is cold and crisp again.
The earth smells rich and damp and sweetly decayed again and the leaves are turning brown and falling from the trees again.
And the earth turns and turns again and again without you.
And another shred is torn from my heart again.
Oh I miss you fiercely little boy. I miss all that you might have been.
Oh I miss you fiercely little boy. I miss all that you might have been.
I miss the friends you might have made.
I miss the things you would have investigated.
I miss the grand adventures we might have had.
I miss the future that now seems hazy and indistinct.
But mostly, mostly, I just miss my little George.
Beloved.
Thursday, 15 October 2009
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Conversations
I bumped into a lady who used to volunteer at the shop today. I just popped into town to deposit a cheque and grab some milk. I don't go very often, and even less by my self.
I always got on ok with this lady, sheesh, I always got on with everyone who worked there, I'm not the sort to not get on with someone for no reason, life is too short. Anyway she's about the same age as my mum but can be rather caustic and blunt at times.
This lady sent me a notelet, not a condolence after the loss of your baby card but a notelet with cute woodland animals on it after we lost George telling me it was "probably for the best". Those words back then upset me immensely. For days. I had many conversations with this lady in my head where I told her exactly what would have been "for the best" for us and our son.
Still, I chatted with her, I'm a nice person you know and I don't care much for conflict. I filled her in on why I wasn't going back to that job with those people. She told me about a friend of a friend whose daughter had been born 8 weeks premature and died after surgery to correct a problem with her stomach. "It was all for the best". Ahem. She then mentioned that our loss had probably been "for the best" too. And so, taking my cue from her own bluntness, I told her.
George was perfectly healthy up until his death. The big anatomy scan a week before we lost him showed up NO problems. He was normal to ahead on his growth. He was moving around normally, he hid his face and then flipped over to wave to us. The relief after that scan had been immeasurable; I'd spent the previous night on a ward with women far more pregnant than I listening to a couple of them going into labour and then being wheeled away. They sent us for the anatomy scan, I stopped bleeding and they sent me home. A week later my waters broke and his cord slipped from my body. George died because something in MY anatomy went wrong. I told her that I disagreed with her strongly. Losing our son had never ever been "for the best".
I felt as if I was defending my son's right to his own short little life. And you know, even if there had been terrible problems, even if he had been doomed from the start, even if we had chosen to end our pregnancy to spare him a painful existence, none of it, NONE of it would have ever been "for the best".
I think she might cross the road next time she sees me. Which would be a shame, because she has been one of the few people to even mention our loss. And quite honestly, I relished the chance to say the things I said, and I would have enjoyed "educating" her further.
I always got on ok with this lady, sheesh, I always got on with everyone who worked there, I'm not the sort to not get on with someone for no reason, life is too short. Anyway she's about the same age as my mum but can be rather caustic and blunt at times.
This lady sent me a notelet, not a condolence after the loss of your baby card but a notelet with cute woodland animals on it after we lost George telling me it was "probably for the best". Those words back then upset me immensely. For days. I had many conversations with this lady in my head where I told her exactly what would have been "for the best" for us and our son.
Still, I chatted with her, I'm a nice person you know and I don't care much for conflict. I filled her in on why I wasn't going back to that job with those people. She told me about a friend of a friend whose daughter had been born 8 weeks premature and died after surgery to correct a problem with her stomach. "It was all for the best". Ahem. She then mentioned that our loss had probably been "for the best" too. And so, taking my cue from her own bluntness, I told her.
George was perfectly healthy up until his death. The big anatomy scan a week before we lost him showed up NO problems. He was normal to ahead on his growth. He was moving around normally, he hid his face and then flipped over to wave to us. The relief after that scan had been immeasurable; I'd spent the previous night on a ward with women far more pregnant than I listening to a couple of them going into labour and then being wheeled away. They sent us for the anatomy scan, I stopped bleeding and they sent me home. A week later my waters broke and his cord slipped from my body. George died because something in MY anatomy went wrong. I told her that I disagreed with her strongly. Losing our son had never ever been "for the best".
I felt as if I was defending my son's right to his own short little life. And you know, even if there had been terrible problems, even if he had been doomed from the start, even if we had chosen to end our pregnancy to spare him a painful existence, none of it, NONE of it would have ever been "for the best".
I think she might cross the road next time she sees me. Which would be a shame, because she has been one of the few people to even mention our loss. And quite honestly, I relished the chance to say the things I said, and I would have enjoyed "educating" her further.
Wednesday, 7 October 2009
In lieu of words...
...some gratuitous photos of the not so itteh bitteh kittehs. Well, maybe a few words...
But doesn't want you to know just how many times it didn't look so elegant.
(the tray goes into the box by the way, the box is to prevent excessive flicking of the litter all over our nice clean kitchen floor just after I've cleaned it.)
"Muuuuuum, get off ebay and make rooooom for us both.... please... this is SO not a good look."
They have grown so fast. It's strange to think that they are a similar age to the age our son would have been if he had been born at the right time in March. They are a great comfort. I'm thinking about George a LOT this month as I knew I would, but so far I'm ok. Thank you to all of you who have emailed to check on me. You are wonderful.
Yoga cat effortlessly strikes the pose...
But doesn't want you to know just how many times it didn't look so elegant.
Boob cat couldn't understand why the boob shelf kept getting smaller, to the point where he had to insist on being held on it.
Stop calling me boob cat, I am Sketch, ferocious hunter and killer of flies... gimme that camera... mrrreowl.
Boob cat and Yoga cat check out their new toilet cubicle.
"We're not entirely impressed with it's unisex design you know, some things should remain private."
"We're not entirely impressed with it's unisex design you know, some things should remain private."
(the tray goes into the box by the way, the box is to prevent excessive flicking of the litter all over our nice clean kitchen floor just after I've cleaned it.)
"Muuuuuum, get off ebay and make rooooom for us both.... please... this is SO not a good look."
They have grown so fast. It's strange to think that they are a similar age to the age our son would have been if he had been born at the right time in March. They are a great comfort. I'm thinking about George a LOT this month as I knew I would, but so far I'm ok. Thank you to all of you who have emailed to check on me. You are wonderful.
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