I met my midwife today.
She came on duty the evening after we lost George and brought him back in to visit with Rays mum and me. "That's your son". She visited us at home a week later and was so sweet. The same evening I was rushed to hospital haemorrhaging.
"Would you prefer to see someone else? I understand if it brings back bad memories."
It was lovely to see someone who remembered our son. Someone who remembered his name and used it lots. Someone who lifted him in her arms and placed him in my arms. Someone who saw his sweet little face. Someone who knew the enormity of our loss.
She hugged me and passed tissues, we filled in forms and chatted, and she wasn't the slightest bit worried about the spotting on Saturday (there's been no more). I explained that I intend to be a neurotic pest and she agreed on the plan and offered home visits whenever I need them a bit later on (hooray!). She is also going to poke the consultant and Early Pregnancy Unit about getting an early ultrasound (whoop!).
I feel so much better today and I'm enjoying it.
I'm even enjoying the sore boobs and the nausea.
One day at a time.
Quite a few to go.