Closed up like a rusty hinge.

I sat down and tried to dig out from my keyboard whatever splinter was making me angry and frustrated. I couldn't. I have been trying to write a post for days. There are snippets of sorrow, of pain, of mistrust, of fear, flashes of red and orange anger and frustration at the whole why-me-why-you-why-any-of-us-ness of it all dotted about my screen. I have just swept them up and thrown them away. What is the point in hanging on to monday's worries? Let. It. Go.

How are you? I'm ok. Thank you for asking. Not great, not smiling as much as I would like but breathing and realising that I have no control whatsoever over the universe. None. I can only ask it politely to be a little kinder. But maybe that's a bit like asking a tree to be a bit less like a tree. Whatever. I'm done shouting.

But if I did have control over the universe; If I could find and operate my very own wormhole; If I could twist and turn space and time to my own ends; This is where I would like to be right now, or maybe in a couple of hours when the sun starts to sink into the sea. I'd like to be back on Rhodes in late October 2007, at the very tail end of the holiday season with cafe's and shops closing down for the winter, the normally packed streets quieter except for the occasional disgorging of cruise ships. When it was still warm without being stifling. Sitting at this pavement cafe eating baked aubergines and drinking Lip.tons tea almost exactly one year before we lost George. Before I was pregnant and before I knew about real pain and sorrow and the feirce tug of longing. Ray and I had been together since July, we were engaged already and he took me to Rhodes. Our engagementmoon. Before.



And I haven't peed on or near one single stick so far this cycle*. Not one.




*Somewhere in the middle of my cycle in case you were wondering

Reeling.

That's how I was left after bumping into an acquaintance today who told me she had lost a baby a few years ago and then asked how far along I'd been with George. She then said that of course my loss wasn't as bad as hers because she carried her baby longer than me and her baby was officially stillborn and it'll be easier for me to get over it. Yes, she really did say "officially" and "get over it". I've heard some insensitive remarks since George was lost and born but this one quite entirely takes the biscuit and indeed, the biscuit tin. I wonder if she feels better about her loss by negating mine? Didn't she realise that she was also negating George's sweet short loved life? How dare she.

And excuse me but I didn't realise there was a grief competition? Please tell me there isn't; that this person was terribly misguided or ignorant or just plain stupid.

Tell me there aren't grades of grief dependent on fetal age or weeks in the womb or breaths after birth? Tell me there isn't a scale of loss? Tell me there isn't more merit to your grief because your baby was older than mine? Tell me there isn't more merit to my grief because my baby was older than the baby of another? Because if any of this is true then I fear for our humanity.

If you don't mind I'd like to tell you what I think: The loss of any wanted, loved and longed for baby, and even if it is just the loss of the hope of the dream of a baby, is utterly devastating. Utterly. For example, If you've been hoping for years for a baby and your infertility treatment fails yet again then isn't that great loss worth marking? If your baby never breathes or lives for a few minutes or thrives for a few months, or lives for 5 years, does that make one grief greater than another? It's certainly going to be different I'll agree to that, but somehow better or bigger or harder or worse or more worthy of sympathy? I honestly don't think so. Tell me if I'm wrong.

I find that I am slowly becoming a stronger person because of losing George and because of this all-new-me this woman's remarks haven't dug in too deep. Oh they've scratched the surface alright but this anger won't last longer than it takes to type this post. It isn't worth my time or effort: I'm too busy healing. If I'd have met her sooner after George's birth I don't know how I would have reacted but I know what I have lost and I know that my grief is a relevant as the grief that anyone with a lost baby is feeling.

Unfortunately at the time I was left utterly speechless ('aint that just the way?!) and didn't get the chance to respond, but to this woman with the coldest most selfish heart I have ever had the misfortune to encounter I would have liked to have said, "I am so sorry for your loss" but also, (and forgive me for using such language but sometimes it's absolutely appropriate) "fuck you."


And now I'm going to take a nice relaxing warm bath and wash this day off and be done with it.

Uncharted territory.

I have been battling with odd moments of anger and irritation for a few days and much of it has been directed towards Ray.

This man has been the biggest, best and brightest source of love and light in my life and yet I find myself snapping at him for trivial nothings. At times my heart almost bursts with love for him and yet I feel I want to be away from him and he won't leave me alone. I feel he isn't grieving enough. I feel he doesn't say George's name enough. I want him to cry with me and I search his face for sadness. When he gets irritated with something I want to tell him that it doesn't matter, the worst thing in the world has already happened, how can anything else upset him?

But of course he already knows that the worst thing in the world has already happened, it happened to him too and he hurts too. We're not secretive about our feelings and we are helping each other to feel whatever we need to feel. We never leave even minor irritation in the air and we both always apologise if we get snappy and I hate that I've been feeling like this. We don't fight and we don't argue with anger: what's the point, we talk about our feelings and we don't bottle things up for long. If one of us is sulking, the other wants to know why. Ray never tries to stop my tears and has spent hours just holding me. I don't want to tell him that sometimes I feel like this. I could not, would not, will not hurt him. I know that anger is natural and a normal part of grieving but bloody hell, it's quite distressing to find it directed at the one person who really understands my pain. (and no, he doesn't read my blog, but he knows about it.)

Sometimes the act of writing out this negativity dissipates it. I organise my thoughts, type them out, edit a little and try to understand myself a little better. I can feel my mood lifting as these words appear on the screen.

This afternoon he's been visiting his buddy who has just split with his girlfriend after years together and Ray has been telling him that it's ok to feel bad and grief takes a long time. He knows. He understands.

This evening I told Ray that I was feeling irritated and on edge with the world and I was sorry if he was getting the brunt of it. I got hugs. He understands.

And all that negativity has gone.


This evening I'm feeling loved, accepted and a little more peaceful.

The diabolical machinations of the British national health service

I can see why people "go private" I really can, jump ahead of the queue, get in before everyone else and get some bloody attention and if we had any bloody money we would.

I've been waiting for a scan for over a week now and have heard nothing, nowt, nada, zip.

On the phone again to my doctors secretary who will email the doctor (?) to find out what's going on... just heard back from her... wait for appointment (??).

Gah!

I already have an appointment booked with the obstetrician who failed to order a D&C after George's birth and after seeing a "ragged" placenta but I was hoping to not have to wait until 16th Dec to find out what's going on right now with my internal ladyparts.

Grr!

Bloody bloody bloody HELL! Just had another call and because of the 16th Dec appointment with the obstetrician they haven't bothered to make another earlier one with the gynecologist. Nice of them to let me know.

*%!*$!

Today I'm indescribable.

I spoke his name.

Yesterday Ray wasn't working and we went into town to run a few errands. We popped into my workplace to hand in another sick note and I saw two colleagues that I hadn't seen since I had my babybump. One of them asked if I was feeling better, as if I'd had an illness. Neither of them uttered one word about my George.

So I did.

I spoke about George's birth and about not being healed since George was born and they should have given me a D&C straight away after George's birth. George George George George. Damm them! How dare they not mention my lost baby.

What on earth is wrong with us that we think it is somehow better to not mention the dead. As if by not mentioning them the death didn't really happen. HA! You can't fool me, I know I had a baby.

We went for a coffee after that (decaf, keep with the good habits) and Ray was a little surprised by my anger, (I growled, I think) for him it's too painful when other people DO mention George. He doesn't want to forget or pretend, it just hurts.


Today I'm not as angry as I was yesterday, and a little proud of myself.

Nightmare.

Last night I dreamed of the moment I knew it was all over.

That morning I'd been bleeding again and in pain again (it was always the fibroids) and after phoning in sick from work and phoning the maternity unit I went to the toilet and I felt something odd, I looked under and I saw the cord hanging from me. I can barely describe the absolute utter horror of that moment.

I knew George had died.

I think I screamed. I remember clinging on to Ray. Somehow we got to the hospital and about two hours later at 11.05 we saw our perfect tiny son.

It was over so soon.

That image of my baby's lifeline hanging from my body is burned deeply onto the inside of my skull. For days after George was born whenever I closed my eyes I would see his perfect face, or that lifeless pale cord dangling underneath me. Last night I kept seeing it over and over again.

It was the first time I dreamed it.


Today I'm a bit less optimistic, but trying to get it back.

Running on empty.

Well, this morning I seem to be bleeding less. A lot less.

I should be jumping... if not for joy then for the not so distant promise of not having another D&C. But I'm not. I don't think I trust my body any more. I stopped bleeding a week after we lost George and a week and a day after we lost George I was being wheeled down to surgery. The bleeding had slowed down, until a week and a day ago it started getting heavier. No, I don't trust my body any more.

I'm exhausted.

Wiped out, knackered, done in, pooped.

A lot of it is physical, because of the anemia I think. All this bleeding can't have helped my blood count but then again, frequently forgetting to take my second iron pill of the day can't be helping either. I have no breath for hills (we live on a hill) and my legs ache so much after the least exercise.

I don't even need to mention the emotional exhaustion...

I feel bleak.

But I laugh with Ray. It's confusing. One minute the world is crushing me and the next I'm giggling like a teenager.

Oh I love him so much, he got so upset yesterday with the them that haven't fixed my insides properly yet that he didn't know what to do with himself. A strange thing happens to me when he cries, no matter how distressed I am, I stop and start comforting him. He stops and starts comforting me. Ah we work well together. He once told me he hadn't cried since his dad died when he was 16. He's re-learning the art of crying now.

We miss our George.

Today I'm ..... confused.

The All-New-Me.

Yesterday I was in my local supermarket queuing for the checkout and an strange old lady told me off for standing in the "wrong" place and then tried to get in front of me and I snapped quite nastily at her. This is not like me at all. Or maybe this is very much like me. The all new angry-at-the-world me.

I also avoided bumping into two people that I know, just turn about, go in a different direction, but unfortunately I bumped into a third when I was almost home. He said the usual crap. I kept it together until he walked on but three steps later tears filled my head and I was gasping for breath. The all new anti-social-me.

I can feel myself slipping into a dark bleak place. I don't want to be there for long though: I prefer the light.

Today my Doctor is calling my consultant and I might have to have another D&C.

Today I have nothing left.

I cried and cried last night to be done with bleeding and pain and I'm still crying today.

I lost my baby, isn't that enough?

The all new misery-me.

Today is another crying day.

More anger

Two posts I've read today have reminded me of the insensitive things people say and how my life has changed.

Hope's Mama wrote Don't ask me how I am and Monique wrote about her Shitty new life.

I used to be tolerant and forgiving and make excuses for people's insensitivity or ignorance but now I find I have a lot less sympathy for people's discomfort around me. My baby died, I feel like crap, I'm not going to pretend I don't.

I had a sympathy card, not an actual sympathy card but a cute notelet from a lady at work (similar age to my Mum) saying, "I'm sorry for your great disappointment ..." disappointment???????? The note went on to say that, "maybe it was for the best". No it bloody wasn't!

Oh that note made me feel SO angry. Still does if I'm honest. I know there was no malice intended, how could there be, but for goodness sake how insensitive could you be? "Disappointment"? I gave birth to my dead baby, I didn't fail my driving test.

And today I took my sick notes in to work. One of the ladies there gave me a hug and of course I started crying and, "Oh don't cry, you can have another one... at least you know you can conceive..." Yes, I know I can have another one, or at least we can try, but at the moment, if you don't mind, I'm still grieving for this one, who was real and lived and died inside me and was tiny and perfect and utterly irreplaceable.

Just because technically George's birth is considered a miscarriage doesn't mean it hurts any less than if it had happened three weeks later when it's possible that his lungs might have worked had he been born alive. He was real. He was my son. And oh hell, I want him back.

Being angry makes me type in italics.

Today I want the world to go away.

Anger

I have an angry feeling today.

I'm angry that I'm still suffering the after effects on my body of losing George and I'm angry at this body that let me and my son down so badly.

I'm angry at all the couldn't-care-less mothers that I see dragging screaming babies around. Don't they understand the preciousness of the lives they have carried or the responsibility of care that they have?

I'm angry at all the happily pregnant women who have no idea how unfair it that they get to have a healthy live baby or how much pain I feel at seeing them.

And I'm angry at all the "friends" at work who haven't bothered to call or even text.

Today I'm not great.

Baby P

Whenever I read about this sort of abuse and waste of life it makes me wonder how on earth any parent could be so lacking in humanity as to allow this to happen.

And now, having lost my own sweet son George, it makes me feel terribly, terribly sad and angry to think that this woman gave birth to a live healthy baby and failed miserably to keep him that way.

I don't understand why there is so much effort made to keep children with their parents in cases like these. There are so many childless people who would have welcomed little Peter with open arms.

"Family" seems to be a misunderstood concept. A genetic relationship isn't much of a reason to keep a child in bad circumstances. We need to stop worrying about the rights of the parents and concentrate on the safety of the children.

We take more care of abused animals than we do of children.

I don't understand any of it.

News story.