Two years later

What a rollercoaster.

Do you know, I was sure I’d be writing about how great things were right now. This time last week I felt pretty good. Confident that I was moving forward and starting the embrace life again. I probably should have written something then.

But I am having a bad day and I need to write.

Two years today, and I am in a place I never thought I’d still be in.

Two years ago, I thought I’d never feel emotional pain like I was feeling. But I was assured it would get easier with time. And hey, “you can always try again, right?” was something I heard time and time again. “you will get to hold your baby” they said.


Only, they weren’t talking to me. They were talking to the hundreds of other women who’s baby life had been cut so short. And you know what? They were right. Those women are now holding their precious little ones. It doesn’t stop them missing their lost ones, but they have some comfort and they are experiencing that joy that they were once promised. I get that too sometimes, but then I wake up. I love those dreams. I want to stay asleep forever. Never ever wake up.

I can honestly say that most days I get through in one piece. Sometimes even several days at a time, sometimes even weeks. On these days I can manage to count my lucky stars for the two children I already have, and the man in my life. I look around me and see how lucky I am to be alive, to have two healthy children, and a partner who is willing to do almost anything for me. Who has turned his own life upside-down to be with us.

But there are bad days. They are fewer than they were. In that respect, I guess it does get easier. Having more happy days between the bad ones. But the actual pain on the bad days is just as severe as the day it happened. I still count my lucky stars, but it isn’t about being grateful for what you have. Of course I am grateful, but sometimes the hurt takes over too much.

I am learning to get through those bad days. I am learning that those bad days with all those torturous feelings are just thoughts. I’ve been told that I must not fight them, I should let them do their own thing. As long as I leave them to do their thing, they will leave without a fight. Today, I am letting those thoughts do their thing, and they are really big. They are shaking my whole body and shoving knives through my chest.

Two years ago we had that scan. We saw our beautiful child on the screen. She should have been bouncing around, saying “look Mummy and Daddy, look what I can do! Look how big I’m getting!”. But she was still. Not a single flutter. She was the perfect size and had everything she needed, except a heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry, your baby’s heart has stopped beating”

I will never ever forget those words.

Then my first step into a new world. Opening my eyes to this dark place. It looked like my previous world, but blurry, and I felt like I was in the middle of a busy roundabout, while I stood still. Voices were muffled, and my chest felt like it had been trampled on.

Leaflets being handed to me.

“If you do this naturally, you will go into full labour, there will be a lot of blood and it will be very painful, I strongly advise you not to”

“Medical Management of Miscarriage”

“Surgical Management of Miscarriage”

Fuck, what kind of choices are these? None of the above! My baby, I want my baby. No scrap that.

I NEED my baby.

“There is no reason why you can’t try again” – words that haunt me two years later.

Words that, at the time, were actually surprisingly comforting. Hope. Because people want to give you that hope don’t they. I thought they were right too.

Two years later….

I’ve given away all the baby stuff we had. A fresh start. A new year. Lots of fun things planned to take my mind off things, and to help me move forward.

#mygratefulyear – convincing myself that I can do this. Taking every single day as it comes. Mostly, these days are good. But today is a step backwards. Every single day seems to bring new pregnancy news. It isn’t mine. Someone else. It will always be someone else. There is so much happiness beaming from them. They are oozing joy.

I remember that. I could have burst with excitement. Perhaps it was just a treat or a glimpse. Perhaps it was some sort of lesson or punishment? Perhaps it was just a massive learning curve to be a more empathetic person? To experience real pain, after having a relatively easy life until then?

Who knows. I hope to find out one day.





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