Saturday, 29 August 2015

It's his baby too

Words can't describe how amazing Brent is. I don't think he even realises, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have ever been able to get through the last year and a half.  

I know how lucky I am. He's stuck by me and Lily through the ectopic and me nearly loosing my life. He was by my side throughout the whole of Lily's accident and did everything he could for her. He was there for me and strong for me the whole way through the pregnancy and grieving process with Albie. And he was there for me when we found out our next baby's heart had stopped beating. And he hasn't stopped being there for me since. 

I just hope I've done the same for him. I couldn't imagine life without him and I just want him to know I'm there for him too. I came across this poem that I think hits the nail on the head and I'd like to share it. 

A father's grief
It must be very difficult
To be a man in grief
Since ''men don't cry''
And ''men are strong''
No tears can bring relief. 

It must be very difficult
To stand up to the test
And field the calls and visitors
So she can get some rest 

They always ask if she's alright 
And what she's going through 
But seldom do they take his hand and ask
''My friend, but how are you?''

He hears her crying in the night 
And thinks his heart will break
He drys her tears and comforts her 
But ''stays strong'' for her sake 

It must be very difficult
To start each day anew
And try to be so very brave
He lost his baby too. 

So Brent, Thankyou. I'll be strong for you too. You are perfect and I promise you will always have me to lean on. 

I love you 

The worst thing to say to a parent of pregnancy loss

There is one thing I hear time and time again. Something that makes no sense to me at all. 

'At least you still have Lily!'

Really?! Like I'd have loved Lily less if Albie had been fine. 

Is that meant to make me feel better? Lily is my world and I love her more than anyone could ever imagine but I also feel that way about Albie. The love felt is the same. I wouldn't have loved Albie any less if he'd have been healthy. 

Don't get me wrong, I know people are just searching for a way to make me feel better. Nobody knows how to deal with baby loss whatever the circumstances. It's so hard to know what to say. Sometimes I don't know what to say myself, but this to me is by far the Worst!

Just think about it for a minute. Would you say to a bereaved mother of a 14 year old that 'at least you've got your other child'? 

Or a father who's just had a stillborn 'at least you've got your other child'? 

No you wouldn't, because it's like saying 'never mind least you've got another.'
And nobody would dream of saying that to parents who had lost a child in those circumstances, so why is it ok to say it to parents that have lost their child through pregnancy? 

Just because those parents were unable to meet their babies it doesn't mean they weren't a part of them. It doesn't mean they weren't as much a part of their heart and soul as any other children they may have. 

Sometimes saying nothing and just being there is more important than trying to say something to make that parent feel better. 

Thursday, 27 August 2015

Telling your child they're never going to meet their sibling

I've always maintained that honesty is the best policy, especially when dealing with children. 

There's being honest and there's being too honest when it comes to children. It's a fine line and often easy to cross. 
People often forget that children know a lot more than they are letting on. They know when you are worried or upset about something, they may not know what that something is but they know there's something going on. 

Lily is a natural worrier, just like me. When she knows I'm upset or worried or stressed it, in turn, worries her. I try to be as honest as I can with her without causing her too much upset. But there's some things she doesn't need to know the details about. 

When I had the ectopic Lily was 2. I was taken in to hospital in the middle of the night. We all lived with my mum so it wasn't too worrying for lily when she woke in the morning to my mum instead of me. When I came home a couple of days later after surgery I was in pain and extremely upset. We told Lily I had a poorly tummy and it was sore which was why I was upset. She worried about cuddling me incase she hurt me which was really hard. But she helped my mum look after me and was soon back to her usual snugly self. 

Lily had turned 3 when I became pregnant with Albie. We told her before our 12 week scan that she was going to have a brother or sister. She was so excited! She was always talking about 'the baby in mummy's tummy' asking when she would meet her sibling. 
When we found out something may be wrong with Albie we didn't tell Lily. Partly because we didn't want to worry her and partly for selfish reasons. She was the only person that still treated us the same. There was no passing looks of sympathy and she didn't avoid the subject. She was still happy to talk about him and spent her time making sure he was ok in there, chatting away to him, telling him stories and cuddling and kissing my ever growing belly. 

When our 20 week scan showed how poorly Albie was and we knew the outcome we still didn't tell Lily strait away. On the day I was due to be induced we had booked Lily in at nursery. We knew this was the best idea for her as it was a safe place and if she was at home she would be constantly worrying about where her mummy, her Brent and her nannie were. My mum sorted Lily's care out and made sure there was someone there to look after her. My dad and my brothers stepped in and Lily's dad had her over night. 
When I returned home numb the next day the best I could do was sit on the sofa and sob. There were people around me but I felt totally alone. That was until my wonderful amazing girl came home. I needed her more than she had ever needed me. 

Her little face when she saw me like that I'll never forget. I knew I had to tell her there and then. My heart broke again that second. I told her that the baby in my tummy had been very poorly and he hadn't grown properly so he had to go and live in the sky. She asked lots of questions like why was he poorly and was he still in my tummy. I was honest. I said his brain hadn't grown properly and that he had come out of my tummy. We told her that we called him Albie and that he will always be her baby brother and that he loved her so much. She sat in silence for longer than I've ever seen before (Anyone that knows Lily knows she doesn't sit still for 5 seconds). You could see she was trying to process the situation in her head. She asked some more questions and said ''But we were going to live in our own house and be a family'' it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to hear. I assured her that we were still going to have our own house and no matter what we're were still a family and Albie will always be a huge part of our family. And that was it. She cuddled me and then asked if she could have her dinner. She accepted it just like that. That's what had happened and no one could change it. 

I'm im awe of that little girl every day. She's had so much to deal with in her short little life. But she picks herself up and she carries on. She's stronger than all of us. She's bright, she's kind, she's polite, she's the only one in the world that can put a genuine smile on my face on the really bad days. She talks about Albie every day and I love it. She's such a proud big sister. If it wasn't for her I don't know where I'd be right now. She's 4 and she understands me more than anyone. She understands that I can't always take her out every day because I struggle to even get out of bed, she understands that when I cry all I need is a cuddle. She knows that tomorrow is another day and that we can start over again and do exciting things. 
Don't get me wrong I feel the guilt of those bad days I don't want her to miss out but I'm so glad she's the way she is. She's perfect, and I'm so proud of my little rock. I try my best for her, my world. 

After all, life goes on. 

Monday, 24 August 2015

Everyone needs friends

I have some amazing friends. Friends I see most days, friends I maybe won't see for months and some friends I've never even met. Every single one as amazing as the other. 

I just wanted the world to know how thankful I am that you care about me. How I would have coped without all your support, I don't know. 
I know I've said it before but Thankyou for all my heartfelt gifts and the kind words you have all given me. Thankyou for all the candles lit for my babies. But mostly, Thankyou for being there. Thankyou for being you and putting up with my good days and my bad. And Thankyou for caring about not only me but my family. You are all truly amazing and I hope I can return the love and care you have shown for me. 

I love you all xxxx

Sunday, 23 August 2015

3rd time unlucky

What happens when it all goes wrong? You pick yourself up and you try again. But what if it keeps going wrong time and time again? 
My main question after I had Albie was 'will this happen again?' No body was able to answer this right away. I was told a post mortem would be able to tell us more. So we opted for a full post mortem, I try hard not to think about what was involved. Reading the consent form was hell and I don't care to re-live that. They assured us this was the best option. However, after weeks of waiting for my baby boy to come back from St George's hospital in London, still no one had any answers. All the post mortem did was confirm the anomalies not give us any answers on what might have caused them and if it would happen again. 

We were given a date for a meeting to go over the findings of the examination on Albie. This meeting was pointless. I got more from reading the report myself than talking to the doctors. They assume you won't understand or won't want to read it so conveniently leave bits out. Bits that I thought were extremely important (but that's another story). Obviously we asked our question... 'Will this happen again?' Their answer? 'Probably not so we advise you to try again and see what happens.' Were they joking? Probably not? Is that all they could say? Try again and see what happens? What are we, guineapigs? I left that meeting angry and hurt. This was the 1st time (but not the last) I felt like I was an experiment to them. They don't know what my baby had. It might not even have a name yet. But they want to find out. I understand why, but at least try and sugarcoat it. But there wasn't much else we could do. We weren't ready to try again. 

This was back in April 2015. My cycles were still up in the air after having Albie and I wanted to wait until they had sorted themselves out before starting any contraception (minus the obvious). But...after a few non appearances from the lovely aunt flow I got a little suspicious. I took a test but it was negative, so I contacted the doctor. I was reassured that it was normal and that I should just wait and see. I gave it a couple more weeks. Still no show. So I took another test and me being the fertile oddball that I am it was a big fat positive!! 

All the fear and all the heartbreak whirled round in my head again like an angry tornado. Strait away I contacted the screening midwife who had looked after me through my pregnancy with Albie. I was sent strait away to the early pregnancy clinic to make sure the pregnancy was in the right place and it wasn't another ectopic. Is was firmly in the correct place and what's more was the egg had come from my right ovary, the one without a tube. I was fascinated. My left tube had grabbed the egg, it had been fertilised and this tiny being had made its way past all the obstacles and implanted itself in the right place! It gave me hope. 

Undoubtedly I was still worried. More than worried, petrified! But I had that tiny bit of hope. I wished all my wishes. I took pregnancy vitamins religiously, I ate all the right things, stayed away from all the bad things. I was careful, really, really careful. I didn't just want this baby to be ok, I needed it to be ok. I couldn't do it again. I wasn't strong enough. 

People close to me started announcing their pregnancies too. Two of my best friends due the same month I was. But Brent and I kept ours a closed secret. We didn't want anyone to know. If there was something wrong we'd decide what to do and keep it to ourselves. I couldn't put my family through the pain and worry a 3rd time. 

I was booked in for the 12 week scan with the consultant who had looked after me with Albie (and I use that term very loosely!) but i would have been nearly 14 weeks! I was so angry. I was told after Albie I would be bought in for a scan dead on 12 weeks with the next pregnancy and no later! I tried and tried to change the appointment but with no luck. So I opted for a private scan that cost £70. It was booked for the day I turned 12 weeks. 
The day after I booked the private scan I got a call from the screening midwife telling me that they had a space on that day with another consultant, so I took it. I cancelled the private scan and was happy i'd got my way but not so happy about the consultant. I couldn't winge so when the day came we made our way to the hospital. 

Now, this consultant hadn't made the greatest 1st impression on me. She was the one who had carried out my amnio two days before I gave birth to Albie. She had no empathy. She was very matter of fact and when she couldn't retrieve a decent sample the 1st time didn't even blink before sticking the giant needle through me a 2nd time. Not once did she check I was ok, not once did she even say she was sorry. So I wasn't about to jump for joy when it was her doing the scan. 

I was so worried, I can't even begin to describe how completely numb I felt. All I kept thinking was what am I going to do if the NT level is raised again? I just can't do that again. I was shaking by the time I was led to the scan room. The very same one the amnio had been preformed in. The screening midwife had made sure she was free so she could be there. I sat on the couch and Brent sat beside me in a chair and we waited. We waited and we waited. We went through a few questions with the midwife, and we waited. For an hour and a half we waited for this bitch of a consultant to turn up! She knew our history, she had read our notes but she kept us waiting agonisingly long. When she finally turned up there was no apology. She was stone faced and it made me feel like we had put her out. 

She sat down in front of the screen and put on the jelly. The scanner hit my skin and my whole world came crashing down just like it had done before. All I wanted to do was scream! Why us? What had we done that was so bad for us to be put through all this? 
Brent had no clue. I know what you should see at a 12 week scan. I know what the picture on the screen should be as soon as the scanner hits. It wasn't the same! I knew our baby had stopped growing. 
She asked to do an internal scan which confirmed there was no heartbeat. We had to endure another 10 minutes of a huge TV with pictures of our sleeping baby. Even in 4D. There was no way of telling wether it had the same anomalies as Albie had.

I was told to get decent and someone would be along to talk to me about what happens next. Then the consultant walked out the door. No sorry, not even a look on her face of compassion for a couple who had just lost their 3rd baby! And I didn't see her again. 

We waited again. We waited and we waited. Still stuck in this awful room! Finally we were walked through my options. I could either go home and wait for the pregnancy to pass naturally or I could take a tablet and come back in 2 days and pass it in hospital (basically be induced). What they hadn't counted on was this girl right here does her research. One of the things I'd looked up when we had found out about Albie was what procedure would be necessary at what weeks of pregnancy. I knew at 12 weeks or less surgery was an option. 

I sure as hell wasn't going to go through labour. I didn't want to see this baby. I didn't want to know. And as for going home and waiting. Were they kidding? It could have been another 2 or more weeks before anything happened!! 
I demanded they give me surgery. Or at least send me somewhere that could. They were hesitant. But I was insistent. 

We were lead into a private room where yet another doctor came in to speak to us. He told us that the option of surgery was a bad idea because the foetus wouldn't be able to be tested for choromosomal abnormalities and other genetic conditions. I was gobsmacked!! They wanted me to go through more physical and emotional pain to use our babies and us as guineapigs! They're at a loss as to what is causing babies with mine and Brent's DNA to turn out like this. They want us as an experiment. It's new to them and they want to know why. And as much as I want to know why, the pain and suffering out ways that by miles.  They reluctantly agreed the surgery. And I was booked in for the next day. 

I couldn't keep pictures this time around. I haven't come to terms with it yet. I've found it harder to keep living my life. Im grieving for the loss of this baby while still grieving for the loss of Albie. I've found it really tough to be around and talk to my friends that are pregnant too. I constantly feel like I'm in an enclosed space where the walls are ever so slightly moving inwards, all the time. I don't want to loose my friends and I want to be happy for them but every milestone I think that should be me. I don't know how I'll feel when January comes. But I hope I can be there for them as much as they have been there for me. 

After all, life goes on. 

Saturday, 22 August 2015

A fear of the departed - fear of the unknown continued

I have a keen interest in psychology, specifically criminal psychology. I find the minds and actions of psychopathic serial killers fascinating. I read book after book, watch every documentary I can find and will research anything from Dennis Nilsen flushing his victims body parts down the toilet to the Suffolk strangler brutally murdering prostitues. But my fear has always been seeing a departed human being. 

I've been frightened for as long as I can remember and I have no idea why. Let's face it, they can't hurt you. As a teenager I would often take my horse out for hacks alone in the woods and down secluded trails. I always worried I would come across a body, how I'd feel and what I'd do. (Maybe I read too many serial killer books). 

It's that fear of the unknown again. I had never seen the body of someone who had passed. In fact I've been very lucky in my life, apart from the death of my paternal grandparents when I was very young I'd had no deaths of anyone close to me. 

I've lived with this as fear, as I'm aware, the best part of my life. But it was Albie that made me overcome that fear. 

I was anxious about Albie's birth for the obvious reasons but more so because I didn't know what to expect about the way he was going to look. The fact that he would be sleeping panicked me. And the two days leading up to his birth that's all I could think about. I had no idea if he would look like an ordinary baby, how big he'd be and what colour. It was terrifying.

Labour was hard with Albie. The pain increased rapidly and I took all the pain-relief I could (apart from an epidural - another fear of mine). So throughout those few hours the worry of meeting Albie wasn't on my mind. But when the time came and I needed to push I suddenly remembered. 
I panicked but it all happened so suddenly. By the time my mum had rung the emergency bell and all the midwives came flooding in he was pretty much out. 

And then the pain stopped. This was it. This was when I was going to meet my beautiful little boy. Brent couldn't look either. He had his face buried in the pillow beside me. I took a deep breath and the midwife handed him to me. 

He was gorgeous. He looked like an ordinary baby. Yes he was tiny but he looked perfectly formed. You wouldn't have been able to tell he had anything wrong with him at all. And just like that the fear was gone. I wasn't scared anymore. 
My mum urged Brent to look at him. He did and I knew then that Brent had been as scared as I was. 

We spent a fair amount of time with Albie he was wrapped in the shawl that had previously wrapped Lily, myself and my 3 brothers. We spent most of the time cuddling him and talking to him and the midwives had brought in a Moses basket so we made sure he had his teddies in there. We took pictures of him and prints of his tiny hands and feet. 
It was so peaceful and I wondered what I'd been frightened of. He was my baby. He wasn't scary. And I realised that I'd spent my life being afraid of something that was so calm and harmonious. In a way I felt silly. 

I think of things differently now, I'm not afraid of a lot of things that I used to be and I have more empathy. All thanks to a little boy who was just to perfect for this world. I just want to make him proud. 

After all, life goes on. 

Friday, 21 August 2015

Fear of the unknown

I'm a person who needs information. As much information as possible. I want all the gory details and all the possible outcomes. 

Medical professionals never understand this. They like to keep things from you. They don't like you to worry, but my worry is the unknown! 
I think I've always been this way but more so when I became pregnant with Lily. I was 18, not in a very stable relationship and had never even held a baby before, let alone looked after one. I couldn't imagine myself being a mum but I loved that little pip inside me from the moment I knew she was there. So I spent my spare time looking up everything. Reading books, sharing on forums and most importantly talking to my mum. My pregnancy was a breeze. I loved every second, but like any pregnant woman I worried about labour. My mum was very honest with me about the pain but it's still hard to imagine when it's all so new. I watched graphic videos and read about people's experiences. 
I felt I was well informed and this made it less scary for me. 

I refused to make a 'birth plan' much to my midwives disapproval. I couldn't imagine anything worse than planning out the perfect birth of your baby and nothing going how you wanted. Why add disappointment to something so wonderful? 
It was quite lucky because Lily decided to make an appearance 6 weeks early so nothing had been planned. I didn't even have a bag packed. 

Labour with Lily wasn't nice but I had done my research so knew what was happening. It wasnt scary and apart from having to be given steroids for Lily's lung development and my waters having to be broken 3 times, there were no complications. I was reassured my baby would survive when she was born, after all, babies survive being born a lot more prematurely than that. And she was fine. She was tiny and looked like a de-feathered sparrow, but she was perfectly fine. I leaped into motherhood with both feet. It's such a cliche but it really does come naturally. 

And that's how I cope when I'm frightened of the unknown. But what happens when you can't do any research, no one will share their experiences and no one has any answers? 

After the ectopic pregnancy I didn't know if I'd ever be able to conceive a viable pregnancy again. No one was able to tell me for sure if I would or wouldn't. No amount of trawling through websites or listening to other people's experiences was going to help. I just didn't know, no one did. 
I lived with this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach until I became pregnant with Albie a few months later and was told he was in the right place. 
It was like someone had turned off a switch in my brain. Suddenly I wasn't worried about wether I could become pregnant again. I knew I could. 
However, that was short lived. When we were told the possibility of our baby having a life threatening condition that feeling was back. It came over me like a dark black storm cloud. I thought tests would tell us what was wrong. The results took 4 agonising weeks, where every day that cloud would get a little bit darker. But they were all clear. The cloud stayed.

At our 20 week scan we found out the physical things wrong with our baby boy. But we still had no idea why, or what condition it was. All the doctors were stumped. We had more tests but they were all negative too. A post mortem was carried out but all that did was confirm the anomalies. No one could say what had caused them and no one could tell us wether it would happen again. 

We have since seen a genetic councellor who has delved into our family history, checked we aren't related (eww) and researched everything about our angel Albie. We're still no closer to finding out what caused him to develop that way and the professionals are all out of ideas. 

I'm having to learn to live with this cloud because I doubt we'll ever know why Albie was the way he was. And trying for another baby is so hard to do. The worrying sick feeling at the thought of this all happening again is indescribable. 
I'm not looking for the answer I want, I'm just looking for an answer. I just want to know either way so I can carry on with my life knowing, and not stuck here surrounded by the cloud. 

I'm trying really hard to just let the world keep turning and just walk into the unknown with my head held high. Some days I know I can do it. Other days I take a bit of persuading but what else can I do? 

After all, life goes on. 

Thursday, 20 August 2015

The termination of a WANTED pregnancy - an honest account

I don't think I've been this honest since all this began. I havn't even said it all out loud. I havn't even written it down. 

It all started back in February 2014. I was rushed to hospital with servere stomach pains in the middle of the night. I had an ectopic pregnancy which had caused internal bleeding and resulted in emergency surgery and removal of my right Fallopian tube. I was told the chances of me falling with a viable pregnancy naturally again were slim due to the partial blockage of my left tube. I was only 21 and hadn't even known I was pregnant. 
The news was deverstating. Not only had I lost a baby I hadn't even known was there, I had also nearly lost my life and left my then 2 year old daughter without a mum. But the worst part was I thought I'd never have another child. All I've ever wanted is to have children. I've never been career minded and I'm very family orientated. My daughter is my world but I desperately wanted to give her a brother or sister and I desperately wanted to give my partner, Brent, a child. 
No help was really given for the loss we had just experienced, a couple of leaflets were given to us but as soon as we stepped out the hospital we weren't their problem anymore, we were forgotten. 

It was hard to get back to a normal routine. But a short getaway to Amsterdam helped Brent and I to realise that we could still be happy and that whatever was thrown at us we could stick together. 

Fast forward a few months to October 2014, I unexpectedly found out I was pregnant. After believing it would never happen again I was secretly thrilled but it was tainted at the thought it could easily be another ectopic. I was sent to the early pregnancy clinic who confirmed the pregnancy was in the right place and everything was fine. It was the best news but somehow I couldn't shake this feeling that there was something wrong. I put it to the back of my mind and tried to be as  excited as Brent was. 
The uneasy feeling had grown into genuine worry by the time our 12 week scan came along. I had every right to worry. Medical professionals have this way of letting you know it's not right before even saying anything. It's the silence. 
Sure enough our baby had an increased nuctual translucency (NT level). This meant a risk of Down's syndrome and other chromosomal abnormalities as well as heart conditions. 

2 days later we were sent up to Kings College Hospital in London for a repeat scan which showed the NT level had increased further and a CVS test (where a very large needle is incerted through the abdomen into the uterus to collect a sample of placenta for DNA testing). It was heartbreaking, scary and painful. 
We waited weeks and weeks for the results but finally they came. Negative. Down's, negative. Turners, negative. All the other 90+ conditions they tested for, negative! 
We also had a fetal cardiac scan to check for any heart conditions but that was all clear. 
I didn't know what to do. On one hand the tests were all negative which was a good outcome but on the other hand my heart was still telling me there was something really wrong. 

I reluctantly let myself get excited. I started buying a few clothes. Looking for new gagets that weren't around when my daughter was a baby. We bought a new crib and bedding. We had a private scan in 4D and saw our beautiful baby. And I finally started telling people I was pregnant after 18 weeks of trying to hide it, and not really succeeding. Maybe the increased NT level was just one of those things? Maybe they got it wrong?

We had our 20 week anomaly scan booked at Kings on the same day as another cardiac scan. The cardiac scan was first thing in the morning. All was fine. The 20 week scan was last thing. We waited hours, long, anxious hours! 

Finally I layed on the couch as soon as that scanner hit my belly the consultant did that thing they do....silence. And that was it. I knew it was over. I knew that this baby I'd bonded with, that I loved with all my heart, wasn't going to be able to come home. My daughter would never meet her brother or sister. 

After telling us the problems our baby had the consultants said that there was an incompatibility with life. We had 2 choices. Carry on with the pregnancy which would result in late misscarrige or stillbirth or worse, our baby could live a few painful, heartbreaking days. Or terminate the pregnancy. 
Unless you've had to make that decision you wouldn't understand what its like.  The guilt you feel. The pain in your chest at the cracks forming through your already crushed heart. 

We had talked and talked about this outcome since the day we had our 12 week scan and every time we'd come to the same conclusion. We knew we couldn't be selfish and spend those precious few days with our baby whilst they were in pain. If there was, by some sort of miracle, a chance of survival, what sort of life would they have? And where would that leave Lily? If this baby needed 24/7 care for the rest of their life, her life would change forever. She deserved as much care but she would be pushed to the back. 

We made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. It wasn't something we took lightly, it wasn't because we didn't want or love our baby. We did it because it was the least selfish thing to do for everyone. And I don't care what anyone says it wasn't the easy way out! 

I was sent for more tests including an amnio (more massive needles but to collect amniotic fluid this time) and given a tablet to loosen my cervix. 
I went back two days later and was induced. I went through hours of labour which was somehow a million times worse than labour with Lily, like my body didn't want to let go. Like I was fighting it. At 18.22 on 30th January 2015 our beautiful, amazing, tiny little baby boy Albie George Kevin Hitchen was born weighing 310g. I savoured every moment knowing this was the only time I would ever cuddle my baby the only time I'd ever get to hold his hand, the only time I'd ever get to say to him I loved him. 

He was smaller than he should have been, his brain hadn't developed, and his genitals had not developed how they should, he had club foot and other frozen limbs. Which made sense as he never moved when we had any scans, he couldn't move. He also had abnormal facial features and an underdeveloped bowel. A postmortem confirmed all this.

From then on my life changed again. I, as a person, had changed again. People think of me differently now some people disagree with our decision but the majority of those people will have never been in this situation. This is why I'm writing this. This is why I'm telling my story. The help and support I got after the loss of my son was nil! I was given a number for counselling which I had to sort myself and still 7 months on that hasn't started yet. I've finally got a date for my 1st appointment but that whole time I've been on a waiting list. You won't find many, if any support websites on the Internet. No one wants to tell their story because it's painful and the thought of someone judging you is too much to bare. But I'm breaking the silence! Judge me if you've been in that situation, if not you don't have a right. 

I think about my gorgeous angel Albie every day but we're trying to get on with our lives to make him proud of his mummy, daddy and his amazing big sister. 

After all, life goes on

Wednesday, 19 August 2015

The moaning of life

I'm a self confessed natural moaner! 

I moan at almost everything in day to day life. That I've got a headache, that it's raining, that things cost too much, that I'm too hot or too cold, that there's a towel left on the floor, that I have to cook 2 different dinners because somebody doesn't like it, or that the woman in the post office is rude. The list goes on and on. These things I have no trouble having a moan about. But when something happens that changes everything I try my damned hardest not to moan about it, because if I do a wave of guilt crashes over me. Why? Because I always tell myself there will always be someone worse off than me in the world. 

This has become obvious in the last few years. Well, I've always known, but it's not until something life changing happens that you realise it really is true. No matter what you're going through, no matter what happens there is someone out there somewhere that is going through worse. 
This is all because of a little girl who I don't even know the name of. Let me explain. 

Last year on 26th May 2014, my daughter Lily (among others) was involved in a collision involving a go kart travelling down hill in excess of 30mph. She was hit and knocked unconscios. She had suspected fatal head injuries and was air lifted to Kings College Hospital in London. As it turned out she was extremely lucky. Her head injury wasn't as bad as they had first thought, she had a deflated lung which was easily fixed and a cut lip that required stitches. But she had her life and I had my baby. But our time on peadiatrics intensive care was scary, and heartbreaking but not only because Lily was hurt, because there were so many other children literally fighting for their life. I will never ever forget one little girl on that ward. She must have been 8 or 9 maybe, she was in the bed opposite Lily and she had just undergone surgery for her second transplant! That little girl had every right to sit there and moan about how unfair it was, she had every right to scream and shout and I'm sure there were times that she did, but she was a ray of sunshine. She was polite and happy and cared deeply for the other children, strangers! She made jokes and laughed and every single day she would ask me how Lily was. She asked about the things she liked and the books she enjoyed reading. Always thought about everyone else. 

This brave, amazing little girl didn't moan so do I have the right to moan? 
The answer to that is yes! I do! I don't mean the day to day life I mean the big things. The things that you would wish away in an instant, the things that change you as a person. 

I've come to realise that it doesn't matter what's happened it's no more or less important than what's happened to someone else. That person is no more or less important than you. 
I'm not going to sit around feeling sorry for myself and I'm not going to to moan about my problems to everyone I see but just sometimes when I really need too I won't feel the guilt that I always have done. 

After all, life goes on. 

My first time (blogging)

This is my first ever blog post. In fact it's the first time I've ever really considered creating a blog. 

I needed a way to open the tap, let out some of the things that swirl around and around in my head but never really go anywhere. 
This may not have seemed like the most obvious way, why not write myself a letter? Or talk to a close friend? I've tried that. A letter to myself doesn't really go anywhere, I write it down and yes, it's out of my head but then I read and re-read and its back in there. Talking to a friend? You never really think about what you want to say, you miss bits out, the conversation evolves and other subjects arise, you can never go over what's said, take bits out and change bits. 
So this is why I've decided creating a blog is the way forward. I write it down its out of my head but I'm sharing it at the same time. And it's gone, out in the open! 

After all, life goes on.