My newest delusion of the week: 'Maybe its because I had dental issues'. While pregnant I had incredibly poor gums they seemed to bleed constantly, therefore I may have occasionally not brushed my teeth because they hurt. Yes on the top of my list was go to the dentist I was in fact awaiting my appointment. However shit happened and now my gums don't bleed but I am also not pregnant.
Lesson number nine: It probably wasn't my teeth (though i'm sure I will convince myself again at some point that it was)
Today has been hard, my husbands family decided to visit, all of them. Now I like his family, and so does he, and i'm generally not one to complain about good company, however, I really could not be bothered with a five hour visit. I was already tired from the day before after a particularly uncomfortable trip to have a pedicure. While originally I had enjoyed using the massage chair whilst having a pedicure, I had started to feel surprisingly claustrophobic (which I have never felt before) as the massage chair was going ape shit at my poor back, it felt as if it was going to beat me up and leave me for dead. I tried very eloquently, to explain to the lady scrubbing my hideous feet (ask any nurse about her feet) that it was a tad rough, unfortunately she didn't speak English, stupidly I tried to use pretend sign language to explain the situation, this resulted in the massage chair being turned up to a higher setting. I gave up and zoned out at the wall until I felt better. Needless to say I wont be going back for a pedicure for a while.
Lesson number ten: Apparently pedicures and massage chairs are a bad idea while physically recovering from a miscarriage (I mean your welcome to try it but perhaps not the massage chair ay?)
My poor midwife would despair, I have already been told off for a day trip to Ikea.
Regardless my husbands family spent the day sandwiching me in the middle of the sofa telling me I look tired. Meanwhile my husband was zoning out at the ceiling as we can only talk about the miscarriage for so long before we become emotionally drained. This all culminated in an angry trip to Morrison's, where my husband spent half an hour stomping around demanding cake and sweets like a child. On top of that to make me feel better, he told me I must be losing weight as my boobs are smaller. Thankyou very much. Dear husband (or what ever the internet folk call them)
Monday, 7 March 2016
Saturday, 5 March 2016
Primark leggings and Simon and Garfunkel
I have started introducing myself as 'I've had a miscarriage' to stop people pointing out that I am fat. Perhaps this is morbid but I don't really care, plus they look incredibly embarrassed after saying, "your bumps growing", for me to then reply "I'm not pregnant any more". After introducing myself I usually start bawling my eyes out so i'm not really sure which is worse. I must admit it is incredible deceptive to still have a bump, sometimes even I think I am still pregnant, which is silly because I'm not.One thing I have found is that Primark leggings are making me look less pregnant (only the baggy ones, tight ones make me look horrendous like a swollen hippo).
I have had to introduce myself to so many people recently i'm starting to feel famous. I thought that when this happened to me I would want to lock myself away from the world, close the curtains and listen to Simon and Garfunkel's 'sound of silence' on repeat. But I don't (well I do listen to Simon and Garfunkel). Through out this week I have been visited by a bereavement midwife and my midwife from when I was pregnant, I do feel like this helps, both are all kinds of helpful, they answer questions non judgmentally and go above and beyond their post, my bereavement midwife even offered to take my sick note to work for me. My husband on the other hand looks incredibly fed up of the streams of people, he would rather not be there when they arrive, I make him (even though I feel mean). He mainly wants to lock himself away, not talk about it unless hes asked about it, I think this is a man thing. I have learnt how he copes with things, I know when to worry about him.
Anyway health professionals I have seen this week so far include my midwives and my doctor.This was mainly over two days (a lot of people in two days). All of them have had totally different advice, my poor GP panicked when I spoke to him. He insisted on apologizing about twenty times before stating that I might not be able to carry babies, and then continued to apologize another twenty times while trying to get out of the hole he just dug himself. Luckily I can see the funny side to most things, and I didn't take much offense. Until later when I had convinced myself that I was a barren dried up old lady with no hope (luckily my husband talked some sense into me).
Lesson number seven: Doctors don't always know what to say or do in sensitive situations (though after working with them for a while now I had already figured this out)
Both my bereavement midwife and midwife were much more helpful. I cried a lot with my midwife, mainly about the little things that really hurt, like the cot that was up in our bedroom (my poor husband had to put this away). One thing I really struggle with is looking at his scan photographs, it hurts to see that at one point he was ok, alive and well. By the time my bereavement midwife came round I felt a lot less teary (mainly because I think I had ran out of fluids).
Lesson number eight: Its ok to cry a lot apparently (even if it is over stupid things like chicken in the fridge)
One thing I do not want to forget is how amazing it felt while I was pregnant. Now I know i'm no longer pregnant and i'm not going to pretend I am, I just don't want to forget how I felt at that moment in my life when I had my baby with me. This often comes in the form of a theme song from a 1990's children's cartoon: Better than a dream.
I have had to introduce myself to so many people recently i'm starting to feel famous. I thought that when this happened to me I would want to lock myself away from the world, close the curtains and listen to Simon and Garfunkel's 'sound of silence' on repeat. But I don't (well I do listen to Simon and Garfunkel). Through out this week I have been visited by a bereavement midwife and my midwife from when I was pregnant, I do feel like this helps, both are all kinds of helpful, they answer questions non judgmentally and go above and beyond their post, my bereavement midwife even offered to take my sick note to work for me. My husband on the other hand looks incredibly fed up of the streams of people, he would rather not be there when they arrive, I make him (even though I feel mean). He mainly wants to lock himself away, not talk about it unless hes asked about it, I think this is a man thing. I have learnt how he copes with things, I know when to worry about him.
Anyway health professionals I have seen this week so far include my midwives and my doctor.This was mainly over two days (a lot of people in two days). All of them have had totally different advice, my poor GP panicked when I spoke to him. He insisted on apologizing about twenty times before stating that I might not be able to carry babies, and then continued to apologize another twenty times while trying to get out of the hole he just dug himself. Luckily I can see the funny side to most things, and I didn't take much offense. Until later when I had convinced myself that I was a barren dried up old lady with no hope (luckily my husband talked some sense into me).
Lesson number seven: Doctors don't always know what to say or do in sensitive situations (though after working with them for a while now I had already figured this out)
Both my bereavement midwife and midwife were much more helpful. I cried a lot with my midwife, mainly about the little things that really hurt, like the cot that was up in our bedroom (my poor husband had to put this away). One thing I really struggle with is looking at his scan photographs, it hurts to see that at one point he was ok, alive and well. By the time my bereavement midwife came round I felt a lot less teary (mainly because I think I had ran out of fluids).
Lesson number eight: Its ok to cry a lot apparently (even if it is over stupid things like chicken in the fridge)
One thing I do not want to forget is how amazing it felt while I was pregnant. Now I know i'm no longer pregnant and i'm not going to pretend I am, I just don't want to forget how I felt at that moment in my life when I had my baby with me. This often comes in the form of a theme song from a 1990's children's cartoon: Better than a dream.
Wednesday, 2 March 2016
Too many voices
There are far too many voices and opinions going on inside my head. My favorite is Deep Dave, who insists on giving me deep unhelpful advice when my brain is idling for too long. He often harps on about how 'its all part of the ebb and flow of the universe' 'what will be will be' and so on and so forth. I often imagine him as some 1960's/70's hippy wearing clogs. He most often appears after my 3AM cry with Miserable Mable or at the end of a sad conversation with people I have announced my miscarriage to. Though often he just forces me to continually spam deep verbal nonsense to my poor friends and family who just don't know what to say. My least favorite is Angry Alan who insists on shouting obscene messages towards my general direction, like 'maybe you would feel better if you shoved your hand in the blender' or ' you don't deserve a child because your a dick head' and so on. He randomly appears and distracts me at any inopportune moment. I find him rather annoying. Please piss off Alan.
Lesson number four: Learn to live with the voices in your head, eventually they will fuck off (or so I hope)
So naturally as I was rushed into hospital by my poor worried husband, all these little voices were starting to make their appearances. Alan was shouting rude things at me as Dave was chilled out telling me to 'go along with nature and the universe' I listened to none of these voices. I had had pain for three days now (I had been to the GP every day that week, I think they were sick of the sight of me). As we got to hospital I started bleeding. Badly. I knew that it wasn't ok, I knew something had gone drastically wrong. I didn't know what though and I never in a million years thought that the pain I was having was labor pain. After watching all the screaming women on one born every minute I really didn't associate the pain I was having with whatever they were having. I just didn't want to believe it either.
Lesson number five: I'm not so sure One Born Every Minute is entirely accurate.
Miscarrying late (or at anytime) is not pretty I lost a lot, and I mean a lot, of blood. I was in horrendous pain to the point where at one point I rather dramatically though I was dying. My husband spent most of the time clinging onto me looking pale. He really just didn't know what to do and neither did I. Luckily my midwife was fantastic she has literally saved my life in more ways than one. Again I did not listen to my body I knew I needed to deliver my baby but I didn't want to and therefore tried very hard not too. I knew he wouldn't survive no baby survives at 18 weeks, so I held off hoping to god something could be done about it. Deep inside I understood that this wasn't the case, I put myself in agony and would have rather died that deliver him, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Lesson number six: Listen to your body (although I risk sounding like Deep Dave 'let nature take its course'
One thing I do believe is that at that moment I did everything I could to try and save my son.
Lesson number four: Learn to live with the voices in your head, eventually they will fuck off (or so I hope)
So naturally as I was rushed into hospital by my poor worried husband, all these little voices were starting to make their appearances. Alan was shouting rude things at me as Dave was chilled out telling me to 'go along with nature and the universe' I listened to none of these voices. I had had pain for three days now (I had been to the GP every day that week, I think they were sick of the sight of me). As we got to hospital I started bleeding. Badly. I knew that it wasn't ok, I knew something had gone drastically wrong. I didn't know what though and I never in a million years thought that the pain I was having was labor pain. After watching all the screaming women on one born every minute I really didn't associate the pain I was having with whatever they were having. I just didn't want to believe it either.
Lesson number five: I'm not so sure One Born Every Minute is entirely accurate.
Miscarrying late (or at anytime) is not pretty I lost a lot, and I mean a lot, of blood. I was in horrendous pain to the point where at one point I rather dramatically though I was dying. My husband spent most of the time clinging onto me looking pale. He really just didn't know what to do and neither did I. Luckily my midwife was fantastic she has literally saved my life in more ways than one. Again I did not listen to my body I knew I needed to deliver my baby but I didn't want to and therefore tried very hard not too. I knew he wouldn't survive no baby survives at 18 weeks, so I held off hoping to god something could be done about it. Deep inside I understood that this wasn't the case, I put myself in agony and would have rather died that deliver him, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Lesson number six: Listen to your body (although I risk sounding like Deep Dave 'let nature take its course'
One thing I do believe is that at that moment I did everything I could to try and save my son.
Monday, 29 February 2016
Life's very funny joke: the miscarriage
Life is a very funny joke. One second your traveling in one direction and the next life decides that you need to travel in a different one. I've decided to start writing out the hard core nasty that the universe has been throwing at me recently, because quite frankly, my brain needs an outlet.
As most in most recent mornings I have awoken at 4AM (a completely unnatural time of day) because my brain has decided it would like to discuss the events of Thursday, again. Although this may seem totally inappropriate to most people, I have been told by experts that it is totally appropriated. The reason for this being that on Thursday I lost my son after 18 weeks of being pregnant. The last thing I want is to pour out dramatic nonsense on the internet for people I have never met to read. What I want is to be able to write nonsense on the internet so that perhaps one person reads it and feels that they aren't alone. I want to connect with all the beautiful people out there who have also been in this situation or maybe haven't been in this situation. I am not writing to an exclusive club. I am writing to human beings.
So for my first post I am going to start to write the nitty gritty shit that no one wants to hear. If you don't want to know the details of any kind of miscarriage please stop reading. (although this is mainly just me moaning)
The first thing I am going to do is blame myself, which I have been told I definitely should not do. However my brain disagrees at this moment in time. I was at work when it started, perhaps doing things I shouldn't have been doing. That particular shift I had been left to do things I should not have been doing on my own, I felt ill I was in pain but I didn't think it was important. I ignored my body because I am nurse and my patients are more important. I didn't want to stand up for myself for fear of letting people down.
Lesson number one: Work is just not important, my job, colleagues and patients would have easily survived without me. I am just far to arrogant to see this.
I didn't want to go off work sick because maternity pay is not fantastic and this happened to be within the two months where my maternity pay was being calculated from.
Lesson number two: Money just isn't worth it
Other reason I blame myself are totally different day to day, they range from I must have been having too much sex to I must have drank far too much tea. The list is endless and although yesterday I found myself seriously crying at some chicken in the fridge, generally afterwards my sense of humor returns and I realise how ridiculous I am.
Lesson number three: Never blame a cup of tea for anything, I am British and will not slander tea.
I have been told repeatedly now that I did nothing wrong, I hope one day I will believe this too.
I hope to continue using this blog as an outlet (it has helped) I hope that even if its just one person someone feels a little better knowing that I am here too in this little box world with you.
As most in most recent mornings I have awoken at 4AM (a completely unnatural time of day) because my brain has decided it would like to discuss the events of Thursday, again. Although this may seem totally inappropriate to most people, I have been told by experts that it is totally appropriated. The reason for this being that on Thursday I lost my son after 18 weeks of being pregnant. The last thing I want is to pour out dramatic nonsense on the internet for people I have never met to read. What I want is to be able to write nonsense on the internet so that perhaps one person reads it and feels that they aren't alone. I want to connect with all the beautiful people out there who have also been in this situation or maybe haven't been in this situation. I am not writing to an exclusive club. I am writing to human beings.
So for my first post I am going to start to write the nitty gritty shit that no one wants to hear. If you don't want to know the details of any kind of miscarriage please stop reading. (although this is mainly just me moaning)
The first thing I am going to do is blame myself, which I have been told I definitely should not do. However my brain disagrees at this moment in time. I was at work when it started, perhaps doing things I shouldn't have been doing. That particular shift I had been left to do things I should not have been doing on my own, I felt ill I was in pain but I didn't think it was important. I ignored my body because I am nurse and my patients are more important. I didn't want to stand up for myself for fear of letting people down.
Lesson number one: Work is just not important, my job, colleagues and patients would have easily survived without me. I am just far to arrogant to see this.
I didn't want to go off work sick because maternity pay is not fantastic and this happened to be within the two months where my maternity pay was being calculated from.
Lesson number two: Money just isn't worth it
Other reason I blame myself are totally different day to day, they range from I must have been having too much sex to I must have drank far too much tea. The list is endless and although yesterday I found myself seriously crying at some chicken in the fridge, generally afterwards my sense of humor returns and I realise how ridiculous I am.
Lesson number three: Never blame a cup of tea for anything, I am British and will not slander tea.
I have been told repeatedly now that I did nothing wrong, I hope one day I will believe this too.
I hope to continue using this blog as an outlet (it has helped) I hope that even if its just one person someone feels a little better knowing that I am here too in this little box world with you.
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