Dear Family, Friends and Kate,
I would be extremely grateful if you could all avoid getting pregnant before I do. I appreciate most of you are either already pregnant or have just had a baby and so this request is a little late in coming, but for those of you who have not, it would be really nice if you could just do me this one favour.
As much as I have enjoyed hearing your happy announcements of pregnancies or baby births, I'm really not sure how many more I can take. I'd really like to be next one making an announcement and so I need your help. If you don't have a baby, please don't try for one yet. And if you already have a baby, please don't try for a second. You already have one and I don't have any, well except William, but as you know he's living it up in Baby Heaven. It's not fair for you to have two Take Home Babies when I don't even have one. Don't be greedy.
I appreciate this is a completely selfish request but after all that has happened in the past year and especially the past four months I think I am entitled to be a teensy bit selfish. I promise I won't ask anything else of you other than this. Just please don't get pregnant. That's all I'm asking. Not forever, but just until I have another baby in my tummy.
You see, I'm next. I have to be next....
And I should be next - not because I deserve to be but because all of you are either pregnant or have had babies already anyway. There aren't many of you left now who could beat me to it. But in case there are any of you who have slipped through the cracks and haven't got yourselves knocked up before me. Then please don't.
Thank you so much in advance for your kind cooperation.
Much love,
Claire x
Wednesday 29 February 2012
Sunday 26 February 2012
What's In A Name?
The other day I was browsing the website Not On The High Street and I saw one of those framed photos of a name and its meaning. It was for the name William. When we were choosing potential baby names we didn't really pay much attention to their meaning and so until now, I hadn't known that the name William means valiant protector.
I thought this was rather apt for our little boy. After all, if it had not been for William, I would never have known about the tumour growing in my neck. And if it had not been for William, my Dad might never have had a minor heart attack and then found out about the serious blockages in his heart.
It's hard to see any "positive" side to all that we have been through in the past four months but I have to be thankful for this. Left in me, my tumour would have continued to grow and had the potential to become cancerous. The arteries in my Dad's heart were badly blocked and eventually it would have caused a massive heart attack had he not had this early warning and had them treated with stents. As his surgeon said, he is "lucky not to be dead".
And so I am grateful to my little boy for protecting both me and my Dad. William is truly deserving of his name.
I thought this was rather apt for our little boy. After all, if it had not been for William, I would never have known about the tumour growing in my neck. And if it had not been for William, my Dad might never have had a minor heart attack and then found out about the serious blockages in his heart.
It's hard to see any "positive" side to all that we have been through in the past four months but I have to be thankful for this. Left in me, my tumour would have continued to grow and had the potential to become cancerous. The arteries in my Dad's heart were badly blocked and eventually it would have caused a massive heart attack had he not had this early warning and had them treated with stents. As his surgeon said, he is "lucky not to be dead".
And so I am grateful to my little boy for protecting both me and my Dad. William is truly deserving of his name.
Friday 24 February 2012
Rock Bottom, Fifty Feet Of Crap, Then Me.
So I pretty much thought I had reached rock bottom in this whole utterly shit situation but it turns out you can feel worse. Yesterday my best friend had a baby. The baby wasn't expected to arrive until the end of March but she was taken into hospital 6 weeks early as her waters broke. I knew she was in hospital and so for the last couple of days I've been bracing myself for the news that the baby was here. Last night my husband walked through the door and told me the baby has been born. It's a boy.
I feel like my heart has been ripped open.
The news, although half expected, has devastated me. They didn't know the sex and so there was always a 50:50 chance it would be a boy but I have still been saying "please let it be a girl, please let it be a girl" every day. If the baby had been a girl, it would still have been hard but the fact that it is a boy is so much harder.
It feels like just as I was scrambling to my feet, trying to get up off the floor, someone has come along and hit me with a tonne of bricks and knocked me over again.
Since we lost William I haven't seen my friend. The thought of seeing her with a bump when I had lost mine was just too painful. We were so excited when she became pregnant 10 weeks after me and had talked about all of the things we could do with our babies. I'd imagined our babies being best buddies and us all hanging out together. So much of the future I had imagined for William was connected to their baby in my mind.
My friend could not have been nicer and said she completely understood why it would be too painful for me to see her. She said we would wait until I was ready before we saw each other again and in the meantime, we could keep in contact by email, which we have done. It hasn't been easy. It's hard for her to support me when I won't even see her and I feel sad that I have not been of support to her too whilst she has been pregnant. This is one of the happiest moments of her life and I haven't been able to share it with her.
I've spent a great deal of time thinking about when the time might come when I could see her again. I knew it wouldn't be whilst she was still pregnant but thought I might be able to see her once the baby arrived. Now he has, I still don't feel I can.
As her baby has arrived early he is now only 5 weeks younger than William should be. It feels like I am being tortured knowing that for the rest of my life, I will watch a little boy grow up and reach every milestone at the same time that William should be. I don't know if I can face seeing that for the rest of my life.
So, that leaves me in a state of limbo. I've lost my baby. Am I now going to lose my best friend too?
I know it is my choice but in reality, it doesn't really feel like I have much of a choice. Self preservation dictates that I don't go out and openly seek yet more pain on top of that which I have already suffered. And yet I am torn. I miss my best friend.
I feel like my heart has been ripped open.
The news, although half expected, has devastated me. They didn't know the sex and so there was always a 50:50 chance it would be a boy but I have still been saying "please let it be a girl, please let it be a girl" every day. If the baby had been a girl, it would still have been hard but the fact that it is a boy is so much harder.
It feels like just as I was scrambling to my feet, trying to get up off the floor, someone has come along and hit me with a tonne of bricks and knocked me over again.
Since we lost William I haven't seen my friend. The thought of seeing her with a bump when I had lost mine was just too painful. We were so excited when she became pregnant 10 weeks after me and had talked about all of the things we could do with our babies. I'd imagined our babies being best buddies and us all hanging out together. So much of the future I had imagined for William was connected to their baby in my mind.
My friend could not have been nicer and said she completely understood why it would be too painful for me to see her. She said we would wait until I was ready before we saw each other again and in the meantime, we could keep in contact by email, which we have done. It hasn't been easy. It's hard for her to support me when I won't even see her and I feel sad that I have not been of support to her too whilst she has been pregnant. This is one of the happiest moments of her life and I haven't been able to share it with her.
I've spent a great deal of time thinking about when the time might come when I could see her again. I knew it wouldn't be whilst she was still pregnant but thought I might be able to see her once the baby arrived. Now he has, I still don't feel I can.
As her baby has arrived early he is now only 5 weeks younger than William should be. It feels like I am being tortured knowing that for the rest of my life, I will watch a little boy grow up and reach every milestone at the same time that William should be. I don't know if I can face seeing that for the rest of my life.
So, that leaves me in a state of limbo. I've lost my baby. Am I now going to lose my best friend too?
I know it is my choice but in reality, it doesn't really feel like I have much of a choice. Self preservation dictates that I don't go out and openly seek yet more pain on top of that which I have already suffered. And yet I am torn. I miss my best friend.
Wednesday 22 February 2012
Termination For Medical Reasons (TFMR)
What is it? Well, it's pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. You decide to end your pregnancy because your baby is suffering from a medical condition so sufficiently horrendous that you think they would be better off dead than alive....that is if they would even make it out of you alive in the first place.
You can elect to do this at any stage of your pregnancy but if it's after 24 weeks, the hospital will only allow it if two medical consultants consent to it too. I was 26 weeks pregnant when we were told there was a problem with William's heart and that we had a decision to make. Before you even start researching the medical condition which has decided to afflict your baby, you know the outcome for the little mite isn't going to be good when they tell you as they told me....
"I would support you in your decision if you choose to bring this pregnancy to an end and I know there are several other people in this hospital who would also do so".
If you do decide to end your pregnancy the methods of doing so also differ depending on how far along you are. At 28 weeks (as I then was) the process of ending your pregnancy is two fold. It isn't pleasant but it's not something you can really sugar coat (although I will try) so if you don't think you are going to like reading about this bit you may want to skip onto the next post:
Sonographer man sticks a needle into your tummy and into your baby. The baby gets a hit of valium so he feels super dooper relaxed and stops kicking the hell out of you. Feeling all chilled and nice and cozy in your tummy the baby snuggles down for his final Mummy Tummy Nap. Whilst off in baby dream land the sonographer man gives your baby another injection right into his heart to send him to Baby Heaven.
I don't like to think too much about what was in that last syringe as the reality of allowing someone to inject that into your baby is just too horrific. It's made worse by the fact that the medical professionals all refer to that bit as "feoticide" which is a term I loathe and which reminds me of homicide and murder. Instead, I like to think of this last injection as a huge dose of love mixture from me and my husband and something akin to Red Bull. We loved William so much that rather than him suffer a minute of pain we gave him some Red Bull to give him wings.
The second stage is relatively simple in comparison. You take a tablet to soften your cervix and two days later go into hospital to be induced and give birth. The labour itself is like the birth of any living baby (so I'm told) although you haven't got all of those happy pain suppressing natural endorphins flying around your body and so it tends to hurt like hell once it all gets going. On the up side, most midwives don't want you to be in an physical pain given you are already suffering enough so they will pretty much offer you every drug they have available to them the minute you start to feel anything.
When we first had to consider ending the pregnancy I thought this process was so horrific that I didn't think I would be able to get through it. Even if it meant William being born alive and having a lifetime of suffering. I just didn't think I was strong enough and couldn't handle the pain of losing a baby. Ultimately, however, I decided that I would feel more pain and guilt watching him suffer from the minute he was born and that my reasons for continuing with the pregnancy could not simply be that I was too much of a coward to do what might be the right thing for our baby.
Once the decision was made, I didn't want to know anything about William (I can't believe I even thought that now), didn't want to know the sex (we didn't know he was a boy at this stage) and I wanted to be knocked out, for them to take him out of me and for me to wake up, bump-less. I certainly didn't want to give birth to him or to see him or hold him. I rang every private hospital and asked if I could pay for a c-section as the NHS wouldn't allow it. They all said no.
I talked to a counsellor and they said the process was there for a reason. That I wouldn't come to terms with it if I went to sleep with a bump and woke up without one. I thought "what does she know" and that the medical profession were cruel, unbelievably cruel, for making women go through this process when they were losing their baby.
In hindsight, I can see the counsellor was right. It was hard, so so hard but I am glad I went through it. William went to Baby Heaven straight from my tummy and went to sleep when he was with me, all warm and safe. His birth was really really peaceful and gentle and as a result, no harm came to his tiny little body. It also gave my husband and I the chance to see just how beautiful and perfect he was and to hold him and say goodbye properly. I can now say, without a shadow of a doubt, that holding him in my arms was one of the highlights of my life, no matter how sad the circumstances, and I wouldn't give that up for the world.
Note to William: Mummy may have allowed you to get your first hit of drugs when you were with her but getting high, even with a parent, is a big no no. Do not even think about it in Baby Heaven...even if its someone disguised as Jesus telling you to drink the special wine and eat his magic bread. Just. Say. No.
You can elect to do this at any stage of your pregnancy but if it's after 24 weeks, the hospital will only allow it if two medical consultants consent to it too. I was 26 weeks pregnant when we were told there was a problem with William's heart and that we had a decision to make. Before you even start researching the medical condition which has decided to afflict your baby, you know the outcome for the little mite isn't going to be good when they tell you as they told me....
"I would support you in your decision if you choose to bring this pregnancy to an end and I know there are several other people in this hospital who would also do so".
If you do decide to end your pregnancy the methods of doing so also differ depending on how far along you are. At 28 weeks (as I then was) the process of ending your pregnancy is two fold. It isn't pleasant but it's not something you can really sugar coat (although I will try) so if you don't think you are going to like reading about this bit you may want to skip onto the next post:
Sonographer man sticks a needle into your tummy and into your baby. The baby gets a hit of valium so he feels super dooper relaxed and stops kicking the hell out of you. Feeling all chilled and nice and cozy in your tummy the baby snuggles down for his final Mummy Tummy Nap. Whilst off in baby dream land the sonographer man gives your baby another injection right into his heart to send him to Baby Heaven.
I don't like to think too much about what was in that last syringe as the reality of allowing someone to inject that into your baby is just too horrific. It's made worse by the fact that the medical professionals all refer to that bit as "feoticide" which is a term I loathe and which reminds me of homicide and murder. Instead, I like to think of this last injection as a huge dose of love mixture from me and my husband and something akin to Red Bull. We loved William so much that rather than him suffer a minute of pain we gave him some Red Bull to give him wings.
The second stage is relatively simple in comparison. You take a tablet to soften your cervix and two days later go into hospital to be induced and give birth. The labour itself is like the birth of any living baby (so I'm told) although you haven't got all of those happy pain suppressing natural endorphins flying around your body and so it tends to hurt like hell once it all gets going. On the up side, most midwives don't want you to be in an physical pain given you are already suffering enough so they will pretty much offer you every drug they have available to them the minute you start to feel anything.
When we first had to consider ending the pregnancy I thought this process was so horrific that I didn't think I would be able to get through it. Even if it meant William being born alive and having a lifetime of suffering. I just didn't think I was strong enough and couldn't handle the pain of losing a baby. Ultimately, however, I decided that I would feel more pain and guilt watching him suffer from the minute he was born and that my reasons for continuing with the pregnancy could not simply be that I was too much of a coward to do what might be the right thing for our baby.
Once the decision was made, I didn't want to know anything about William (I can't believe I even thought that now), didn't want to know the sex (we didn't know he was a boy at this stage) and I wanted to be knocked out, for them to take him out of me and for me to wake up, bump-less. I certainly didn't want to give birth to him or to see him or hold him. I rang every private hospital and asked if I could pay for a c-section as the NHS wouldn't allow it. They all said no.
I talked to a counsellor and they said the process was there for a reason. That I wouldn't come to terms with it if I went to sleep with a bump and woke up without one. I thought "what does she know" and that the medical profession were cruel, unbelievably cruel, for making women go through this process when they were losing their baby.
In hindsight, I can see the counsellor was right. It was hard, so so hard but I am glad I went through it. William went to Baby Heaven straight from my tummy and went to sleep when he was with me, all warm and safe. His birth was really really peaceful and gentle and as a result, no harm came to his tiny little body. It also gave my husband and I the chance to see just how beautiful and perfect he was and to hold him and say goodbye properly. I can now say, without a shadow of a doubt, that holding him in my arms was one of the highlights of my life, no matter how sad the circumstances, and I wouldn't give that up for the world.
Note to William: Mummy may have allowed you to get your first hit of drugs when you were with her but getting high, even with a parent, is a big no no. Do not even think about it in Baby Heaven...even if its someone disguised as Jesus telling you to drink the special wine and eat his magic bread. Just. Say. No.
Sunday 19 February 2012
Top Ten List Of The Worst Things You Can Say To A Baby Loss Mummy
Below is a list of things people have said to me over the past three months. I have also provided the response that went through my head (naturally I was too polite to actually say that)...
1. "There is always someone who is worse off than you"
Yes, cheers, thanks for that. I appreciate that there are such people in the world but if I am quite honest, I don't know how they haven't topped themselves as I can't imagine feeling any worse than I do now.
2. "Wouldn't the morphine make the baby drowsy during labour?"
Umm, given he was already dead at that point I am thinking "No"?
3. "You went to the Maldives? Wow, you are so lucky."
If you'd like to send your baby to Heaven and send William back down to me I will gladly fork out for you to go to the Maldives.
4. "I'm pregnant"
I hate you.
5. "I'm worried about giving birth"
FFS stop complaining. At least your baby should be alive at the end of it.
6. "What on earth do you want a big car like that for?"
Well we ordered it when I was pregnant and then after the baby died we thought the least we deserved was a new car....even if we have nothing to fill it with.
7. "Well let me tell you, you have been through a lot but I've been to hell and back"
My baby is dead. Your husband might have had surgery but he is alive. I think I trump you on the hell and back stakes on this one.
8. "It's not all about you"
Thanks. It's been three months. Sorry I've been "making it all about me" for longer than you deem acceptable.
9. "We've all been through difficult times and have felt like that"
Right. I don't think you are fully appreciating this situation. I lost my baby, my BABY. "Difficult times" doesn't even begin to describe it and rest assured, I don't think you have ever felt like this.
10. "It must be very worrying" [about the genetic tests and another baby potentially having the same condition]
Yes it is. Thanks for the reminder.
1. "There is always someone who is worse off than you"
Yes, cheers, thanks for that. I appreciate that there are such people in the world but if I am quite honest, I don't know how they haven't topped themselves as I can't imagine feeling any worse than I do now.
2. "Wouldn't the morphine make the baby drowsy during labour?"
Umm, given he was already dead at that point I am thinking "No"?
3. "You went to the Maldives? Wow, you are so lucky."
If you'd like to send your baby to Heaven and send William back down to me I will gladly fork out for you to go to the Maldives.
4. "I'm pregnant"
I hate you.
5. "I'm worried about giving birth"
FFS stop complaining. At least your baby should be alive at the end of it.
6. "What on earth do you want a big car like that for?"
Well we ordered it when I was pregnant and then after the baby died we thought the least we deserved was a new car....even if we have nothing to fill it with.
7. "Well let me tell you, you have been through a lot but I've been to hell and back"
My baby is dead. Your husband might have had surgery but he is alive. I think I trump you on the hell and back stakes on this one.
8. "It's not all about you"
Thanks. It's been three months. Sorry I've been "making it all about me" for longer than you deem acceptable.
9. "We've all been through difficult times and have felt like that"
Right. I don't think you are fully appreciating this situation. I lost my baby, my BABY. "Difficult times" doesn't even begin to describe it and rest assured, I don't think you have ever felt like this.
10. "It must be very worrying" [about the genetic tests and another baby potentially having the same condition]
Yes it is. Thanks for the reminder.
Friday 17 February 2012
What To Expect...To Feel... When You Are No Longer Expecting
I recently read a beautiful post on a US website summarising how a woman feels when she has lost a baby. I've posted the link below so that you can read it for yourselves.
http://smallbirdstudios.com/2012/02/05/when-you-lose-a-baby/
If you aren't based in the US, you'll no doubt have noticed that some of the comments don't apply. It got me thinking about what it feels like to be a Baby Loss Mummy in the UK. If I were to add my own thoughts to the link above, this is how it would read:
You're in a John Lewis and you want a cup of tea. You always have to walk right through the baby department to get there. You get to the top of the escalator and then its eyes down. You walk past the prams, past the cots, past the numerous excited parents-to-be discussing the pros and cons of the latest car seat. As you reach the entrance to the cafe you think you've made it and then you hear a baby's cry ring out across the store. The waitress behind the counter asks what you want but you can't read the menu up on the wall. Everything is blurry as your eyes fill with tears.
You read the Daily Mail Showbiz section online and feel the resentment surge as you see yet another celebrity pregnancy announcement.
The thought of going on the tube (the underground to the non-Londoners reading this) fills you with anxiety. You used to take it every day to work and think nothing of it. Now, even the thought of going on there again makes your heart pound and your chest feel tight. You do not want to be crammed into a confined space with a bunch of strangers.
You watch One Born Every Minute even though it kills you and it always ends with you in tears.
You see stories of pregnant 14 year olds in the press or pregnant women outside bars drinking and smoking and wonder why they get to keep their babies and you lost yours.
You hate Facebook and yet can't terminate your account. You log on every day to see yet another baby announcement from a friend or pictures from their latest scan. You wonder how they can announce it all so freely to the world. You think "you have no idea what can go wrong".
You worry about Amanda Holden and Lily Allen and feel relieved when their babies are born safely.
Every hospital should have a room donated by SANDS (a soundproof, private delivery suite for those women delivering what will be a stillborn baby). You wonder how those women coped if they did not have this "luxury". Did they hear a baby cry as it was being born in the next room whilst they were delivering their own dead baby? How did they survive that?
The coffin, the funeral, none of it had to be paid for. The funeral directors refuse to charge for anything when a baby dies. This makes you smile. Not because you've been given a freebee but because there is still some humanity in the world.
People ask you how you are but you know they don't really want to hear the truth in response. That would be inappropriate. The English are always so polite and feel uncomfortable even at the mention of death. So, they ask, and you lie. You say "I'm ok" and then see the relief flash across their face.
You become obsessed with getting pregnant before Kate Middleton. If she announces her pregnancy first it will seriously piss you off.
http://smallbirdstudios.com/2012/02/05/when-you-lose-a-baby/
If you aren't based in the US, you'll no doubt have noticed that some of the comments don't apply. It got me thinking about what it feels like to be a Baby Loss Mummy in the UK. If I were to add my own thoughts to the link above, this is how it would read:
You're in a John Lewis and you want a cup of tea. You always have to walk right through the baby department to get there. You get to the top of the escalator and then its eyes down. You walk past the prams, past the cots, past the numerous excited parents-to-be discussing the pros and cons of the latest car seat. As you reach the entrance to the cafe you think you've made it and then you hear a baby's cry ring out across the store. The waitress behind the counter asks what you want but you can't read the menu up on the wall. Everything is blurry as your eyes fill with tears.
You read the Daily Mail Showbiz section online and feel the resentment surge as you see yet another celebrity pregnancy announcement.
The thought of going on the tube (the underground to the non-Londoners reading this) fills you with anxiety. You used to take it every day to work and think nothing of it. Now, even the thought of going on there again makes your heart pound and your chest feel tight. You do not want to be crammed into a confined space with a bunch of strangers.
You watch One Born Every Minute even though it kills you and it always ends with you in tears.
You see stories of pregnant 14 year olds in the press or pregnant women outside bars drinking and smoking and wonder why they get to keep their babies and you lost yours.
You hate Facebook and yet can't terminate your account. You log on every day to see yet another baby announcement from a friend or pictures from their latest scan. You wonder how they can announce it all so freely to the world. You think "you have no idea what can go wrong".
You worry about Amanda Holden and Lily Allen and feel relieved when their babies are born safely.
Every hospital should have a room donated by SANDS (a soundproof, private delivery suite for those women delivering what will be a stillborn baby). You wonder how those women coped if they did not have this "luxury". Did they hear a baby cry as it was being born in the next room whilst they were delivering their own dead baby? How did they survive that?
The coffin, the funeral, none of it had to be paid for. The funeral directors refuse to charge for anything when a baby dies. This makes you smile. Not because you've been given a freebee but because there is still some humanity in the world.
People ask you how you are but you know they don't really want to hear the truth in response. That would be inappropriate. The English are always so polite and feel uncomfortable even at the mention of death. So, they ask, and you lie. You say "I'm ok" and then see the relief flash across their face.
You become obsessed with getting pregnant before Kate Middleton. If she announces her pregnancy first it will seriously piss you off.
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