Miscarriage

And so it is the colder water…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 6 Comments

It’s been around 8 weeks since I miscarried. I think all things considered, I am doing ok. I mean, I’ve not completely fallen apart. I haven’t turned to scalpels for comfort or absented myself from the world. I’m getting up & painting my face & taking part in life. I wish I could say it was easy, but on days like today, it feels like drowning. 

I am attending the recurrent miscarriage clinic to see if there are any issues I am not already aware of & the midwife I see has been wonderful. She had given me info on a ‘support group’, which I’m considering. I’m on some new meds to help with PCOS & tracking my periods etc to keep on eye on things from that side. I’m socialising & blogging & getting more politically active. I’m doing everything i can think of to keep moving forward. So why do I feel like I’m wedged in wet sand?

I think about what might have been every day. Not all day long, but it’s never far away. There are so many reminders. So many painful things that can’t be avoided. From appointments at the maternity hospital & other people’s babies to just the scent of something that made me nauseous when I was pregnant & doesn’t anymore. I don’t want the world to stop. I don’t want to rob anyone of their joyous moments; it’s just so hard. The happiness I feel for others comes with a stab of sorrow. It’s been this way for so long, but my recent loss has given that sadness renewed potency. I let all my hopes out of a place I kept tied up tight. Blueprints for a life that I hadn’t dared to examine sprang to life & folding up those plans is proving difficult. 
I have my period again & I know that impacts on my mood. All of the sensations of menstruating mirror miscarriage symptoms. The cramps & sensitive nipples are reminders I don’t want. The blood remains wrapped up in my trauma. Forever a trigger. And yet, I’m glad to have the period. Not so long ago I had practically none. It’s a relief to have this increasingly reliable sign that my ovaries are doing something. Like so many other things the positive is marred.


I think from the outside I probably look fine. I want to look well. No, I want to BE well. I’m really fighting not to let my life slide. The truth is I’m struggling. My creative output is vastly decreased. I lack the motivation & clarity to write. Not writing is not good for me. I process my experiences through words on the paper. The less I write the more anxious I become. Of course the more I stress about it, the less I am able to curate my thoughts. It’s a predictable cycle. There are obviously more practical concerns; my words keep a roof over my head. 


My physical health hasn’t been good. My sleep is appalling. I know that takes it’s toll. I attempt to rationalise myself out of days like this. My exhausted, pained, grieving & traumatised self will obviously have lows. I know this is to be expected. That knowledge doesn’t change the dread. It does nothing to chase away the fear when I awake to a complete inability to function. When nothing shifts the weight crushing me or the desire to disappear. 24 hours isn’t a long time except when your swamped in depression. I can get through the bad days. I’m just terrified of the days multiplying. 
That’s the crux of it. Mental illness feels a bit like being an alcoholic. I will never completely recover. The lows will always come. Life will always have ways to trip me up. The fear of everything unravelling sits quietly on my shoulder. It’s a bad day. I’m still grieving. I hope for better. 

Blackbirds singing in the dead of night…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 2 Comments

It’s 5.07am. There are some very loud birds outside & the light is creeping around the edges of my blackout blind. I haven’t slept, but I do finally feel a little bit sleepy. Do I sleep? If so I might sacrifice the day. After no more than a couple of hours for the last few nights I might conk out big style. I wanted to do something today. Something nice enough to make me feel like I’m participating in normal life whilst still being easy. Sleeping all day does not fit the bill. Although, perhaps I’ll wake up feeling rested & be productive. If I could complete one of the many, many things on my to do list it might relieve a little anxiety. For now I’m stuck in the vicious crazy circle. No motivation + no energy = accomplishing nothing. As the things I have not done pile up so does my anxiety. Until the undone things & the anxiety are so huge that I’m paralysed by their weight. I’m just stuck underneath, stressing & not sleeping & feeling increasingly worthless. So, maybe I should sleep. I’m exhausted. I’m always exhausted because I never get enough sleep. There is always something keeping me awake. Be it pain or fear or coughing or nightmares or vomiting or the terrifying vagueness of insomnia. Right now I feel that illusive part of tiredness that usually escapes me. The fuzzy comforting drowsiness that signals actual sleep is a possibility.

But

If I sleep now, chances of sleeping tonight are slim. I could miss the chance to do a thing that could make me feel something other than grey or jittery. If I close my eyes now I’m risking the dreams. Flashing scenes dripping with all the things I cannot bear to look at again. Flickering images soaked in feelings too potent for consciousness. Then I’ll wake in a mess. Heart pounding, breath hiding & I’ll have to talk myself down. Fool myself into a calmness that’s counterfeit. Either way the day is scuppered. All those hopes for lightness dashed. 

So, I stay awake. I’ll just wait in this cool dark room for the day to really get started. Force myself into the shower. Try to make a plan that doesn’t feel overwhelming. Push down the fatigue & the jangling of every nerve for the possible reward of OK. Reassure myself that this isn’t forever. Repeat that I am not back in the hole. It has been a difficult month. I am allowed to feel bad. Tomorrow or the next day or the day after that will be an easy one. Just keep going. Swing from one pleasant moment to the next & hold my breath through all the rest. 

This will pass

I will write the things that are over due

I will do some god damn washing 

I’ll cook a proper meal 

&

Wash my hair

Peace will be restored 

Life will go on

&

I will live it. 
If only I could get some sleep…

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A week (ish) in pictures…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

It’s been more like 3 weeks & they haven’t been the most productive. I finally painted my nails today & I have some appointments set up this week for oPeration BoPo. Life goes on & so do I. So, there will be more exciting & uplifting posts coming soon. For now, here’s a wee photographic glimpse at my quiet days. 


Bright days, escapist movies & lunches with my sis have been soothing.


Spring flowers & spring cleaning (it still counts if you pay someone to do it, right?) have helped with that starting over feeling. Pretty skys, my pretty cat & effective drugs have also done their thing.


Easter treats, thrifting, lazy days & random sights have helped to ward away the deep blues. My puss cat in both snuggle & grump mode is a tonic. Oh & look at my nephew’s face; it doesn’t get more life affirming than that. 




Rest, dancing light in my home & the beauty of my own fat arse have given me a boost this weekend.  I’m hoping it will carry me through the week.

After all, as Scarlett O’Hara would say, tomorrow is another day. 

Keep on keeping on…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 1 Comment

It doesn’t make any sense, but I think before I went into hospital I had fragments of hope. Delusions might be a better word. I knew the pregnancy was over, but a part of me hadn’t accepted it. I couldn’t bring myself to take any pain relief, sleeping pills etc because I felt that I’d be betraying my child. Even as I write these words they aren’t comprehensible. My thinking just seems crazy. 

Now, I feel certain it’s over. That’s awful, but necessary. Accepting that intervention was essential has given me a sense of finality that I needed.

The flip side of that is the very things that brought about that clarity will be with me forever. I’ve already had some nightmares consisting of images that also intrude on my waking hours. 

Delicate grey tissue & stained blue gloves.

Bright red urine samples & bloodied speculums.

Flashes of gore have imprinted themselves on my already traumatised brain. I don’t know how to wipe it clean.

I think I am ok & then I’m just not. I feel fragile & sad.

But

Also so angry.

There’s nowhere to put this fury. I was doing alright. Life was a manageable feat with some unexpectedly sweet incentives. Now it’s tip toeing & coaxing myself into normal. Often, it’s trying not to want that baby more than I want to breathe.

Ultimately, it’s all very simple. I just keep going. One day at a time, right? Weird that the biggest, emptiest seeming cliches are what get you through. 

Pause to breathe…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I had to go into hospital for a little bit for some treatment to complete things. I also have a kidney infection, my body likes to do fun things like this. Anyway, I am physically & emotionally exhausted. So, I’m just going to rest for a while & will be posting things that were completed before this happened. 

I’ve got tears that are scared of the facts…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 10 Comments

My baby was the size of a large olive. Almost all of her vital organs were formed. She had tiny finger nail buds & her body was covered in fine hair. And now she’s gone. 

So, I’m writing my emotions because I can’t bring myself to verbalise them & they have to escape somehow. 

With my health & my history this wasn’t unexpected, but that didn’t make it any less shocking. Being pregnant again was scary. It felt unreal to begin with, but I had started to believe that this was my time. The fear never left me, but the hope grew. 

I felt very pregnant. I still do, which seems particularly unfair. Sickness & nausea & cramps & sore nipples & peeing or crying every two minutes. Strong smells became my nemesis. I haven’t even been able to wear my own perfume. Pregnancy ruled out almost all of my normal meds. I’ve basically felt horrendous but been delighted to suffer. All the pain & discomfort meant my body was doing the very thing I didn’t think it could do. I worried about every twinge, but I also relished them. 

I felt like we were having a girl. He never said so, but I think maybe the toy boy did too. We talked about girl’s names so much more than boy’s. I talked & thought too much about too many things. 

Names & maternity clothes. 

The best way to tell my neice & when to tell the rest of the world. 

Which stories to read at bedtime & what songs might lull my baby to sleep. 

Painting tropical leaves in the nursery & learning all that baby wearing stuff. 

I really thought this was it. All the stars looked aligned. I got caught up in believing that I could have this & amongst the heartbreak I feel furious. I’m so angry with myself for not protecting the most vulnerable part of me. I’m angry that my body won’t do what comes naturally to so many. I’m angry that I have failed again. I’m angry that the world keeps doing this to me. 

Behind the anger is real fear. I am so scared that I can’t get through this again & even more frightened that this will be my only experience of pregnancy. The idea that carrying a life will always end in loss is overwhelming. I’ve worked so hard not to be overwhelmed by what life has forced upon me. I’m terrified of losing myself in madness once more. 

I’m still very much in the process of losing this baby. I know she’s gone, but my body doesn’t seem aware of it. I still feel pregnant. I don’t feel able to take any of the meds that I know will make this easier because I haven’t detached from the need to protect this little life. I have avoided speaking to even those closest to me because I’m just not ready to completely let go of my beautiful dream.  I’ve been able to do this partly due to the support of my lovely toy boy. To be taken care of without having to ask is a powerful thing. Having a companion in this is a new experience & a huge blessing (a word that will have him shaking his head), but it’s true. 

I feel much less alone. This child feels acknowledged & important. That’s a both a comfort and fuel for my guilt. I am aware that I am culpable for creating the situations that led to my boy not mattering to others in the same way. I’m also clear that it is my body that failed them. It’s acutely painful to live with that knowledge; no matter how unwilling the neglect. 

Isolation isn’t the answer. I know that, but I need some time. I have to let my body & my heart get used to the idea that I won’t be nurturing this child into life. I appreciate everyone’s patience. 

There’s nobody else here, no one like me…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 5 Comments

I’m about to get a bit happy clappy, so if that gets your goat (I hear you), skip this one.

I know it’s been disaster movie of a year. There are truly despicable things happening all over the globe. So, I feel quite guilty about this, but 2016 has been my personal best for a very long time. Selfish or not I want to acknowledge my successes. Queue the happy bit. 

This year I have been comparatively sane. I’m not cured and of course there are bad times, but I have felt psychologically healthier & happier than I’ve been in several years. I’m pretty confident that I’m finally taking the right medication. Meds aren’t magic beans, but the right combination has given me much more solid ground to build on. I’ve been able to push myself, expanding  my social & professional lives in the process. 

Now, here comes the big one, I have not purposely hurt myself in well over a year. Again, I’m not recovered, I suspect the urge will always be with me. The difference for me has been releasing there are things I want more than blood. I’m not going to bullshit anyone, it’s a grind; it’s a battle I decide to fight every day. This is a war that’s been raging for 17 years, but I’m stating to believe I will emerge the conquerer. 

Next up; gettting all proud of myself & shamelessly blowing my own trumpet. 2016 has been a professional triumph. My writing has featured in publications I have long admired. My blog hits have soared & more importantly I produced more work of value than ever before. I am proud to be writing about issues that need to be talked about & creating work that readers really connect with. 

This year I also took a leap of faith & extended my wee empire to include oPeration BoPo. I wanted a thing that didn’t exist locally & so, I just went ahead & made it happen. My first event was an amazing success. I believe there is a need for accessible body positive projects & I am determined to meet it. I have some exciting things in the work for 2017. Get ready to join the self love revolution. 

This year I have gained a confidence that I feared was gone for good. I took charge. I had some big scale health issues & disappointing discoveries, but I kept rolling. I let go of yearning to be the girl I was before life got fucked & embraced the woman I am because & inspite of it all. 

This has been a year of seizing what control I can & trying to accept that it will never be the unbridled authority I desire. My body & mind will continue to usurp me. I’ll just have to wrestle them into the best submission I can manage. 

I’ll be honest my life can be brutal. You know what? I can be too. I’m heading into the new year with a 5 year plan, a growing business, my first nude photo shoot under my belt, ovaries that are really trying & the very best people supporting me. 2017, I’m ready for you. 


I hope there were some bright spots for all of you too & that next year brings you all you’re hoping for. 

You & I…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 7 Comments

Dear Son,

I’ve been trying to keep low key busy today; house work, catching up on emails & so on. I have hoped to keep myself from sinking too deep into sadness. 
I’ve actually done quite well. I had a cry in the shower, but the water washed those tears away. There was no evidence left for anyone else to see, which is like you. Gone. Without a trace.

So, I’ve taken a lot of deep breaths & whispered to myself that I’m ok.

I’m ok

I’m ok

I’m ok.

And I am. More so than I’ve ever been since I lost you. I think maybe I can try again. Perhaps, I can do this life thing. I wish I could believe that would heal me, but you’re not a wound. The pain is bittersweet. 

I’ve been wondering what my life would be like with a 16yr old. Louder, grumpier, more complicated? I’ll never know how our life would been. I do know I’d have given you my best. I’m also sure that you’re worth it. The short time I held you within me will always be worth all the rest. 

Now, you’ve got me crying again. My tears are inevitable, as is my love. Inevitable & invincible. No matter what happens there will forever be you & I. 

Love always,

Mum

All I can say is I’m breathing…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 8 Comments

PTSD is a persistent foe. You can make progress & start to think maybe, just maybe you can actually defeat this bastard, but it knows you think that. 

It’s waiting for you to relax your hyper vigilence. The moment you begin to let go of the breath you’ve been holding for 17yrs it will suck it in & grow.

Folks in your life see you gaining strength & think you’re better. There is no ‘better’.  There is managing ,

coping,

trying to live,

daring to live?

The good days can start to stack up. You can feel a safe distance from the horror, but you can never be sure. 

You can never be certain that a flashback won’t stun you like lightening. 

And stuck in that hot, white memory you could loosen your grip on the here & now.

The relative calm & safety could be shattered. Perhaps only for that instant. You could be lucky, those smells & fears could melt away. Current achievements or delights may well wash over you. It’s possible. That happens. 

You’ll make plans & take steps. But you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. The knowledge of the cruelty of your own mind will keep you rigid.

Because lightening does strike twice & thrice & ever & on.

With every thump of your heart you know you’re only one more squeeze from disaster. Where little sleep becomes none. The crazy creeps out from behind all those positive walls, it brings terror & tsunamis of grief. 

And the pills don’t work

Or Dr’s 

Or the life jacket you had to make with your bare hands. 

There is only one way to row to shore & it’s brutal. It’s hot blood dripping from your fingers; slippy yellow fat & an uncontrollable urge to cut a little deeper. 

Bleed a little more 

Wrapping up the unthinkable pain in the easy hurt of butchering yourself. 

This illness is being  awake in the night & writing so you won’t do. It’s ignoring the destructive comfort because you so desperately want this new, real life. 

And, yes, all those yous should be I’s. 

It’s my past, my pain, my ongoing battle for a future. 


Listen, I’m a really perfect song.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.

The time is now…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

I’m lying on my bed with the sun streaming in my window having a lazy morning. I’m planning dinner in my head & pondering what colour to paint my nails, when it happens. A vivid flashback, of a day like this, but 16yrs ago. 

  
Like today I am resting on my bed observing the sunny world outside. Unlike today, back then I had a life growing inside me. I can smell the incense I used to burn in the flat & see the steeple of the church at the the end of the street. I feel the warmth on my face, the ache in my back & the love pounding through my veins. 

As fast as it strikes, it wanes. Part of me wants to cling to those sensations, the rest still finds these memories tender. I’ve been having these flashes a lot lately. They’re not new to me; I’ve been living with PTSD for a long time. This wasn’t a bad one, but it still leaves me feeling sadder than I did before. I’ve been thinking about why these bolts into the past have become so frequent of late & I think I know the answer.

For the first time in a very long time I am making baby plans. I have always wanted to be a Mummy. The loss only increased that desire. For years I’ve watched friends & family create beautiful little people. It’s never been the right time for me. Well, I’m 35 now and life never really gets any simpler. There is no right time. There will never be a perfect set of circumstances. So, the time is now. 

  
Or the time for planning is now. I’m getting my self and my life in shape for baba. It’s a little scary, but I don’t have any doubts. My life will never feel complete without children. It’s going to be a long campaign, but Operation Baby is go.