I Will Forget-You-Not

This post is a little, no, a lot different from my others. This is not a light-hearted reflection on an easily recalled childhood memory. It is a post I have been struggling, but longing, to write for weeks... months. Every time I have wanted to write it, the fact that I know a select few of my colleagues subscribe to this blog has stopped me. But until I have written about it I feel tongue-tied and cannot, respectfully, blog about anything else. So, those of you who read this and know me, I ask you this.... if you feel you will not be able to keep what you read here to yourself, or will not be able to look at me just the same as you did previously the next time you see me, then please, read no further. . .

Those of you who have read my blog before will know I have been uncharacteristically silent for the last few months. The truth is that my world fell apart and I have been, through my emptiness, slowly picking up the pieces.

If I say it quickly, I think it will be easier to 'say'.

In August I lost my baby. A baby whom, I now know, was a healthy little boy. I didn't get to hear his heartbeat. I didn't get to hear him cry or hold him. He was too little for that. But just because he was so very little, doesn't make him any less real. And I miss him. My only solace is that he must know that for his very short life he was very loved, and I know this because I did, and still do, tell him every day.

Here is where it gets harder, and feel free to stop reading if it gets too upsetting. I will understand.

He was the third baby I have lost. I have angels from December 2010 and February 2010 too. The hardest thing is that despite numerous tests, I have no reason why.

My first loss was so very scary. You never think something like this will happen to you. Someone should really take us girls aside when we are growing up and tell us the facts - warn us. Because I tell you this - the time to learn about it is not when you are going through it. It has to be the single most terrifying and devastating thing that has ever happened to me. And the 'after care' leaves so much to be desired. An A5 leaflet saying 'sorry you've had a miscarriage'. Seriously?

I found it so hard to believe in my second pregnancy. I had fallen so in love with the first and fell so hard when he/she left, I never wanted to feel that way again. The innocence of pregnancy was lost and I feared every twinge, pain and change in symptoms. Despite this, at 7 weeks I saw its tiny heart beating on the screen and I blinked to check it was real. It was then that I started to believe. As the weeks passed I knew something had changed and booked a private scan. My 10 week scan showed a tiny still baby whose heart no longer beat. He/she had left just 5 days after my first scan. I still have my first scan pic - its the only physical thing left to show he/she was ever here. Well, that, and my tears. I felt the heaviest guilt that I hadn't believed in him/her up until the first scan. Those short weeks were the only life they'd ever get and I should have had more faith. I know, logically, that it was not my fault. And I hope he or she knows they were loved just the same.

Between my second and third I had so many tests. No reason was found... I was just 'unlucky'.

I have told you about my third already. This time I was not expecting it. Not after the doctors reassurances that all was fine. They tried to give me another leaflet. I couldn't bring myself to take it from them - simply saying 'I have two already'. The doctors have nothing they can do or say. Nothing can make it better.

I know I have broken the rules here. I shouldn't have written about this. Miscarriage is taboo. I should be whispering somewhere private about this, not writing about it on my blog. But the horrible, heartbreaking, truth is that there are so so many others out there feeling the exact same way that I feel right now. And we all have to suffer in silence, returning to work to face the inevitable 'glad to see you are better' from well-wishing in-the-dark colleagues. I know it is not their fault. They do not know. But it is all you can do to stop from crumbling on the spot. You are not better. You'll never be 'better'. You learn to manage, but the emptiness lingers.

Each of my angels have their own 'little' star in the sky officially named after them. Two are near Orion's belt, the other is near the Leo constellation... my own star sign. I felt I had, no, needed to do something for them. Never before has the star-studded sky looked so beautiful to me. I will never forget them, and when I am gone, they'll still shine on...