Monday 20 August 2012: A light that shines through the dark...
Today's been tricky.
Turns out today is a day when people unite and talk about the children they have lost, whether it be a miscarriage, a stillborn or a child at any age.
Today I've surrounded myself with stories of those who lost their babies and I think about how I lost mine.
From the minute I saw that positive pregnancy test, I felt like something wasn't right. I put it down to the fact that I'm a worrier. I worry about everything.
11 days ago, I started bleeding. After calling someone at the local early pregnancy unit, I was laughed at for worrying by a professional. After this, I felt reassured.
The following day the bleeding got worse and I went to hospital to be scanned. That's when the sonographer confirmed my biggest fear, that the likelihood was I'd begun the process of miscarrying the foetus. All they could see was a gestational sac they'd date to 5 weeks. The medical professionals were so careful - they couldn't confirm it was a miscarriage because it may have been too early to see anything within the sac and at that stage a heartbeat was undetectable. The fact that I believed I was almost 10 weeks pregnant and that the foetus inside me was only 5 weeks was only lightly touched on - maybe I was just wrong with my dates, they said. To them, our baby wasn't a baby. Our baby was a foetus. They never used the word miscarriage, even though the signs were all there. I was told to go back about 10 days later (Tuesday 21st) for a follow up scan to see if there is a 'viable pregnancy'.
The days that followed, my partner and I tried to get our heads around the fact that our little Jellybean was no more.
The following week, I went out with friends. When getting out of their car, within seconds, I'd bled through my jeans to my knees.
After going up to the hospital again, they pretty much verified what I already knew - my baby was gone. There was no chance.
In the days that followed, I could hardly move because the pain was excruciating.
Tomorrow (Tuesday 21st), I go for that scan. I go for the scan that tells me if my body successfully got rid of what I so treasured.
Our little jellybean was a shock - an unplanned little one, but nevertheless, a much wanted child. We'd already started thinking about names, imagining what our lives would be like. When I started bleeding and we went to hospital and the sonographer told us that I was likely to have miscarried, it felt like our whole world had fallen apart.
It still feels so raw. I fall apart every time I see a baby, imagining how it would have felt to have had my little one in my arms. My other half struggles seeing toddlers, thinking about the future plans he had of taking little one to the park, playing football.
Since the day we found out our jellybean was not meant to be, there seems to be one star that shines brighter than all the others. It's not something I ever believed in, but it feels better giving him/her a physical form. We also decided today that we needed to give our baby a sex. No more calling Jellybean 'it'. Our baby was a little boy in the future we depicted for our little family.
Even though it was only early on, from the minute that pregnancy test came up positive, I became invested in this child I would share my body with for 9 months and my life with forever.
Thinking about my darling baby boy, being cradled in the skies by my Nana, who died only days before Jellybean was concieved.
Thinking of you, angel, and all those other little ones not longed for this world.
- via AndroBlip