Happy Birthday Aurora

Today was meant to be my big girls 3rd birthday. I lost her before the 12wk mark, just like the other two. I didn't want to get out of bed. It took me until 11:30am to drag myself out of the bedroom. I didn't shower. I didn't change my clothes. I didn't do anything. Literally. I sat on the lounge and sulked all day.

I'm tired of waiting for something to go right. I'm tired of being the only one that cares. Why can't I have what I want so badly?

Each day that passes I can feel myself becoming more and more angry with the world I am currently living in. Not being a part of the TTC club is making life even harder. Being with someone who isn't really focused on the same things in life is just sending me insane.

Is it right of me to hate him? I feel it bubbling under the surface more and more. Why promise me something that you know I want so dearly and then not even try to fulfil that want?

To not even mention my little girls birthday to me? To not even say anything when it was the others' birthdays?

I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be with the three of them under a tree in the prettiest park ever, eating cake and giggling away. Just the four of us.

Right now in my life, it's just me. I'm in this alone and must walk it alone. No little hands to hold. No snotty noses to wipe and no dirty bums to change.

Just me.

Happy birthday in heaven Aurora. I'm sorry I wasn't happier for you today. I love you.

Which Path to Take?

At the moment I'm in the world of the unknown. I don't know where my life is headed. If you had have asked me three months ago where I thought I was going, I would have been able to tell you. I would have told you that I was preparing my body physically, and preparing my mind. We were aiming to try for a baby in six months time. If you ask me today where I think I am headed, my answer would be a simple "I don't know".

Communication is such an important tool in a relationship, without it, there is no relationship. This must be done from both sides. After all, there is no point talking to a brick wall, right? Both sides must be open and honest, they must be able to tell each other their inner most secrets, the ones that worry them. Our fears are something we share with our friends and families, so why not share them with the one you sleep next to?

I shared. I tried to communicate. I cried. I was blunt. I said what I wanted and what I needed and explained why. I asked if I was in the wrong. I asked if there was more I could do.

I can do no more.

I am not a mother to a rainbow. I am not a wife. Currently I am not anything that I wanted to be in life.

I am no longer in the deep despair of grief that I was six months ago. I am not wishing daily that I was dead just so I could be with my angels. Now I just keep wishing they were here with me so I weren't so lonely. If they were here, I'd have meaning and be valued. Not sitting in a room alone with my thoughts.

Where the hell is this all going? Where am I going? My inspiration and zest has disappeared once again. Heartbreak is so strong is eats at everything else positive in your life until there is almost no hope left.

Do I sit here and wait for the glimmer of hope? Or do I just pave myself a whole new journey and hope it works out for the best?

The Overview

July 2008, aged 25, I fell pregnant by surprise with Aurora. She stayed with me for only 6 weeks. I lost her in the shower with my poor mother watching. I was forced to move on from this quickly as I was maid of honor only 2 weeks after, so it was a case of chin up and soldier on and don’t be an attention seeker.

April 2009, whilst in a mentally and sexually abusive relationship, I was given Taylah. She only stayed 8 weeks. I’d made a decision only a week before I was going to raise her on my own, which I would have done damn well. But it was not to be. I was 2000k’s from my family and friends and had to pack up my belongings on my own and make the hike back home with a severely broken heart.

After I lost Taylah, I had many complications. Long term infection, multiple ovarian cysts including ruptures, thyroid problems, and all on top of my already chronic IBS and kidney disease. I wasn’t ovulating regularly either so the chances of me falling were so minimal we decided not to bother with contraception. And somewhere deep inside me, I hoped that the “accident” would happen anyways. And it did.

May 2011 the good Lord sent me Josiah. I braced myself and did everything I could to make my little gift stay. I was still suffering depression from losing Taylah so my hopes weren’t set high, but I talked myself into positive thoughts each day, took my vitamins, ate healthy, and exercised every day in the hope that I would be able to hold on to him. He left me at exactly 6 weeks. I was due to have a scan the following day to make sure all was well. I tried Reiki therapy the night I was losing him, I prayed to Jesus and my Guardian Angel to please let him stay. I begged and pleaded but nothing worked. Within 24hrs, all that showed on my scan was a mass sitting at the bottom of my cervix. They asked me to empty my bladder so we could continue the scan further. I had to flush my third angel down a foreign toilet.

My doctor finally decided it was time to see a fertility specialist. I’ve had all the rounds done. No answers. The closest to an answer I’ve come is receiving a letter in the mail after having a blood test done to see what type I am. I am Rh Negative. My own body is killing my babies. I haven’t been back to see the specialist since because I’m too damn angry. Why did they never ask me before what blood type I was? Why do they only bother with you once you’ve suffered 2 or more losses?

I’ve never seen my angels on a screen. I’ve only felt their presence. I’ve only seen the proof on a stick. I’m the only one who truly recognizes them as being alive and real. Nobody in my life knows my pain. Nobody realizes I count the days to their due dates, or the days to their wing growing day.

Loneliness is something I will have to deal with. Not even the psychologist has an answer for me.

To get something you never had, you have to do something you never did. When God takes something from your grasp. He's not punishing you, but merely opening your hands to receive something better.The will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you. God our Father, walk through my house and take away all my worries and illnesses and please watch over and heal my family in Jesus name, Amen.

It's Never Too Late. Or Is It?

This blog is on behalf of all Angel Parents. We stand together, hand in hand, heart to heart.

After I lost Josiah, I felt as if I just couldn't carry on anymore. He was my third consecutive loss. He sits in heaven with his older sisters, watching their mummy. I wanted to be in heaven with them. I simply wanted to be dead.

During this time, I had a very close girlfriend. She was also pregnant and about three months ahead of me. After the birth of her first born, I did what I could to help her recover from Post Natal Depression. She had tried to cheer me up via text messages a few times immediately after I lost Josiah. Unfortunately that wasn't enough. She asked me to go shopping with her, so I accepted, knowing she'd have a tummy, and also a one year old in tow. I knew it would be hard, but I knew it was wrong to avoid her. She was one of my closest friends, after all.

Off we set on the shopping trip, we walked around aimlessly, had a bite to eat, and I fussed over her one year old, as I always did. "I need to go to Target, do you mind?" she asks, "Of course I don't mind!", and off we set.

This would end our friendship.

I was subjected to the baby section. She shopped for the unborn baby, and also for the little one, talking about the things she already had, but the want to buy so much more. Up and down, up and down. The whole time feeling like I was about to faint. My blood boiled, I wanted to scream. I had a knot the size of an apple in my stomach, I had to hold back the urge to vomit. It seemed to last a lifetime, in reality, it was probably only 20mins or so. I couldn't wait to get out of there. I basically ran to the car.

Over the next week, this whole experience played over and over in my head. How could I bring this up with her without sounding like a bitch? How could I get my point across without hurting or upsetting her? So exactly a week later, I sent her a very long text message. I pointed out I knew she hadn't meant to hurt me, but maybe next time we can do something not baby related. I explained how hard it was for me to cope. I told her I loved her and I didn't want her to feel bad.

Twenty minutes passed, and I'd had no reply. I figured she was processing it. I jumped on Facebook and there was her status from two minutes ago: "Mother of all bitches". I lost it. How dare you update your status but not bother to return a message to me!! I left it another two hours in the hope that she would send me a message in return. Nothing. NOTHING! So that is when I told her to not bother again.

Eight months later, she apologised. Eight months. I politely told her it was too late, the same message would have healed all things eight months ago. She told me she was always there for me. Funny that, you weren't!

When someone in your life is going through a traumatic time, please do not leave them in the dark. If they tell you they're ok, don't believe them. Send them a letter. Flowers. A hand made card. Anything small that is from the heart is better than running away from them.

If you run from someone, don't expect them to forgive you. The damage can be repaired within a moment if you choose so. All it takes is a hug, or the word sorry. As human beings we can be quite forgiving.

Some will never understand what it is like to flush their baby down the toilet. Some will never have their dreams of a family smashed into pieces.

This is why I forgive her and set her free.

Love & Light xo

The Key

So I've been feeling quite disheartened recently. It's been a few week of up's and down's. Along with my own inner turmoil, I've been helping to care for a very close friend who has recently had a cancerous brain tumour removed, and since suffered a stroke due to a brain bleed. This has left him paralysed on his left side, unable to do the things he always took for granted. He's been feeling trapped and guilty. Guilty that his beautiful wife has to care for him. Guilty for needing to rely on others. Trapped by his body, and by his disease. One thing it has not paralysed is his giving, caring and loving nature, and certainly not his sense of humour. He is one mighty positive person, and a lot of people could learn great things from this man.

He is most certainly not my "down" part of the week. If anything, every time I hug him goodbye, I feel happier inside just knowing he truly appreciates that I am helping him and also because I know he will survive this disease.

The down part lately has been the light bulb moments afterwards. Those moments I sit back and think "Why don't more friends help one another in this way?", or "Why do people run from others when they need them most?"

I have really struggled to comprehend why so many people in my life turned away from me when I needed them most. It has somewhat stopped my healing process because I just didn't know how to accept that people were ok with treating others that way. I had certain expectations of people in my life. I expected them to want to care for me and ask me the questions that nobody else would. My expectations were in vain. On an up side, some people who I least expected to care for me, did. That was hard to accept for some time, but I slowly learned to let the barriers down.

I needed to figure out my key to life. I've asked for many years "Who am I? Why am I here?" in the hope of an answer to just appear out of thin air. I wanted to know why I had suffered so much loss in such a short amount of time. I wanted to know why I have suffered with illness my entire life.

One word. One word is the key to my existence.

Compassion

Compassion is a virtue - one in which the emotional capacities of empathy and sympathy (for the suffering of others) are regarded as a part of love itself, and a cornerstone of greater social interconnection and humanism - foundational to the highest principles in philosophy, society, and personhood. There is an aspect of compassion which regards a quantitative dimension, such that individual's compassion is often given a property of "depth", "vigour", or "passion". More vigorous than empathy, the feeling commonly gives a rise to an active desire to alleviate another's suffering.

Compassion cannot be taught. It has to be learned on one's own journey.

To express my compassion to others, I am starting the production of my Memory Frames. These will be hand made by myself, to express my love and compassion for others who are suffering, whether it be emotional or physical suffering.

I am making peace with my inner turmoil. I am learning to accept that people can't always be who we want them to be. This is not their fault. It simply means they are on a different journey than us. Everyone's journey is unique and for this reason we must be kind to one another.

I have my friend with cancer to thank for my understanding of my journey. So, Thank You J.O.

Love & Light xo

Day After Day

I wrote this blog on Tuesday 6th September 2011, after I'd lost Josiah on 30th June 2011. It's quite dark, depressing and raw.

In posting this publicly, I aim to hit someone in the heart. Someone who needs a light in their darkness. If you're feeling like this now, please, please realise that with the right support, you will come out of the darkness. This support doesn't always come in the form of face to face communication. My support network was found online. Two women in particular whom it met online pulled me through my darkest moments, without even realising it.

We are not alone in our pain. We're all here with open arms and ears. All you have to do is reach out. If you need to talk, search for Three Whispers of Hope on Facebook. Don't be afraid.

"Each morning I hear the alarm beep at me. Once I switch it to snooze, the heaviness of the day ahead starts to set in. I don't want to open my eyes. I want to keep my body in the state of nothingness that it was before I heard the alarm. The simple task of sitting up seems too difficult. The simple tasks of showering and dressing myself seem too difficult. 

I eventually pull myself up, and push myself into preparing myself for the day ahead.

Once in the car, driving to work, I play songs on my stereo, some that I know will make me cry. For some reason though, I feel I need to do this. Maybe it is because for so long now, I haven't allowed myself to cry over anything at all. 

I pull up at work, and my stomach twists. I know now that I must put on my "happy face", and when asked how I am this morning, I must force myself to say "fantastic". Every day is the same. I hate saying "I'm fantastic" or "I'm great". I know it is a lie. I know everyone knows I am lying. But if I tell them I am not ok, what will their response be? Probably just some disappointing comment that will infuriate me. So best to pretend for now I am great.

Once inside and all settled at my desk, I cannot wait to start the work in front of me. Unfortunately though, one of my best/worst traits is that I do work quite quickly. So before the clock even hits 11am, I have finished the bulk of my work, only to be left staring blankly at the computer screen. And this, is where I start falling.

My mind starts wandering. First I think of what day of the week it is. Then I think about which day of the week I lost you. Then I think about how many weeks I would have been. How big would my tummy be now? I pick up my phone, I check my "BabyBump" App. I look at the photo of what you're meant to look like at the moment. I read about what amazing things your body is meant to be doing this week. Then I count how many weeks it has been since you left your mummy. Now I start replaying the events of that dreaded day and evening in my mind. What did I do that may have caused this? Did I eat something wrong? Did I not rest enough? I try to tell myself none of that would have mattered nor made this happen, but I don't believe myself. 

I'm tired of telling myself lies. "I'm tough", "I can do it on my own", "It just wasn't meant to be". Rubbish. All rubbish. The daily lies I tell myself are wearing thin. More often than not these days, the lies don't even surface. It's just blank and blatant truth.

The truth is, I will never know exactly why you left me. I will never know why your two Angel Sisters left me either. I can't even find comfort in knowing you three are together. My selfishness tells me this is just not enough. I want you here with me. I want to smell you, to touch your soft skin, to hear you cry and to look into your beautiful eyes. I hate my life without you and nothing can replace you.

By the time I have finished work, I am so mentally and emotionally drained, I am not even sure how I managed to drive the car home. Some days I worry that I am so tired, that I might have an accident and hurt someone else. I park the car in the sidestreet, and slowly walk around to the house. I dread this house. I dread every part of it right down to the front door and the annoying sound of the barking dogs that come from it. So I quickly go inside, and lock myself away in my room immediately. I only surface for a toilet stop or a shower. Here in this room, I lay staring at the ceiling. I start to think about the day I've had, and realise it was no different from the last. I'm not progressing at all. The tears are saturating my face and neck by now. The howling becomes uncontrollable.

The hatred for myself and my body are so intense I just want to evaporate into the atmosphere around me.

I know this is not possible. I know I cannot disappear. So instead I take the emotional pain out on myself in other ways. I'm not eating. When I do, my tummy bloats, which then makes me look pregnant, which then in turn reminds me of you. So I stop eating again. I don't sleep, because when I close my eyes, I think of you, my baby's. When things get really bad, I get in the car and drive. No destination. I just drive. Eyes filled with tears. I can barely see the road as I scream at the top of my lungs. A big part of me hopes I crash into a building and that I never wake up again. I just want to die.

My arms are filled with cuts. My head is filled with negative and sad thoughts. My heart is aching. My body is becoming numb.

How long can I keep doing day after day? It seems not much longer."

Love Thy Body

Sometimes I find this extremely hard. How am I meant to love something that has brought me so much pain? From the beginning of my existence I have been poked and prodded by doctors. I'm now 28 and it's still happening. My own body has taken the lives of my own babies. How am I to love that?

My first surgery was before I was even 12 months old. I don't remember it of course, but my parents certainly do. I've never been afraid of doctors, hospitals or needles. I've become desensitised to it in a way. I do hate having to go to those places or people though. Not because of the physical pain, it's the emotional and mental pain you go through each time.

What will they find this time? What will they miss? Will I even get a straight answer for once? Probably not. I know I'll walk out angry and disappointed, with no sense of feeling closer to a solution.

I'd love to say "I've had enough", but that would be a lie. If I'd had enough, I'd be on my death bed, and I'm far from dead or dying. What I have had enough of though is not being able to make peace with my health issues and just accept them the way they are. Is it ok to make peace with this? Or do I keep on fighting and fighting until I am in that grave?

What I haven't had enough of is waking up every day. I know most days are going to be a struggle to fit 3 meals into my mouth. I will keep trying to fit them in though. Why do I tell myself I have to try? Because I'm human. We live on hope. Hope that today will be better. Hope that tomorrow will be better if today doesn't turn out to be.

My parents didn't give up hope on me when the doctors diagnosed me at their 12 week ultrasound. My parents will never give up on me. Every time I have a whinge about how sick and tired I am, I'm sure it breaks their hearts, but they still carry on and hold me up in whatever way they can.

They have seen their child in unbearable pain. They had to hold her down on tables while doctors hurt her. They had to kiss me goodbye and watch me wheeled away into surgery more than 12 times now. They will never stop hoping.

My parents have given me a gift. The gift of hope. I know in my heart that if God gave me the gift of a rainbow child, I would pass the same gift on with every ounce of my being. I do not believe that a sick baby should be sent to Heaven. I believe that that baby should be given every chance to breathe, just how my parents gave me the chance to breathe.

No matter what happens to my unborn children, I will never take that chance of life away from them. I don't care what is "wrong" with my children. They deserve every thing I have ever been given. They deserve to be loved and held just as I have been.

And one day, they will thank me, just as I am thanking my parents and God, for not giving up on them.


Love & Light xo