Our beautiful baby daughter Anabelle was born sleeping June 2010.
Blessed with the screaming arrivals of our gorgeous rainbow sons,
Alexander October 2011, Zachary November 2013 and Lucas July 2016.

After Anabelle - Raising Rainbows
Heartbreak. Joy. Death. Life. But most of all Love.

Wednesday, 8 February 2012

Fear Management

I've been struggling to articulate this post for a few days. 

I'm afraid I'm becoming one of those permanently neurotic mother's. Rational trying to beat away irrational thoughts all of the time. Once again my boy has appeared dead in my dreams. Sunday night. He was floating face down in a swimming pool, drowned. Jon dived in to get to him but he was already dead. Limp and lifeless in the water. 

I know the trigger; Monday morning is swimming day. We've really been enjoying swimming, Alexander loves the water, its been fun. Not once in my conscience thought has it entered my mind this activity could hurt him, kill him. My dreams had other ideas. I woke up short of breath and almost panicking, it seemed so real. Of course it wasn't real; how would an almost 4 month old baby ever be left unattended in the water for something so awful to happen. I would never do that, why did I dream that? 

What is wrong with me? I'm like a woman obsessed.This has to stop surely? How long will these waves of all engulfing fear continue? Will I fear every scenario, statistic, risk to this extent for the rest of his life? 

There are fine lines between normal Mummy fears to bereaved Mummy fears, to verging almost on needing to get a grip.  I'm trying very hard not to be a cotton wool Mummy but I think I'm heading towards needing to get a grip. 

Something beyond awful happened to us; our daughter died. I'm having another of those moments where I can't comprehend the enormity of it all. Anabelle's death is going to colour everything for the rest of our lives, how we react, how we think and how we parent. A massive rippling effect on how I now perceive risks compared with what the actual risk might be. Risks are always magnified now. 

The risk of my daughter not coming home was 1 in 200. Small. I was considered a low risk pregnancy, I was only 25, I didn't fit into any of the high-risk of stillbirth catergories. But I was that 1.  It always feels entirely plausible that I could be that 1 in a statistic again. The doom and gloom-est in me has an awful habit of jumping to and imagining the worst case scenario in everything; irrational often wins.  Why can't I just believe my son is here to stay and that nothing awful is going to happen to us again? 

My faith needs a boot up the backside. 

I agree entirely with recent comments on my blog.. I need a risk management plan surrounding Alexander and other aspects in our lives; or maybe more precisely a fear management plan. I just don't even know where to start.  


Sam H said...

Have you spoken to your Dr about all of this? I wonder if you need some extra help? Some sort of cbt (cognitive behavioural therapy) to help you deal with it. I know it really helped me although it wasn't a total cure in my situation. Big hugs as what you're going through is so hard. xx

Weezer said...

I know how you feel about being a statistic I too feel that way coming up to giving birth to our rainbow next week. I have been that 1 in 200 for stillbirth and also a 1 in 400 for down syndrome so when ppl saw it won't happen again how can I believe them? It's so incredibly hard but you are doing so well sweetheart. I agree with the above comment try talking to the docs they may well be able to work through some coping strategies. Hoping for some gentle days ahead xxx

Julia McKay said...

Sending you big hugs. Thinking of you with love xxx

Anonymous said...

Our fear management plan
1. `Get a grip' is our favourite and most used saying.
2. AngelSounds monitor
3. WebCam on his crib
4. We only check he's still breathing about 4 or 5 times a day (not a bad rate considering).
5. At the risk of `spoiling' our baby if he's not napping in the crib or the pram then he naps on or next to one of us.

I don't have the dreams like you but about once a week I have that feeling that hits you like a tidal wave - the one where you can't believe this actually happened to you - and you survived.

Susan said...

All sounds normal to me. Of course, you're worried - it's not just about knowing it *could* happen, it's about knowing how bloody AWFUL it is if it did. Other people say, I can't imagine your pain, and it's true. They can't.

The thing is (Get a Grip lecture coming!) 1 in 200 is terrible odds - it was actually quite likely that something awful would happen. If you talk to third trimester ladies, hardly anyone seems to acknowledge that it is so risky. Human beings are actually pretty poor at assessing risk in terms of likelihood - if they were, no one would buy a lottery ticket. You're more likely to have a heart attack on the way to buy it, than win.

Now that you're gorgeous boy is here, his chances of reaching 100 are pretty good. I think you just need to figure out what makes you feel safer and do it (whether its stair gates or monitors or what not). Take care, and give yourself a break - you've been through a lot.

My Photo
After Anabelle - Raising Rainbows. I'm Caz, Mummy to beautiful angel Belle and my wonderful rainbow boys, Xander, Zachy and Luc. Wife to Jon. Twitter @cazem Instagram @cazzyem
View my complete profile

Lilypie Angel and Memorial tickers

Lilypie Angel and Memorial tickers

Blog archive


Mumsnet Badge

Written by C.E Morgan. Powered by Blogger.