After Anabelle

This is the first time in weeks I have felt remotely well enough to sit at the laptop long enough to record the saga that has been life! The Morgan's have been an ill bunch. We have been plagued between us with the usual concoction of winter germs; general coughs and colds for us all, a ear infection each for both boys, a bout of tonsillitis for Jon, and for me.... an horrendous cold that after a week turned into a pretty severe pneumonia infection. February 2016 completely written off. 

In London, no less. 

We had tickets for the Strictly Come Dancing tour at the O2 on Valentine's Day. The day before I had been feeling somewhat better; still full of cold, but not as yuck as the few days before that. So we decided to go, abandoning the idea of tubing into London for a shopping trip, but still making the show and still having our first overnight away in three years. Only the Saturday night I hardly slept, so Sunday morning got up feeling pretty low again. Keep going I thought, sleep in the car on the way down. Take a nap in the hotel before the show when we get there. 

We arrived around lunch time and I could barely face three or four mouthfuls of my dinner. I knew I was going downhill again. So I took some paracetamol and packed myself off to bed in the hotel room. I didn't sleep much, between coughing, feeling sick and an ever increasing chest pain. But still determined was I to make this show! We got to the show, feeling horrendous. Took more paracetamol. 

From what I remember the arena and the showmanship of Strictly was impressive - but the details of the show itself, I couldn't tell you. I sat there feeling more and more unwell through the first half, distracted by the pain in my chest, breathing becoming more erratic, heart getting faster and faster, totally unable to get comfortable. By mid-way through the second half I just wanted to get out of there. 

So we left early. Clinging to Jon fearing I was going to collapse. By this point the pain in my chest was unbearable, I couldn't breath properly and felt really quite frightened. Managed to get to the tube, Jon practicaly dragging me along and me feeling almost hysterical. It was one stop then a line change, then two stops to the hotel. We did the one stop, and I knew it was absolutely time for a Doctor. So back to the hotel was abandoned and instead we bundled into a taxi for the nearest A&E - and even at this point feeling worse and worse almost by the minute. 

A GP triaged us straight away on arrival, and within a few minutes I was through to their 'majors' section of the emergency department being hooked up to drips and machines, and poked with needles for whatever tests they were doing. My temperature was 39. something and my heart rate astronomical. I had initially thought my heart rate was around 155bmp on arrival (and that would've have been crazy enough) - Jon has told me since that actually it had been 177bpm at its fastest! 

After considering a blood clot verses a chest infection the Dr decided secondary infection was most likely given my weeks worth of nasty cold and temperature. So I was sent off for a chest x-ray which concluded, along with the through the roof infection markers in the blood results, that I had developed a severe pneumonia. 

Being pregnant meant limited ineffective pain-relief options at around 4.00am I caved and gladly took the Oramorph I was offered, knowing from previous experience it would make me woozy and sleep within minutes. I needed that break! 

I was admitted to the ward in unfamiliar surroundings, in London, not even knowing what hospital I was in for the first 24 hours. (I was in Newham University General Hospital). It is surprising how comforting the familiarity of your local hospital is should you need a hospital - it felt a very different experience being so far from home. 

So definitely not the London adventure we planned. Paying out for extra hotel room stays for Jon and myself as an inmate for three nights just waiting for the IV antibiotics to do some magic and to be well enough to travel home. Three long days away from the boys; the longest we have ever been apart. 

All in all February has been horrendous. I had no idea how long it could take to recover from pneumonia and have felt shocking for weeks. Just ill, low, continuously breathless and exhausted. After the initial antibiotics were completed I picked up a little for a few days only to get really low and feel really ill again a few days later. Another visit to the GP, another blood test with raised infection markers, another course of antibiotics and a pregnancy complicating recovery. It has felt never ending. 

That course of antibiotics finished at the weekend and the last few days I am feeling so much more well in myself, and generally brighter. I'm still feeling shattered and normal general stuff still feels an enormous effort; I'm definitely not back to normal, and my Dr has said I need to take everything slowly and easy for another good few weeks/month but hopefully the corner has been properly turned now and soon I'll feel back to my usual self. Well as usual self as you can feel getting increasingly pregnant anyway. 

Which brings me to that. 

Pregnancy seems to be progressing well so far, remarkably given my poor health - although that hasn't come without its surprises the last few weeks either. I finally saw my consultant (after an epic complaint I'm back under the care of my previous consultant, which is just as well given the new circumstances!), to receive feedback from my c-section with Zac that I really should have had at his birth; during the operation a small tear was discovered on my womb, threatening to rupture. How lucky were we that he was born when he was! Obviously this alters the care plan for this baby and he/she will now be born at 35 weeks - to reduce the risk of my womb over-stretching and tearing again. 

I'm still getting my head around it all to be honest. As if third trimester wasn't as stressful enough as it was. I'm really going to have to be careful as I get bigger and bigger this time. 

I was still feeling so unwell when I saw my consultant and so shocked that I hadn't been told (it really would've have altered our family planning decision had we known about the tear previously), and absorbing the 35 week birth plan with senior staff presence already on the notes, or earlier if I present with contractions as I have before, that at the appointment I didn't ask any questions about it.  I don't know what the monitoring plan is other than early birth, or what symptoms or signs we're looking out for.  We're seeing consultant again, together, on the 23rd March, so we'll be going with our list of questions then. 

As usual, I don't seem to do things by halves. This baby will arrive, all being well, mid-July. Which considering my mid-August due date seems incredibly early. It also means I'm already half way though. I do wish I was 'better' at being pregnant.  

Now if I could start feeling baby movements any day now that would be great too. 

So that's us. How has everyone else been?! 

2016; the year we're getting one bigger. 

I have just been back and read Alexander's three and a half update. Talking about finally cracking toilet training not long after his third birthday and starting his nursery class at school - this feels like a lifetime ago now. What another six months it has been, and more than ever Alexander seems so grown up in so many ways now . His ways have matured so much and I think the year between three and four has seen his understanding of the world and how is works grow more than ever before. 

I know I'm very late bringing this workshop to a close now; but I'm determined to finish it. 

I think I have needed something like this for a long time. Something to focus my thoughts and make me make time for my mind and revisit areas of my grief; to show my how my grief is different now, to show me where the rawness has softened and open wounds are becoming healing scars.

It has made me open Anabelle's memory box for the first time in a very long time, years really, at least two. Not since her 3rd birthday when I completely lost myself in the trauma of grief. I've handled things of hers I wasn't sure I could bear to see, her first dress, the coming home outfit that never was, re-read the letter that we left with her and look at the book full of things I put together for her.

I didn't manage to watch the DVD the photographer gave us of our pregnancy photos, or the video I put together on her 2nd birthday, I didn't dare listen to that music. But that is ok too. The box out of the cupboard was enough; at the moment Anabelle's box is on our bedroom floor and hasn't yet been returned to the cupboard. Maybe before it is returned to its home I'll empty the box completely and look through the contents in their entirety. Maybe that can be my 'Sunset' activity over these next few days.

I no longer really believe in the stages of grief that the counsellors talked so much about in those early days. Sure, they exist, but not in a beginning to end type journey, where they tell you eventually you'll reach acceptance. Maybe that is true of some grief, but not the soul-changing forever life changing grief after the death of your child. I don't think I'll ever truly accept my daughter died, not in that way. 

I see my journey more as a pendulum swing now; always hitting somewhere along this curve.  Sometimes hitting the better more positive places than others.

The approach to and the month of June might always be my nemesis. The annual trauma when my mental and emotional health take a battering. Her birthday each year feels harder,  it leaves me bereft, its a place where I cannot find healing. I there, in all those those stages there on the left hand side and there at the bottom. June is my crisis. Bewildering, chaotic, spiralling out of control, heart hurting and chest hurting painful, breathing painful, exhausting, frightening even. Crisis. I'm not well in June.

But right now, today on the 5th of November, I'm at the top side of the right and I'm well.  New strengths, developing new patterns, new plans, feeling hopeful and its a good place to be.

At least for today I feel like I am winning.


Day 30. Capture Your Grief. Reflection. 

Today this is easy. 

What heals me and brings joy to my heart is so blindingly obvious; my boys. 

My beautiful rainbow boys.

Alexander arrived 16 months after Anabelle was born. 

I was pregnant just eight months after she died. In hindsight it was ludicrous. In hindsight should I have timed it differently? Probably, but in no way would I want to change it now. We survived. He survived! 

But, there is no denying we were nowhere near emotionally or physically strong enough to embark on the most terrifying experience of our lives when we did. Initially a new baby was the very last thing on my mind, 9 days after Belle was born I was back on the pill. But we got to the Christmas and Jon's 30th birthday was looming not long after that and I wanted to be pregnant again before then. I made that our milestone. 

Jon had made a comment, throw away, not at all meant with pressure,  or malice, that he had wanted to be a Daddy before he was 30. And I remembered that, and needed to give him the chance of having a baby that stayed and came home the year he turned 30. 

It was ridiculous reasoning, an absolute nonsense looking back now. But the mind does not think straight in the thick of raw and bewildering new grief. 

I was in a dark and black place. Questioning why on earth he even wanted to be with me anymore, the wife that couldn't keep his baby alive. On numerous broken occasions I told him to leave and find somebody who's body wouldn't fail them in the worst possible way. I was in a black hole, blaming myself entirely for Anabelle's death at that time. 

But he stayed. Of course he stayed. Continually and constantly reassuring me that it wasn't my fault, he didn't blame me, I hadn't failed him and that he loved me. 

We found out we were pregnant with Alexander just a few days before our birthdays. 

And there began an utterly terrifying eight months. Not daring to really believe that this time there would be a baby at home instead of heaven. I even 'planned' Alexander's funeral and 'redesigned' the headstone figuring out how both babies would fit on there if the worst was to happen.

But even now, now he is here and four, and Zachary here and almost two. Those thoughts never truly leave me. I don't allow myself to ponder of 'plan' in that way anymore, but the intrusive thoughts are there. And I know some of what would be in their funerals if we lost them. 

Those boys.

They came home.

Alexander arrived screaming at 36+2 weeks grown. As far as my fragile tormented mind could handle. After another threatened pre-term labour at 32 weeks and a complete sobbing meltdown on my consultant following this it was agreed 36 weeks was enough.

And he arrived. And he screamed. And we cried. He was alive, what a beautiful sound. 

He felt like our miracle. He really was our miracle. 

That beautiful baby boy turned our world upside down and a bit back together again all at the same time. Those raw broken pieces of heart started to soften around the edges. I was in-love. I'm still in-love with that boy! 

We found out we were pregnant with Zachary when Alexander was 17 months old. Ironically, although we had decided we were going to try and have another baby in the next 6-12 months we had decided I was going back on the pill for at least 6 months after I had finished breast-feeding Alexander. I stopped feeding him at 17 months exactly and was just waiting for my period to turn up to start the pill; that period never showed and Zachary was already on his way. A lovely surprise! 

Another fear-filled pregnancy began, but this one, on the whole we coped with far better. Maybe just because a little more time had passed, maybe because we had Alexander at home keeping us busy there wasn't time to dwell, but maybe we were just a little more hopeful too, because Alexander had proved I was able to keep babies alive. But we were still scared. Pregnancy is scary. 

This time I managed to get the 37 weeks my consultant wanted, although there was a wobble in the final two weeks that moved birth day from 37+5 forward a few days to 37+2. There was no threatening premature labour this time but a water infection saw me hospitalised and my strong resolve vanished with it. So we were having him a few days earlier, exactly one week later than his brother had been born. 

And he arrived. And he screamed. And we cried. He was alive, what a beautiful sound. 

I was besotted with him. I'm still besotted with him. 

I've had rainbow sons now for four years, two weeks and five days.  And each of those days they have helped heal my heart a little bit more. I often describe our family as being surrounded by rainbows, because that is exactly what it is. The grief and hurt sits there, those broken pieces of heart at there, but those rainbow boys envelope it and are the glue that holds me altogether. 

Alexander gave me a reason to live a life of colour again. Zachary undoubtably added to it. Those boys have saved me. When my mental health has been falling to grief-stricken pain it is those boys that pull me up again. 

They are always my inspiration to heal, to rebuild (albeit slowly), to combine my life of grief with a life of joys in gentle and appropriate ways, to find better coping strategies. Because although I cannot deny Belle or the importance of her place in this family I don't want them to have memories of a childhood where grief dominated. 

Grief has its place and walks alongside us, we miss her. We always always miss Anabelle. But joy has a wonderful big space in this family too. 

A friend said on one of my posts last night that she thinks there comes a point in grief where the good days outweigh the bad days and more and more you allow yourself to enjoy those good days without feeling the guilt. 

I think she hit the nail on the head. 

I want our lives, their lives to be happy and beautiful. I don't feel guilt for that anymore. 

And so I concentrate on making memories with those boys. 

Making memories with my boys is what heals me. 

I hope they're never left in any doubt how incredibly precious they are to us. 

Reach out your hands. We will not let you fall. 

Give us your love and trust. We will not betray you.

Teach us once again the joy of living. 

Pam Brown.

Day 29. Capture Your Grief. What Heals You.  

I will weep when you are weeping;

when you laugh I'll laugh with you;

I will share your joy and sorrow,

till we've seen this journey through.