Kitchen Table @ Glow

Glow In The Woods is an amazing support website for bereaved parents, today I'm taking part in their kitchen table discussion.


1 | How would you describe your presence on the Internet? Does your online voice differ from your real life voice? If so, how? And why?

I had my blog before Florence was born,I wrote about sewing, and knitting, home decor, all pretty light and fluffy, just pretty pictures really with a few words. I had a small following, mostly other crafty Mummies and customers from my little business .
Then Florence was born, and she died, and news was leaking out via Facebook, rumours were started and Woody and I thought the best thing to do was add our news here on my blog.
We had no idea at the time what an impact that would make, and I had no idea how that decision would change my blog forever.
I think my online voice is my real life voice. I'm as honest as I can be about most things, and my lack of writing skill means I can't really hide terribly well behind a more crafted voice. So yeah, I think this is me.

2 | Why did you begin blogging, or reading blogs? Was this before or after your experience of babyloss?

I was blogging already when Florence was born, and decided to keep my thoughts and feelings about her here in this space primarily because I didn't want to hide her away somewhere else. I had shared so many of the preparations for her arrival here, it just seemed too sad to move her.
This means that now my blog is a rather peculiar mix of grief and sewing, but that kinda reflects my life.
I worry sometimes that my sewing/crafty readers don't want to hear about the grief, and my babylost readers don't want to read about the sewing. I'm certain my initial dreams of a beautiful craft blog are totally scuppered now, and maybe the presence of my crafty readers stops me spewing my grief so violently, I just don't know.

3 | Do you write anonymously? Does anonymity - or would anonymity - change your expression of grief?

Nope, I am who I say I am. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be anonymous, but I know in reality I just couldn't keep it up.

4 | Do you have a responsibility in how you express yourself on the Internet? To whom, and why?

Yes, I think I do. My first responsibility is to my family. I will not write about Woody's grief, and I'm careful what I write about my living children, they deserve their privacy. I also do not write about extended family or friends likely to read and be upset.
Sometimes this is hard, and I've deleted many a post having a good old whinge about someone,but it's not worth it to hit publish. Usually just writing it down is enough to get it out of my system.


5 | Do authenticity and honesty matter to you, both as a reader and a writer? Or does unconditional support matter more? How do you think readers perceive your truth?

Authenticity and honour do matter to me greatly as both a writer and a reader. I hope readers perceive my truth for what it is. I'm a normal Mummy, missing her little girl.

6 | Have you ever been in the crosshairs of a troll? How did you deal with it, and what did you learn from it?

No, and I hope I never am.

7 | How do you feel before going online - either to write on your own blog, or to absorb the writing of others? How do you feel when you shut down the computer and walk away?

Hmmm, this is a tough question. I think how I feel changes so often. To read, I like some quiet time, I like to absorb what has been written by women (and men) who I have come to care about so very much over the past few months.

To write, well I guess I usually have something niggling away at me, and need to get it out. Once I have I generally feel better for a while, then I panic I've exposed myself too much, or I'm that boring woman droning on again about her dead baby, or that I've inadvertently upset someone.....I'm a worrier!

8 | Do family/friends know you write/commune online? If so, have they told you how they feel about it? How do you respond to their opinions?

Some do, some don't. I don't make a point of telling people. I'm usually pretty surprised when someone tells me they read.
My sil Julie reads and comments (Hi Julie), and I don't want to put words in her mouth, but I think she does that because she lives in the US with her husband (Woody's brother) and children, and we don't get to see them very often.I think in some small way my blog has brought us a little closer, and I'm glad of that.
I know some of my real life friends read, they tell me, actually when I think about it, there are quite a few real lifers who read, the lollipop lady (Hi Wendy) stops me sometimes to talk about something I've said on here.


9 | Have you ever met any other loss bloggers in real-life? How did it feel to share food and air and space, and how did it make you feel about your own storytelling and healing? If you haven't experienced this, would you want to, or not? Why?

No I haven't, but I'd like to. I feel very sad sometimes that many of the women I care so much about I will never meet.

10 | How did you/will you know it's time to read fewer grief blogs, and write less of grief? How did you/will you redirect your energy, creativity, and persona online -- did you/will you go offline? Disappear and start again? Or transition in your current space, hoping to find a new voice? If you've done this, how did it feel?

I really don't know, I'll probably just have more sewing here and less grief as time goes on.

Happy When It Rains

It's raining today. I like the rain, I can pull up my scarf over my nose, and tilt my umbrella to hide my eyes. I don't have to talk to anyone, and everyone is rushing by, so they don't expect me to stop and talk anyway.

Something is bothering me, something someone said.She didn't mean it to bother me, she has issues of her own and I think was merely protecting herself. A harmless comment really, people make those to pregnant women all of the time, but this pregnant woman is fragile, more fragile than she wants to admit, and the comment hurt.

I guess I'm gonna get a lot more of those too

Too Much TV

After dinner last night Woody came upstairs to find me watching Saving Babies , he just kinda winced at me, slightly rolled his eyes and settled down at his pc.
I've been watching a lot of "baby tv" recently. I kinda have this compulsion to watch, even shows like Saving Babies, which is about desperately sick babies.I watch, and I wince, and I cry and I wonder if they'll pull through (they always do...that can't be right can it? I mean do they film the ones that die then not show them?)
What I simply can't fathom about this particular show though is that these babies are so so poorly with often severe physical defects, unyet they are healthier than Florence was.
Florence couldn't even be stabilised enough to move her to a ventilator (she was ventilated by hand for five hours). The children's hospital though initially on alert to transfer her in, cancelled her transfer and advised withdrawal of treatment.
She had a perfect heart, a perfect brain, everything was perfect, she was beautiful and she was too sick to even get as far as those babies on tv.
Maybe I should just stop watching.

I Didn't Cry

Thursday morning I had an appointment to see my midwife.I had been offered the option of having all my ante natal appointments at home,but I declined. My midwife works in the community out of several doctor's surgeries, and I know I rarely visit my doctor, but I can't put off going to the surgery forever can I?

The waiting room is tiny. I walked in, and there was a face I recognised from school. Someone I've often exchanged "hellos" with, though not since Florence was born.
She immediately spotted the green maternity notes in my hand, or maybe she spotted my bump. She grinned so hard at me. I smiled, but I was terrified (and a little ashamed.)
I told the receptionist I was there to see the midwife...there is no privacy in that room.
The nice lady from school asked me when I was due, and told me she was due soon after.
I sat down, tried to ignore the radio which was playing some stupid love song, bit my lip hard and tried not to cry.

Finally in the safety of the exam room with my midwife, I started to relax. We chatted about the inquest, and she immediately put me at ease.

Then it was time to listen in to baby. I climbed on the couch, and after a few moments, there it was, a little heartbeat. M, my midwife smiled. I think I said, "so I have been feeling something then?"

BUT...I didn't feel relief, or excitement or anything much. I didn't cry.

I left the surgery and called Woody on my mobile. I chatted about the waiting room, about how M had agreed with me on a certain subject to do with the inquest, and finally he interrupted and said "did you hear a heartbeat?"...."yes"
I told him to put the kettle on, I'd be home in a moment.

Inquest

I dreamed about Florence last night. She was dressed in a pretty pastel sleepsuit, and looked so beautiful. I was holding her, I could feel her weight in my arms, but she was sleeping deeply, and was so quiet, she didn't want to feed. Suddenly she was gone, and I was looking for her in a cupboard full of pastel coloured boxes, but all I could find in there were dolls, and doll parts. I couldn't find her, but was frantic because she hadn't had a feed.


It's been a tough week. Wednesday was the inquest. The flashbacks had become more frequent in the run up, and I was feeling pretty low last week, but I also just wanted the inquest over with.

We were not quite sure where we were going. Funny how you can live somewhere for so long and not realise a building you've walked past hundreds of times is a building you might one day visit.

When we arrived, we were met in the waiting room by my lovely midwife, and the paediatrician that treated Florence and has been such a support over the past few months. There was also the pathologist, and another midwife who had come to support my midwife. Friendly faces.

The usher went through his list of attendees. I told him I was Florence's mother. The words caught in my throat and the sobs took over. I hate crying like that, but was soon ok.

We were taken upstairs to the court room. A large Victorian room, with huge windows through which the sound of the very busy road outside could be heard. I couldn't help noticing how the ugly modern office furniture sat so awkwardly in such a large an imposing room.

Woody and I held hands as we listened to the statements from everyone involved. Re living Florence's birth and death over and over from different perspectives. That was hard. I could feel the tears stinging my eyes.

Nothing new was discovered, as expected. We did find out that the staff at our local hospital were advised by the large children's hospital to withdraw treatment at 10.30, but the doctors continued for eight more minutes.

I was also relieved to hear from two statements how Florence was still alive when she was placed in my arms.
She was so very still, I'd never been sure if she'd already gone,but two paediatricians stated that Florence died in my arms. She was safe.

She stayed in mine or Woody's arms all that day.

The final cause of death is recorded as Massive Pulmonary Heamorrhage due to Natural Causes.

We'll ever know what those natural causes were.

Worry

I'm trying, I promise I'm trying. I really want to be optimistic, but I find myself browsing websites for doppler hire and private scans, wondering if I should spend the money we don't have for reassurance...of a kind, and for how long?
I do battle with the old me, the natural home birthing Mama that believes in her body and it's ability to grow and birth a living healthy baby.
I'm just not her anymore, though remnants remain and taunt me.

I look at my shelf of pregnancy books, not daring to open them. I know what they say, I've read them all a hundred times before.I did everything right. Florence's birth was perfect, no drugs, at home, upright, no tearing, no problems and then she died.

This baby will be born in hospital*, I'm not sure how yet. I'm not sure I care. I just want a living one this time please.

A Reminder to Myself

Starting to knit a baby blanket can't kill my baby.

Buying a book of vintage baby knitting patterns similarly can't kill my baby.

Repeat, until you believe it.

Demons and Denial

It's a funny old business this pregnancy after loss thing. Some days my head is spinning with thoughts, and my emotions are in such turmoil, I just don't know if I'm coming or going. I'm starting to think I may have multiple personality issues.

Yesterday was our "dating scan". I've always hated scans, and generally had as few as possible, I had no scans at all with Eden, though I guess that was mostly down to my wonderful Dutch midwives and the Dutch maternity services of the time. (we lived in Holland briefly in 1998).

The only way I can get through certain appointments is to kinda disconnect my emotions from my surroundings and be an observer. That's what I did yesterday. Even the junkie pregnant Mama in the waiting room was just someone to observe, and not even feel anything for, not disgust, or pity, or anything.

We were called into the examination room, the sonographer was kind, gentle and motherly, just what I'd hoped for. There is nothing obvious on my notes identifying me as a dead baby mama, but I think there must be something on my computerised records because something about this lady made me think she knew.

The machine was switched on, and Woody and I both looked for that heartbeat. It was there. Baby was chilled, and grown, and my heart was beating out of my chest.

The dating scan is quick. We were back in the waiting room in no time. We bought one picture.The sonographer gave me a squeeze with her eyes.Then we went to do some grocery shopping.

Later that evening I went to a pregnancy yoga class. A happy place, filled with happy smiley pregnant women, all glowing and bountiful, brim full of hope and joy. I found myself smiling too, even laughing...all the while quieting the demons in my head telling me;

"stop smiling, you are not one of them"

"You are a failure and a fraud"

I partnered a lovely young woman for one excercise, and we chatted. She asked me about my children, and I answered slowly, carefully trying to find the right words, trying not to scare her. I told her I would have a six month old, but she died, and bless her, without skipping a beat she said she was sorry and carried on her bubbly chatter. Maybe I did scare her, I hope not. Just her little sorry meant so much to me.She didn't recoil in horror, she didn't demand I leave the room for fear of contaminating everyone with my dead baby germs. She just chatted to me, and was lovely.

That was the second time this week I've had to tell someone my baby died, it's never easy, and I always feel I've been clumsy and it's come out all wrong. I don't know how to get the words out right,but I can't just gloss over Florence, maybe sometimes I should,but she's my forever baby, she lived, she was real, and I can't ever deny her.