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.
