“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear” – C.S. Lewis

I really want to skip this part. Erase it from my memory as if it never happened. Whoever said a blog was a good idea, huh? Well, we’ve come this far, and as we find in every epic tale, there is always a complication before the resolution. I promise, the story does get better, but here it starts. Welcome to hell. A hell with no flames, ash or fire. A hell with no brimstone or punishment for the wicked. This hell is a large dim-lit clinical room with an ultrasound machine. This hell is in the Feto-Maternal Unit at the hospital. I have no words to express this week. No words can do it justice. No words can capture the moment when misfortune tells you ‘no life’.

I’m reduced to a showcase in the gallery. I’m the artefact in the museum. The sad feature hanging in the broken frame. I’m already tired of the saddened gaze. The sad wrinkled doctor’s eyes, the sad gentle midwife’s eyes, my heartbreaking husband’s eyes. Hubby is kept busy in his role as message bearer, responding to the concerns of family and friends. My only message to the world; “stay away”. I needed to exert the little control I maintained and I knew in the presence of familiar faces I would collapse. My mind is numb but racing at the same time. I had hope. I had faith. I had a deal with God. I had knowledge. I had read all the books. Dr Google and I were well acquainted. I knew all the common possible ailments or conditions known. I believed in modern medicine. I believed in time and treatment. I believed in positive prognosis. I’m a pregnancy expert remember. I’m the head, not the tail. I’m not a victim. I won’t accept your pity… I’m scared. I’m confused… This isn’t how my tale was supposed to be written.

Little smudged prints by the nurse

Our baby girl, Sienna Jade was born the 5^th May 2012 at 10:29am after an eleven and a half hour labour at the Maternity Ward at Liverpool Hospital. No perinatal management viable. Born sleeping.

I was terrified when they told me they were going to bring her in. What are you suppose to expect? What will I do? What would she look like? Do I really want to go through this? What a surreal moment. She was brought in wearing her delicately knitted beanie and wrap made and donated by the sweet elderly church ladies, and I felt something for the first time this entire week. Here I found my calm in the storm. There was no pain, no fear, no sadness, no tears… I could finally breathe. It was in these fleeting moments I felt strong. I’m not sad for her… she’s not here. We admired her perfect face and were surprised at how much she looked like a tiny doll. A tiny perfect baby with hubby’s nose and my chin… and tiny little inked strained fingers with tiny little fingernails. What were we so afraid of?

I wish I could say that feeling endured, but it didn’t…. far from it. It gave me strength to perfect my act… to keep it together in the presence of people… but all I really wanted was to disappear. I’ve been initiated into a club I want no part of. The world’s not how it use to be just days ago. Calls continue to go unanswered, messages not returned and visitors turned away, however, family were now given ‘permission’ to visit. I admired the strength they showed just by sitting with us… and even further, to hold her… that would have been hard. In this case, a burdened shared is not a burdened halved. They didn’t need to carry this, nor were they expected, but they chose to. I fill the quiet moments with idle chatter. Turn the TV louder. I’m fine. This never happened. I want numbness. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to think. I want to be normal. I don’t want this ‘history’. I want boring. I want predictable. I want mundane. I’m tired of this room… looking at that garden. I’m tired of doctors and nurses and social workers. I’m tired of this bed. I’m tired for my hubby…who has been sleeping on the hospital floor…who has been powerless…who has been pushed aside…who is hurting too.

I began belittling the situation in my mind… it’s not that big a deal… way worse things happen to people all the time… I’m fine… My moments of weakness always emerged when I was the only one in the room. When I only had to carry myself… then the tears flowed. The nurses were concerned that I wasn’t crying, until they’d finally caught me. We beg to leave 2 days later… and with hesitation, they let us. With this, we are greeted with a ‘push’ notification on our phones, “Your baby is now 21 weeks. This week your baby will learn the most biological of functions. The circadian rhythm”. Thanks iPhone… I will drown you now. Delete. I return home with an empty belly and empty arms. I hope you’re happy world… I’m empty.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going” – Winston Churchill