It has been a while since my last blog on Blissfool. Time has been doing strange things of late, partly because of my altered state. I haven't wanted to write here for a while - feeling increasingly introverted, but today I thought I would return and put down a few words.
After the last few years of journeying through grief and the painful dissolution that comes with all 'enlightenment', I finally reached a place of peace within myself, in which I began to come to accept the possibility of not being a mother in my lifetime. Unexpectedly, I found myself able to understand the loss of my baby in a different way. Nothing could take away the love, but I realised that I no longer felt like the victim anymore, no longer viewed it as what had been taken from me, but sensed it in terms of what I have received through the experience. Through the loss, I have come to understand myself on a much deeper level, and come to understand love and the nature of life in a more connected way. I also realised I had something I could give in turn to others, through words and through understanding. With this new acceptance came new peace. It didn't mean I wanted a child any less, or that the loss was less, I just knew in my heart, I had finally healed from the grief. It took 4 years.
The next month, I had a strange metallic taste in my mouth, and I let myself think that perhaps, just perhaps...but my period started on time, so life went on.
A while later, I had a dream in which a small girl appeared and said, quite matter of factly, "Hello, I'm Beatrice".
That week, when I was in Boots with my husband, I pondered over tampons, as we were about to start swimming. He asked me quizzically "Why do you need those?" and I replied "Because I am not sure if my period might start"...normally, I am regular so Adam looked at me and then said, pointing at the pregnancy tests, "well, do you think maybe we ought to be getting one of those instead?" I didn't really think it was necessary, but I did and I did a test.
It came up positive.
So I did another test. Which also came up positive.
So I did another test. Which also came up positive.
So I went to the Doctor. Who confirmed it.
At first, I could not believe this. Each day I woke up, went to the toilet and checked I was not bleeding. And I mean, every single day. At 6 weeks, I did this and discovered blood. My friends, Ruth and Gill, were here with me that day - we were celebrating the start of summer and enjoying the ripeness of it all. Happily, I went to the toilet and my world started to dissolve. I howled from a place deep within, my heart wrenching at the thought of losing this tiny life. For the first time since finding out, I let myself acknowledge how much I wanted this baby to hold on.
We went to the hospital for the scan. Holding my husband's hand, we watched together as the radiographer pressed the ultrasound scanner onto my belly. I don't think we were breathing. And there it was...a tiny heartbeat, so fragile but still beating. It was all so reminiscent of the last time and we left the room both reassured and tentative. They booked us in for another appointment.
Time passed and we shared our nervous joy each day, not daring to think beyond that. At 12 weeks, we went to the hospital for our scan and there, infront of us, was our tiny little baby, wriggling around - arms, legs, head and a strong little heartbeat. We both let out that breath and walked around the rest of the day, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.
Together, we have shared that joy with a few of our close friends. Together we have watched in awe as my body changes. Together we have felt the first kicks and wiggles. Every day I am amazed at this miracle, and scared too by the love that I feel, how besotted I am with this little spirit within me. Who has changed my life, even without 'meeting'.
Some days, I find myself crying when I think of our last little baby who didn't grow - we both acknowledge that loss, which is important, alongside celebrating this amazing gift.
At 20 weeks, we had another scan and again, we held our breath. I think really it will be like this every day. Gradually, I am starting to allow myself to imagine the future, though it is still with resistance. I am though, able to enjoy the days we are sharing now, and I am surprised daily by the peaceful love that I feel.
I don't know if this being is a girl, or a boy, or if the dream was connected, or simply a premonitory instinct...We are almost two thirds through the pregnancy now. I know that things can still go wrong. Life is life and love is love and we cannot be part of either without risking also the pain of loss, because all life is transient, and none more so than the fragile life of life emerging. I am glad that I am able to take each day as it comes, to be here, in the present moment, held in this union.
I am blissfoolly in love...
After the last few years of journeying through grief and the painful dissolution that comes with all 'enlightenment', I finally reached a place of peace within myself, in which I began to come to accept the possibility of not being a mother in my lifetime. Unexpectedly, I found myself able to understand the loss of my baby in a different way. Nothing could take away the love, but I realised that I no longer felt like the victim anymore, no longer viewed it as what had been taken from me, but sensed it in terms of what I have received through the experience. Through the loss, I have come to understand myself on a much deeper level, and come to understand love and the nature of life in a more connected way. I also realised I had something I could give in turn to others, through words and through understanding. With this new acceptance came new peace. It didn't mean I wanted a child any less, or that the loss was less, I just knew in my heart, I had finally healed from the grief. It took 4 years.
The next month, I had a strange metallic taste in my mouth, and I let myself think that perhaps, just perhaps...but my period started on time, so life went on.
A while later, I had a dream in which a small girl appeared and said, quite matter of factly, "Hello, I'm Beatrice".
That week, when I was in Boots with my husband, I pondered over tampons, as we were about to start swimming. He asked me quizzically "Why do you need those?" and I replied "Because I am not sure if my period might start"...normally, I am regular so Adam looked at me and then said, pointing at the pregnancy tests, "well, do you think maybe we ought to be getting one of those instead?" I didn't really think it was necessary, but I did and I did a test.
It came up positive.
So I did another test. Which also came up positive.
So I did another test. Which also came up positive.
So I went to the Doctor. Who confirmed it.
At first, I could not believe this. Each day I woke up, went to the toilet and checked I was not bleeding. And I mean, every single day. At 6 weeks, I did this and discovered blood. My friends, Ruth and Gill, were here with me that day - we were celebrating the start of summer and enjoying the ripeness of it all. Happily, I went to the toilet and my world started to dissolve. I howled from a place deep within, my heart wrenching at the thought of losing this tiny life. For the first time since finding out, I let myself acknowledge how much I wanted this baby to hold on.
We went to the hospital for the scan. Holding my husband's hand, we watched together as the radiographer pressed the ultrasound scanner onto my belly. I don't think we were breathing. And there it was...a tiny heartbeat, so fragile but still beating. It was all so reminiscent of the last time and we left the room both reassured and tentative. They booked us in for another appointment.
Time passed and we shared our nervous joy each day, not daring to think beyond that. At 12 weeks, we went to the hospital for our scan and there, infront of us, was our tiny little baby, wriggling around - arms, legs, head and a strong little heartbeat. We both let out that breath and walked around the rest of the day, wide-eyed and dumbstruck.
Together, we have shared that joy with a few of our close friends. Together we have watched in awe as my body changes. Together we have felt the first kicks and wiggles. Every day I am amazed at this miracle, and scared too by the love that I feel, how besotted I am with this little spirit within me. Who has changed my life, even without 'meeting'.
Some days, I find myself crying when I think of our last little baby who didn't grow - we both acknowledge that loss, which is important, alongside celebrating this amazing gift.
At 20 weeks, we had another scan and again, we held our breath. I think really it will be like this every day. Gradually, I am starting to allow myself to imagine the future, though it is still with resistance. I am though, able to enjoy the days we are sharing now, and I am surprised daily by the peaceful love that I feel.
I don't know if this being is a girl, or a boy, or if the dream was connected, or simply a premonitory instinct...We are almost two thirds through the pregnancy now. I know that things can still go wrong. Life is life and love is love and we cannot be part of either without risking also the pain of loss, because all life is transient, and none more so than the fragile life of life emerging. I am glad that I am able to take each day as it comes, to be here, in the present moment, held in this union.
I am blissfoolly in love...
Brittany, September 2007Poem 24.5.07
Life is created in the moments
between time,
in the quiet breath of sleep
and dark, in the rhythmic rise
and fall of the heart.
I hide it
beneath my swelling breast
and sing, sing, sing...
c.Victoria Bennett (In the Quiet Breath)
4 comments:
Awww! There isn't really anything else to say, except love you all, the three of you.
Thank you for your post. I was worried about you all. Lots of love and best wishes xxx
What a lovely photo Vik - keep on being blissfooly happy!
I came over from Ruth's blog. I held my breath as I read your post...
I spotted for 20 weeks.... and my gorgeous daughter is 27 this month and expecting her own baby! I will send all my good thoughts & blessings to you for a safe, healthy delivery.
I understand completely about how you say you hold your breath every scan... I had cancer about 6 years ago and for quite a few years, I held my breath every time I had my oncologist checkup..
hope you don't mind me commenting.. I felt I just had to! xo
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