April 12th

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My story is not unique. 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage. If you think of miscarriage you might have an image of what it entails, a belief of what the process looks like. You might be wrong!

This day 2 years ago I presented myself at my antenatal unit for an ultrasound. This ultrasound was not the happy occasion I had experienced on my previous pregnancy. I was told they could not see a heartbeat. Not only that I was told that there was two but one had not progressed at all. We were devastated. We were told that we needed to come back in 7 days. This time allows them to assess if there is any growth within that time and it gives the baby a chance to try to beat the odds. The lovely Dr told me that we could discuss the options next week. I walked out of that hospital knowing there would be no happy ending. I knew how far along I was. I had no doubt about my dates. A silent miscarriage but inside I was screaming.

I spent 7 days at home preparing for what was to come. My husband went back to work knowing he would need some time to be with me the following week. I spent that week on google. Searching for any instances where medicine had gotten it wrong. I also googled what happens when they didn’t. What is the procedure? What will they do? I walked through the doors of the hospital 7 days later and again took my place on the ultrasound couch. This time there was a Midwife, Sonographer and a Doctor in the room. Their faces told me all I needed to know. They explained there was still no heartbeat. My pregnancy was unviable. They explained that the first baby had already begun to regress. I nodded and tried to remember every word I was hearing. When the Dr had finished speaking I asked what I needed to do now. What would happen next? At this stage the Dr glanced at the Sonographer and back to me. Nothing! They were going to do nothing. They explained that because the first baby had already begun to regress it had given slightly more space to the second and so it had measured less than half a millimeter in difference. For this reason they could not do anything for me. They explained that although my pregancy was certainly unviable, they could not help me. They gave me another appointment, appologised and explained that their hands were tied. As I gathered my bag, I remember the midwife saying that hopefully it would begin naturally and I wouldn’t have to wait.

I walked to my car and anger began to build in my stomach. I had words stuck in my throat and I couldn’t get them out. We drove home in silence. Once I walked inside I remember my husbands face. He couldn’t understand. My sister called. She couldn’t understand. My mother put the kettle on. She couldn’t understand. My best friend text. She couldn’t understand. My husband called his mother. She couldn’t understand. Why was I in limbo? Why would nobody do something? Why was I not given my options? Why was I sent away? My daughter couldn’t understand why I cried. My husband couldn’t figure out what he could do. Nobody could understand. The questions they asked were simple. I needed help and care and understanding and compassion. But what I got was the reality of being a women living in Ireland. Nobody could help me because of the 8th amendment.

I spent the following days questioning everything. If I needed something from the shop, should I go? What if I begin to miscarry while I’m there. I need to take my daughter to school. But should I? I met a friend one morning. I cried in Costa Coffee. She cried in Costa Coffee. Should I have even been in Costa Coffee? I needed to accept and come to terms with this loss. How could I? I was still carrying my pregnancy. I remember my sister visited. “What can I do for ya Aoif?”…..Nothing. Nobody could do anything.

I was admitted to maternity on the 24th April having begun to miscarry myself. I spent hours having pains, while my husband sat by the side of the bed and we listened to babies cry in the rooms around us. I remember thinking, I shouldn’t have to do this. I still think I shouldn’t have had to.

Miscarriage is hard. It is unspoken. It is painful. The idea that we live in a country that can add to this pain is harrowing.
The 8th amendment is not about for or against abortion. It is about care for women when they need it.
Take a look around at your wives, your sisters, your friends, your daughters, your cousins. The women you work with. The women who do your hair. The women who are your doctors, hairdressers, the women who teach your children. My story could be any of them. Now take a look at your brothers, your husbands, your sons, your nephews, the guys you drink with, the guys who work with you. They could be the ones sitting beside the bed of a women they are desperate to help and can’t. You know these people. You are these people!

If we do not repeal the 8th amendment nothing will change. In years to come if my daughter is ever that women, or my son ever has to hold the hand of that women, I pray they can access medical care when they need it.
The only love I was shown at that time, was from my family. I loved my babies. But the law certainly did not, love us both. My babies had no life. And I had no right.
Today I remember my 2 babies who didn’t make it into this life. And I pray that we repeal the 8th for the sake of my two babies who did.
REPEAL THE 8th AMENDMENT. VOTE YES.

 

 

I’m not even sorry!

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This morning I ate cake for breakfast! Not just any cake, it was chocolate and I am not even sorry! It has been in my fridge since Sunday and this morning I polished it off. For what reason? Well for many reasons actually. I estimated I had about 11 minutes before my husband got back from dropping May to school and I made an educated guess I could stuff it in before he got home and I could save myself the shame of him catching me.

Now before I get messages from concerned folk about my nutritional needs during pregnancy I know! I am aware that I should be eating a balanced healthy diet and I am aware I can not stuff cake in my mouth at 8:30am and expect to be healthy, but you know what? At 8:30am this morning I didn’t care. I didn’t care because this morning I had had enough of trying to keep it together. When I arrived to the kitchen this morning I realised that I had forgotten to turn on the dishwasher before bed (another fail) I used the last clean bowl in the press to make May porridge before school and the thought of actually having to wash a bowl and go about making myself something that would take longer than 2 minuets to prepare had me running for a fork. And so I had cake. My existence for the last couple of weeks (nights especially) were literally propelling me on with each cakey mouthful.

You see if I am honest with you (and myself) I have been finding this pregnancy hard. I don’t mind telling you that its not all shopping for baby blankets and filtered bump pics on instagram! It’s hard sometimes. And I say that statement riddled with guilt. Because I have friends going through IVF and I have friends who are trying to have babies and most of all guilt because I experienced miscarriage not even a year ago.

I stopped sleeping a while ago. It began with waking up with heartburn. I was waking during the night to prop myself up again and chew Rennie tablets. It progressed then to waking because I had pain in my hips, pain in my back, pain in my neck, pain in my legs. Now I need to use the bathroom throughout the night! So now with the peeing and the hip pain and the back pain and the neck and leg pain and the heartburn I am awake most nights for hours at a time. And while I am awake I am thinking of everything I am doing wrong as a mother with my 3 year old daughter. My daughter who since Christmas has not wanted to go to bed or sleep alone. Now that might be putting it mildly. So to draw you a quick picture of family life at the moment, our sweet loving little girl has taken to screaming, slapping, punching, crying, ripping the wallpaper from the walls throwing things……. all the things you might see on one of those programs on the telly where children go wild and they bring in some woman to tell the parents what they are doing wrong and you mutter things like “little shit” at the telly while watching it!

I am not ashamed to say I cried. Not just once either. I cried several times. In fact, during one particular tantrum I locked myself in my bedroom and sat on the floor and cried. I cried for every time I ever got to stay in bed later than 8am. I cried for the impromptu weekends away, for the showers I took alone, the uninterrupted  phone calls, the nice clothes, the nights out, the spare cash, the spa days, the shopping with friends, the “us time”, I cried for all of it. I cried for the life I had before I spent my evenings picking up toys and cleaning dinner off the floor. I cried for the time where someone didn’t throw an x-box at me. I cried for quite time. Then it hit me. That night sitting on the floor in my bedroom the reality that I would soon have another hit me.

I am guilty of looking at other mothers and wondering how the hell they have it together. I can’t get past 3 loads of washing to put on and other mothers are batch cooking gluten free soups and doing squats with new born babies in slings with their faces contoured! What the hell am I doing wrong?! I have never had a child who was a good sleeper.But at some point I sort of got used to it and other people stop believing it is as hard as it is. How long can you realistically tell people your child does not sleep without them thinking you are lying or your a crap parent. So I started to just say “grand” when people asked how she slept, “grand”….. go to bed OK? “yeh grand”…… well behaved? “grand yeh” But now with the weeks until no.2 arrives growing shorter and my own lack of sleep getting in on me, it is becoming more and more obvious that somethings got to give. Today it was breakfast. And with every calorie filled bite I felt a fine balance between guilt and satisfaction.

By the time May got home from school I had managed to dress myself, turn on the dishwasher and buy a book that promises to promote a good nights sleep for children! When she got in from school she sang songs from Annie and asked if we could send water to poor kids. You see that is how I survive. I am convinced that is how all Mammies survive. They load up on all the good stuff during the day. They fill themselves up with all the smiles and hugs and songs and laughing to make the hard bits livable for another day.

I heard today that female rhino’s are pregnant for 16 months. 16!!! Let that sink in. Relatively speaking I am getting away easy. I have myself told over and over that any baby after May will be a breeze. If not I am going to need to stock up on Kleenex and buy more cake!

That tiny blinking dot……

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I saw it! A little blinking dot. Confirming a heat beat. It was as if a weight had lifted. For now at least.

Walking into EPU was surreal. The last time I was there I was confirming bad news. This time I was desperate for some good. I was feeling optimistic and went for the traditional “belly scan” first. Cause ya know, I had “drank buckets of water” of course it would work. The truth was that I had drank, but like most pregnant woman I was peeing every 7 seconds, or so it felt, so a full bladder was probably not on the cards! So the old trans vaginal probe was produced! Lucky me……

Considering how many times I have had this done since the start of the year you would think I would be cool with it! Well no, I am not! I still get awkward, and weird and embarrassed! In fact 2 weeks after my miscarriage, I was admitted to hospital as I had developed infection. You would think that after all I had gone through I might be a little more used to having all eyes on me, but no! Yet again this probe was produced immediately by a male doctor, and I believe I tried to kill the awkwardness by making a joke that he “hadn’t even bought me dinner” Yeah! True story.

Anyway, back to now! I lay there yet again staring at the ceiling making small talk about the weather and the wedding I had been to, until out of the corner of my eye I saw the little beat. Our ultrasound tech confirmed that it was the heart beat. I held back tears. This was the sight I was so longing to see. Our little baby confirmed. When I finally began to think again, I asked her to confirm that it was one and not two! Last time the fact that we started out with two was a complete left fielder! It was confirmed it was just one this time. If I am honest it was a relief. Not because multiples are not amazing but because I wanted everything to do with this pregnancy to be different from the last. So just one, and a big old heat beat!

Walking out of the hospital I looked at my husband and he somehow looked taller. Like he had grown taller in the last couple of minutes. I think he was walking tall for the first time in months. His excitement was contagious. We decided to go get ice-cream and take our little girl to Emo Court. It was the perfect end to our perfect day!

But now a couple of days on I am back down to earth with a bang. The fear has crept back in. I am back to telling myself not to celebrate this time. To remember that bad things happen. I am back to reminding myself not to glance at baby things in shops or daydream about whats to come. I am nervous again.

Apart from the emotional toll it is all taking, I am feeling sick. I am tired and I am feeling like I need to go to bed for a week. It is not hard to imagine why though. At this point the body is doing amazing things. I am growing a human for gods sake! Even now the mind boggles!

**Although written in real time this piece was not published at the time of writing……. So your a little behind the times**

It’s catch up time!

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Although it has been a while since I have posted it doesn’t mean it’s been the quite life for me. However, the news I have in my life I was quite reluctant to share easily. You see, I wanted to keep it all to myself…..For a while anyway!

We are expecting. Again!

I wanted to keep our little secret. Just us for a while. But I still wanted to capture what the first few precious weeks are like, so I took to rambling. And it is only now I am brave enough to share! So here goes. It’s not all sunshine and roses but its real.

Weeks 6-7:

I am sorry to say that the excitement factor is not quite as pronounced as it was previously. This time round, I am all too aware of the pitfalls of pregnancy. I am analyzing every pain and twinge. I am second guessing every activity. Is it safe? Should I eat this? To be honest it is tiring!

In the back of my mind I do day dream. I have already thought of our next family holiday. The 4 of us riding off into the sunset. And then just like that I am back in the room, thinking of the events of April and reminding myself that life, regardless of what stage, is all too precious.

It is early days for us. Between 6 and 7 weeks. If I am honest I have been feeling good. In previous pregnancies I battled morning, noon and night sickness from very early on. This time I have none. I sometimes feel a little queasy later in the evening but other then that I feel great. I am tired, but its not debilitating. In fact I feel so good, I can not relax. What if this is not real? What if the reason I feel so good is because it is all going wrong?

We went to a wedding this past weekend. I feel like my husband and I were undercover ops. We were keeping this a secret, that was final. I decided to not draw attention to myself and went for a non alcoholic beer in a glass. Sorted! For about 7 seconds that is. Now I am not saying I have a problem, or am dependent on it. In fact, I am not a big drinker at all. But when I do, Prosecco is my go to tipple. Of course like all good weddings they were serving it by the bucket load. (Props to Al and Lisa for getting it so right!) It was not long before a friend pointed out that I had not gotten a glass and to grab one. So I did. And it sat on the table, going flat. I sipped my non alcoholic beverage and prayed nobody would notice. By late that evening I had switched to water, with ice and a slice of lime. I can personally recommend this for optimum deception. We danced the night away, I managed to stay in my shoes till the early hours and had a fantastic time.

Fast forward 12 hours. We had reunited with our little girl and decided to have some family time. We drove to Castlecomer Discovery Park to spend the day walking the trails. It was short lived. As all Mammies know, when you take a 3 year old anywhere, it is imperative to insist on a bathroom visit before setting off with your plans. It was at this time that I realised I had had a small bleed.

My heart sank, my mind raced. I felt as though somebody had pulled the ground from under me. I think he could tell when he saw my face. I saw it in his face. Complete disbelief. I knew by him he was thinking that it just couldn’t be happening again. In silence we made our way back to the car. Yet again I was faced with the only one phone call I wanted to make. A call to my own Mammy. She was on her way. I called the Early Pregnancy Unit. Come in they said. It was a dream. It had to be a dream. It could not be happening again. I was not ready for it to happen again.

Last week, two things happened. A friend contacted me to tell me her pregnancy was not progressing and that she would miscarry her baby. She had told me a few weeks before about her good news and I could not have been happier for them. I had known for a while that they longed to start a family and so hearing her news that it was finally happening was as though it was my own news. I was excited for them. I thought about what they might have. I thought about what names they may pick. Life was great. When she contacted me last week to tell me her pregnancy was ending I felt winded. Devastated. Devastated because I have been there. Devastated because although it had happened to me, I could never know the sadness she and her partner were feeling. Devastated because I wanted so much for another woman to not have to go through it. Devastated because, I am pregnant. I am pregnant, and I would have to tell her in the future. Around the same time, another friend found out that her much longed for IVF baby was not to be. It had not worked this time. Again, more disappointment. More sadness. And throughout all of it, in the back of my mind I thanked my lucky stars that it had happened for us again.

That Saturday in EPU I sat wishing I was anywhere else. The first person I encountered was a lovely woman I had met before. In fact, I met her when I had my daughter and I met her in April when I miscarried. “I know you, don’t I”……. that’s what she said. She did know me. She sat in the EPU ultrasound room when they told me my pregnancy was not viable. She walked me out, chatting about my daughter and how long she had worked in the hospital. The second person I met was a doctor. I will always remember her. I will remember her because she was the doctor who managed my miscarriage. She is the Doctor who asked me if I wished to “have a look”. The Doctor who told my husband that “it would be worth it” for him to look. The same woman who looked me in the eye the last time I met her and told me it was “all over now, you can go home” The same Doctor who wrote me a prescription for pain killers put it on the bed and said “good luck Aoife” before exiting the room. In times of distress I believe certain things stick out in your mind. For me, it was this Doctor.

She began to take my history. Routine questions. Then “and what hospital managed your last miscarriage?”………… What hospital? You did! You personally managed my last miscarriage. The initial shock of her question has since worn off. Of course she doesn’t remember. She see’s so many. And, like I have said so often since, it was really only real for us.

I had blood taken and told to go home. Take paracetamol for the cramps and come back on Monday. If it got worse, I could come back before that, but for now go home and what will be will be.

My husband was livid. How could they do this?! How could they just tell you to take paracetamol?! How did they just let you go home?! He wanted somebody to take action. To ensure I was cared for. To keep our baby safe. But what I know to be true is that we have to let this play out as it will. It is out of our hands.

So sitting and waiting for our appointment time, I have to be positive. I have to think of the best possible outcome. I have to be optimistic. The fact is, the likelihood of having a successful pregnancy is much higher then having another miscarriage.

So what SHOULD be happening then?!……. Well, by now the embryo looks a little like a tadpole. It still has a tail and there is a bulge where the heart is and a bump at the end of the neural tube which will become the brain. It should also be covered by a thin layer of see through skin. By this stage it may also measure approx 10mm.

So what is happening?!…….. Well, I suppose time will tell.

 

**Although this post is written in real time, it was not published at the time of writing. What this means essentially is that you are behind the times!**

2 week’s on and life is going on!

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The world and it’s sister has decided to procreate! Everywhere I turn, I see or hear of someone who will be welcoming a new life into the world, and the stark reality that I will not hits me all over again.

It has been two weeks since we said goodbye to our little one. I am finding it more and more difficult to say I lost our baby. I lose my keys, I lose my phone, I feel like I am losing my mind occasionally but to say I lost our baby still does not sit well with me. I didn’t put it some where and forget. Our baby died.

I have come to the realisation that it is OK to put it in those terms. I had for a time, felt bad for thinking of it like that. I felt bad for saying our baby died. As if, because it had not been born, I had no right to say that it had died. That only people who have reached a certain point, a certain number of weeks or even given birth could say their baby died. That someone like me could not use that term. For the most part, nobody even knew we were having a baby. How could I now say our baby died!

Well, I can. I have decided that I can. I feel like it makes it real. That it wasn’t some secret event. I feel like I can own my story now. I feel like talking about it and saying it out loud actually validates, that for a point in time our baby existed.

I want to shout about it. To tell the world what has happened. That by talking and telling I am somehow giving life to our child. That if I talk about it, I am giving it a place in this world. That we won’t forget about it. That others won’t forget about it. I feel like I am dealing with it……. until I am reminded that this doesn’t happen to everyone.

It feels like every day I am seeing someone announce they are expecting. It feels like taking a bullet every time. I see their scan pictures on social media. I see their cute announcement photo’s. I see smiling girls hugging tiny bumps. I see myself in all of them. We had not talked about how we would tell people our news. We had no big plan about how we would make our lovely announcement. But now that I see it happening for everyone else, I see that I should be doing the same thing. I should be hugging a tiny bump.

And for every announcement and scan I see, my heart stops for a second. I feel envy! I shouldn’t. I feel scared for them. I shouldn’t. I feel angry. I shouldn’t. I feel happy. Above all I feel sad. Sad because it should be me. Sad because our babies would be around the same age. Sad because nobody would know my little baby. Not even me.

Over the past weeks it really hit home how miscarriage is such an off topic conversation. A sort of don’t ask don’t tell subject. We live in a society where we keep our pregnancies secret until it’s “safe to tell” We don’t talk about it before a certain number of weeks “just in case something happens”…….. Well ya know what? I think we are wrong!

What happens if we don’t tell and something does go wrong? Where do we turn? Who do we look to for advice? Who can we speak to for a comforting ear? If nobody knows, how can we ask the people we love for support? The death of a baby, in my opinion, feels the same whether it is at 5 weeks or 35 weeks. So why not talk about it. Why keep it to whispers?

Let’s change the conversation……….Let’s talk to all mothers. To the mothers who are posting bump and scan pics. And let’s talk to the mothers who wish they were.

 

 

It was real for us…….

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It was the strangest thing. Nothing had really changed. People went to work, took their children to school, met with friends, cleaned their homes, went to the cinema, drank wine the list was never ending. And there I was going about my day as if nothing had changed for me either. But it had. I had the most profound feeling of loss. But it was not a loss I felt or even feel I can really share. Was it even real to anyone else? I couldn’t see that it was. They went about their day’s. They went about their lives. They had kind words for us. They made phone calls, and checked in. But was it real for them?

It was real for me……. it was real for us. We had discussed names and gender. I had thought about hair colour, eye colour what features they would have. I imagined having one toddler, one baby. I imagined school runs and lazy days in the garden. I pictured Christmas and trips away. I imagined telling our friends, maternity clothes, sleeping arrangements, child care. It was happening. It was all real, until it wasn’t.

I became a little confident. I had one child. She was here, alive, healthy. I had done it before. The second would be just the same. Of course I knew the percentages and statistics. Of course I did, but I had a child. Bad things happen to other people. Even writing it down I see how naive I was to imagine that I could be immune. But in those early day’s of tiredness and nausea and sore boobs and hunger you place any doubt to the back of your mind, remove the thought that you are as vulnerable as any other woman. We had started to trickle our news out to those who were closest to us. We felt safe. We were happy to share with our nearest and dearest knowing they would be as pleased for us as we were for ourselves.

I was one of the first appointments that morning. This made us happy. It meant that my husband could be there before going to work. It meant no long waits as the day pushed on and appointments ran over. It meant we got to see our little baby sooner. It is a very strange thing a “booking appointment.” Before you even meet a doctor you have had conversations about breast feeding and 20 week appointments. You have signed forms and taken blood. Its real. Its happening…….. and then the scan. I wish I wasn’t so shocked. I wished I could have asked more questions. I wish I could remember every single detail and word that she used, but I cant. What I remember are the words “I can’t find a heartbeat” looking at the screen, I knew. There was no blinking dot. My baby did not have a heartbeat. I was not having this baby. I did not cry. In fact, I am not sure I had any reaction. I was cold.

I left the hospital and it was the strangest thing, I felt as though I could hear sound for the first time. It was as if I could hear in HD. Every sound was sharp and clear. Car horns, doors closing, children laughing, the pedestrian crossing, the sound of the church bell. I felt as though my body was empty and was filling up on sound. I wanted my mam. I was a child again. Something was going wrong and I was hurt and I wanted my mam. I cant remember what I said, I cant remember how I told her, I cant remember what she said to me. I just know I needed to tell my mam. I needed her to tell others so I would not have to. I wanted my bed. I wanted to go to bed and pull the covers over my head and stay there for all eternity. I wanted to cry…….. but I couldn’t.

I am a mam. It was lunchtime and I had a hungry toddler. I needed to make lunch. I needed to be a mam. I set about my day, doing what I knew needed to be done. I put on a wash. I made lunch. I filled the dishwasher. These jobs were all I had. These jobs are still all I have. My mobile rang, his mobile rang, the landline rang. All noise and sympathy. Offers to look after our daughter, offers to come and visit. Offers and noise and sympathy. I didn’t want any of them. I wanted my daughter here. In fact I never want her to be anywhere else again. I didn’t want sympathy, I wanted a baby. I didn’t want noise, I wanted silence to match what I felt inside. I wanted my day before. I wanted it to be Monday again. On Monday I had a husband at work and a daughter who spent her morning painting and I was having a baby. I wanted to rewind and for it to be Monday again and again and again.

Nothing looked different. I looked the same. I know I looked the same because I checked. I looked in the mirror to see if I looked different. I didn’t. I was the same. There is something very quite about losing a baby, without losing a baby. I had no pain. I felt well. I felt the same. I just had to wait. Wait for the inevitable. Wait one week to confirm what we knew. What they left us in no doubt over. Just wait. So we waited a week. And our phones got quieter, and the offers were less and the sympathetic words were already said and people lived. They went shopping, and went to dinner and cleaned their homes, and worked and all the while we stayed waiting. Was it ever real to them?

By day 7 I knew all I had to know about the next steps. “Dr Google” is great for information that others are too afraid or too sensitive to discuss with you. By day 7 I sat in the waiting room again. Waiting on a plan.What would happen now. What would be the next steps. I didn’t have to wait long. By day 7 my body had stepped in with its own plan. After confirmation scans and more information, we started out with 2. Only 1 ever grew. More heartache. I was again sent home to wait. This wait was different. I had pain. I was glad. Something physical to mirror how I felt. I waited and 12 days after our booking appointment I was back in the maternity ward. Walking into that lift I was reminded it would have been the same route I would have taken if I was dealt a different hand. The same lift that day after day mothers take full of apprehension and excitement. I was taking it full of fear and dread.

Hours past and Saturday night turned into Sunday morning and Pethidine took the edge off. We sat mostly in silence and waited. By mid Sunday morning it was all over. It was over and I was relieved. I didn’t want to feel relieved but I did. The wait was over. And then the reality was there. We had nothing. We walked away from the hospital with nothing. All the pain, for nothing. I had nothing to hold. I would never know what our baby looked like, how it smelled. How its skin felt. I would never feel the weight of our baby in my arms. Instead I felt the weight of a baby that never was.

And back home, life was going on. I logged on to social media and saw that nothing had changed. They were sharing jokes and posts about dinner. They were making plans and taking pictures of family days out and again I was reminded that it was only real for us.

We will always remember the 12th as the day we didn’t hear a heartbeat. We will always remember 12 days of waiting, the last 12 days I carried my baby. We will always remember that on the 12th day we said goodbye without really saying hello. 12 weeks that allowed us blissful highs and the darkest lows. Only a few would know about our baby that couldn’t be. Only a few would ever remember that for a few moments in time our baby existed. They would remember but they would forget too. They continue unchanged. Was it ever really real for them?

We will remember. We will never forget. We will be forever changed. It was real for us.

 

When you need to become his Mammy too!

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The struggle between being a loving wife and being a realist is very much a real one! It has the ability to make you feel like you are lacking in any sort of empathy, while also clapping yourself on the back at how good you are at being an adult and getting stuff done! I yet again had another dose of this internal struggle last week when my husband came down with something! I call it “something” because the jury is still out on its actual diagnosis.

It really started to engulf my man around the midweek mark and by Wednesday afternoon I had an idea of what was in store. He went to work, which he always does, credit where it is due, he doesn’t take a sick day often. It was after he arrived home that evening that I knew I was in for a couple of days of what I like to call “Heisdyingosis” Now I am not sure you have ever met a man with “Heisdyingosis” but its like a new strain of Man Flu which has mutated into a flu/cold/sniffle that will wipe a man out with one sneeze. Or so is the case in my home. Now I like to play by the hard and fast rule of paracetamol, hot water and lemon and bed early, but my man has a different approach to “Heisdyingosis” (insert cold/flu for those with normal mindset) The main difference being, complaining!

Now to really understand “Heisdyingosis” you first need to know some of the symptoms:

  • Slow shuffle rather then normal walking pace
  • An adverse reaction to any hint of sarcasm
  • Downcast eye’s (think Droopy the cartoon hound)
  • A craving for affection
  • Over exaggerated sneezing/coughing

There is also a symptom which becomes ever more present if you have married an Irish Male who has an Irish Mother. You see in my experience they get the worst form of “Heisdyingosis” This is largely due to the fact that even at 35 years old, when Irish Son’s get sick, they want their Irish Mammy! Now having Mammy there herself is not essential, just so long as someone is there to play Mammy in his time of need. This is where my lovely husband looses out!

You see my husband is a “Mammy’s Boy” on the best of days. And to be fair, the woman is a saint! If he (I should say we!) needed anything, even at 2am, even if it meant her driving to the other side of the country the woman would do it! As all mothers would do I assume. The only difference is, my husband really likes being a “Mammy’s Boy” and really relishes the fact that she happily stands on her head for him whenever we pay a visit. But for me, I feel it has set a rather unfair expectation of what should be supplied when taking on the role of comforting him in his hour of need. (she says rolling her eyes!)

I am more of a “get on with it” kinda gal! And I relish a good sarcastic tone. These two things alone do not fair well with sick husband. And so after complaining and moaning and more complaining about his ailments he woke on Thursday morning with the overwhelming feeling that he MUST see a doctor! Overnight he had acquired a degree in medicine and insisted that it was now a chest infection, throat infection (I believe strep throat was thrown about) an ear infection and sinusitis. A visit to the Doctor was a must! I had to think fast! I had to really get creative with this one because I knew going to a doctor for “Heisdyingosis” was a waste of time and money and so I decided to jump into the role he had wanted me to play since last night………. Irish Mammy Mode. I summoned my best “Ah Pet” and sent him into the sitting room to have a sit down while I got him a nice hot drink. He bit the line, he really went for this new found mothering role I had adopted and I think he was delighted I was now giving him the attention he deserved! He shuffled off into the sitting room and gave a “I’m freezing” for good measure. It took every ounce of my strength to not point out to him that he was wearing only a t-shirt. Instead I decided to incorporate this comment into my plan. I produced the one thing every Irish Mammy has to hand…… the thermometer! “Do you mind if I take your temp, because you could have a fever” Sur he was only delighted! Knowing that the thermometer is the first thing I reach for when my child is sick, made him feel validated! He was right where I wanted him. No temperature (surprise surprise) but that didn’t matter, I took it. And I gave him a jumper to put on, and i gave him a hot drink! Plan firmly in motion. I mentioned about calling the doctor. He was all over it. I then slipped in that it would be tomorrow before they would be able to see him, but sur, I’d call anyway. He had not expected that. He was of the thought process that once you called the doctor you were in! I could see he was disappointed but it just ment I could put the next phase of my plan in gear! The pharmacist!

Let me state now, anyone who is living with someone who has “Heisdyingosis” THE PHARMACIST IS YOUR FRIEND! In fact you don’t even really have to speak to the pharmacist yourself, although it helps if you tell victim of “Heisdyingosis” that you did. I suggested, that because he would have to wait until tomorrow to see a doctor, I should try and comfort his suffering by going to the pharmacist and getting something to tide him over. Again, this pleased him. Before leaving the house I was coached in everything I had to tell the pharmacist. Every symptom, every ailment, every cough and sneeze and heaven forbid I forget to say “it might be getting into his chest” Armed with the information, I took myself off to Tesco, passed all the things I would normally stop to browse over, magazines, body lotions, new pjs…… there was no time today, I was on a mission. A lovely girl was stood waiting to chat with me (not the pharmacist) but that didn’t matter. “How can I help you?” without a second thought I said “I need a big bag of placebo for my husband who has a head cold or possibly a flu”

It was that easy. I decided to ask for things that I knew would come in handy filling up my medicine cabinet. Bottle of Exputex, Cold and Flu tabs and just as chance would have it, I spotted a packet of Tyrozets. They actually say on the box “antibiotic to help fight throat infection” They were made for “Heisdyingosis” Delighted with my purchases I turned on my heel and started to make my way out of the shop when I passed the vitamins! Chewable Throat Soothing Tablets……. “helps to support the immune system” RESULT! Combined them with a tub of ice-cream (for the throat) and I was out of there. 15 minutes and €24 later and I was on my way home. Now here is where you have to really push the final sell. Walking back into the house I summoned my best sympathetic face and produced my hoard to himself. Well he was only thrilled…… Thrilled to hear that “THE PHARMACIST” said that taking the Exputex would clear his chest, thrilled to hear that I had told them all about his symptoms and “THE PHARMACIST” said that if he didn’t have a fever he didn’t have an infection. Delighted with his cold and flu tabs because he couldn’t take one of them until bedtime because they make you drowsy (must be good then) and the Chewable Throat Soothing Tablets? Well “THE PHARMACIST” says that they will build up your immune system and have you right as rain in two days. But the icing on the cake the Tyrozets. I handed these over to him pointing out the word antibiotic on the box and that was the final ingredient needed in this stew of deceit. “THE PHARMACIST” said they would clear up any infection that was lingering. I felt I needed to throw in a last little bit of encouragement and went for “they said, two days is all it will take to have you back on your feet, and if not then see a doctor.” Now I knew that it was only Thursday. I also knew that the best cure for “Heisdyingosis” was a little placebo and I also knew that my lovely husband would recover from his cold within two days.

I was not wrong! By Friday afternoon he coming round and by Saturday it was business as usual. And not a moment too soon as my desire to play the role of “Mammy” was wearing thin and if I’m completely honest was abandoned totally by Thursday night. Now I don’t want to take away from the fact that he may have been poorly, and that he was not having the best of days but lets be honest anyone who has lived with a man who has ever had Man Flu or in my house “Heisdyingosis” knows, that if it was anyone else in the house with the same thing it would be called a head cold.

For anyone who might be wondering he has made a full recovery. And as a side note, if you are wondering about the ice-cream for his sore throat, I would suggest buying two tubs. Lord knows you will need your fill of the sweet stuff too!

disclaimer: All cases of Man Flu/Heisdyingosis must be assessed on a needs basis. All attempts to deceive victim of said conditions, as set out above, are done so at your own risk of being found out!

The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth……..

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This morning, rather unexpectedly I was transported back to that faithful morning my lovely daughter was born……….

My sister saw a rather funny article on Facebook and knowing that we had both had our children via c-section she tagged me in it to remind me of the things people don’t tell you about having a cesarean. However yet again, it was missing one glaring piece of information. Information that is so precious, I have had no problem sharing with any woman who asks me “what was the section like” because ya know what? They should know!

My sister had 3 babies before me, all via cesarean. My sister in law had 2 babies before me, both via cesarean. Two of my friends had children before me, both via cesarean and guess how many filled me in on the full experience? ZERO! Yep that’s right, I heard all about the planned ones, and the emergency ones. I heard about getting the spinal, getting the catheter, the no eating, no drinking, no getting out of bed. To be fair I think some woman feel what you don’t know wont hurt you. Or its better to just go with the flow, however that is not me. You see I wanted the in’s and out’s. I feel like if you fail to prepare, prepare to fail.

The idea that I may not deliver my daughter myself was thrown about by the team in the hospital around week 32. It was a gradual conversation that got more and more concrete as my final weeks crept in. By week 38 I knew that my faith was sealed and by week 39 I knew my c-section date. Now having heard whispers of what it was all about I felt quietly confident about what would happen on the day. In fact my nerves were somewhat kept at bay by knowing just about every step that would happen. I was wrong. Putting aside the fact I had complications with my spinal, which resulted in my planned c-section becoming an emergency, it still fit the bill of everything I expected. Now don’t get me wrong, you can hear all about it but until you are there living it you don’t know! The only beauty is you don’t care. For me it was so easy to get swept up in awe of my little girl, it was easy to ignore the cold hands of the midwife fondling my boobies while attaching my little darling to what were once my pride and joy’s. It was simple to forget that my husband was on the phone to his mother telling her what a miracle it was, as he held what looked like a Chinese take-away carton up to my face so I could throw up into it without having to sit up! It was a breeze to be only able to hold my baby when someone handed her to me, as I couldn’t lift her myself. In fact because of the pain killers that first day, I forgot that what I had gone through was major abdominal surgery. And ya know what? I had prepared myself for it all. Thanks to the wise guidance of my friends and family nothing that day phased me. The next day however….. well that phased me!

You see, the information that my family and friends had given me, while good, was lacking in a vital piece of the picture. The same information had any of those woman decided to share, would have been most welcome and my “morning after” may not have been cloaked in shock, disappointment and horror. Information that I have shared with every woman who has asked me about the experience since. Information that if I have another child the same way, I will have prepared myself for and be ready to meet it next time round without being completely horrified!

I was awoken the day after the birth of my daughter by two older women pulling back the curtain screen with large smiles on their faces and “oohhs” and “aahhs” at my little bundle all wrapped up in the cot next to me. These “oohhs” and “aahhs” didn’t last long. In a matter of seconds they had pushed that little cot aside and each taken a spot either side of my bed. “Now dear, its time to get you up and freshen up” Having spent the last 17 hours lying down in this bed the words “get up” and “freshen up” were music to my ears. I began thinking about where my body wash was, where I had left my towels, where was that new facecloth and sponge that I bought special for just this moment, but those thoughts did not last long…….. It was back down to earth with a bang! One of the ladies began pulling away the bed sheets while the other rooted around in a tray they had taken into the room with them. Then they were in, all guns blazing, from the waist down, they were in business. Now I still haven’t been able to decide what they used but if I could describe it in very simplistic terms, I would say imagine a Lucozade sport bottle! Take a minute and picture it. Now fill it with water!………. Now imagine some sort of cloth on a stick!…… Is the experience becoming any clearer? While one sprayed with the “Lucozade bottle” the other gave a little rub around and a little pat down to dry me with paper towels. Then came the realisation that I had a child the day before. And only at this point did I remember that I did not have the ability to tend to myself, so something else must have taken care of that for me for the last 17 hours. Something else had taken care of it. Now I am not sure if anyone has ever house trained a puppy. If you have, you may have come across what you and I may know as Puppy Training Mats. Well let me tell you, these are clearly a very versatile invention, because just as they finished with the Lucozade bottle and the rag on a stick they began to roll me side to side and remove yesterday’s training mats for new ones! Does anyone remember a program on TV, The Chuckle Brothers, “to you, to me, to you, to me” you get the idea anyway, until I was back in the same position that I started, albeit with my pillows propped behind me. I was then handed my toothbrush, a small plastic cup of water and another of these Chinese take-away foil cartons and told to brush. After a half hearted attempt at running the toothbrush around my mouth they took it back off me, pulled the nightdress over my head and replaced it with a new one, tucked the blankets back around me and here’s the kicker……. One of these nice women looked me dead in the face and said “now, do ya feel lovely”

Did I feel lovely? Lovely is not a word to describe it. Shocked? Maybe. Embarrassed? Possibly. Lovely? Nope! You see nobody had told me to expect this. Not one person told me to expect what I have come to name “The vajayjay car wash” Had I have known about this vajayjay car wash I would have taken the words “freshen up” very loosely when that nice woman said it to me. I would have mentally prepared myself for the indignation of two 50 something year old woman scrubbing my lower regions. But I didn’t know. Because not one woman I have met who has had a c-section has mentioned it to me. Alas that is not me. I have been sure to mention it to them. In fact they have been known to laugh uncontrollably when I do mention it. None of them can tell me why they didn’t talk about it after. Just that they didn’t. Some have said, they blocked it from their minds, others have said they are embarrassed. Some have even said they didn’t know if it happened to everyone so were afraid to say. What do I say to these woman…….. Have no fear, I will sing the song of our people for you. I will put to rest those section’s are handy comments. I will ward off those too posh to push sayings. I will remind these woman that while they took showers and ate tea and toast, you were in fact lying there oblivious to what was to come the next morning.

So there you have it. The c-section information that people “forget” to mention. Now some might say “so what” some may even think I am being dramatic, but to those people I ask……. Have you had The Vajayjay Cash Wash? Because let me tell you, you will never look at a Lucozade Sport bottle the same way again!

 

Welcome to the family Wendy……

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I have been asked numerous times, just when will I be sending my almost 3 year old off to preschool and almost every time I don’t know what to say. You see, when it comes to packing off your little one for a few hours a week some are in the mindset of wait until they are older, some are on team send them early and get them used to it. However I think I don’t fall on either end of that spectrum. You see, truth be told I don’t want to send her at all.

I want to keep her all to myself! As a stay at home mother I get the privilege of being this little ones Mother, Friend, Opponent, Carer, Entertainer all rolled into one. Now don’t get me wrong, its not all singing songs and crafts its actually pretty hard. It would be hard to forget the loneliness you feel, especially in the early days when its just you and baby and bundles of clothes to be put away and the hoover that’s been sitting out for 4 days that you still haven’t had a chance to use. It would be easy for me to skim over the tantrums, and constant questions and the fear she will somehow break the dog, but overall being at home with her is the best job I have ever had. I am yet to hear of another position where you can stay in your pj’s all day, not brush your hair, not get everything done to a deadline and still have the boss give you a cuddle at the end of the day. So you see, I know I am blessed to do what I do, but its her I worry for.

As I said, I know I’m getting a good deal out of this arrangement but I cant help but feel maybe she is getting short changed. You see there is only so much I can do with her before real life kicks in. Before I need to make dinner, or run errands or clean the house. At which point she is on her own. Now obviously I don’t mean physically, but just on her own. To play alone, or have her snack alone, and I wonder how much she would enjoy having friends of her own. That question has been niggling at me for awhile.

Today while making my bed, I could hear her talking to herself. The conversation was with “Wendy”……….. turns out Wendy is a girl who owns a green and white monkey and has been hanging out at our house for some time. Apparently Wendy comes to the house everyday to play. When I pushed for more details about our invisible house guest it became clear that Wendy actually means a great deal to her. She says Wendy comes over to run around and play with Duke (her teddy) As she reamed off the things she does with Wendy and told me “Wendy was a very good girl” my heart cracked a little. My little girl had found a friend and I couldn’t help but think that maybe it was out of necessity that she did! And so I welcomed Wendy into our home and at the same time opened my mind to the idea that maybe a couple of mornings in preschool wouldn’t do any harm. After all, she was already making friends outside of me anyway!

 

Today was not the day to sacrifice my penguin

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I had decided that I needed to get my ass in gear and finally loose the baby weight. I had decided that 4 months after she was born actually, and now over 2 years after that initial decision I was going to make it happen! Now don’t get me wrong, I had tried! I tried all the diets that I just knew would work “this time”……

It started with Slimming World. It seemed everyone and its dog had been loosing stones on Slimming World, and were managing to eat bowls of pasta and Curly Wurlys to beat the band. Sur all I heard about was “speed foods” and “healthy extras” and “syns” so I took myself off to my local group and after hearing the stories from the other group members I was hooked. I was going to get the weight off and would be sitting in that group circle in a few weeks the envy of the newbies! I arrived home after that first meeting armed with recipe books and confidence all I had to do was eat and get skinny in the process. WINNING! Turns out, you had to work! You couldn’t eat all the food and loose weight! You did need to watch portions, you did need to ditch the rubbish and be sensible and i just couldn’t do it. Slimming World just didn’t win out because what I didn’t realise was that I needed head space and motivation, two things I didn’t have with a reflux baby and a husband who couldn’t handle his life post baby. But more of that another day.

About 6 months after my failed slimming world attempt I decided I would try the “I will no longer allow a carb to pass my lips diet” I did this diet before I got married with good results. I lost over 30lbs so doing it again would be a breeze. And the first couple of weeks it was. But with Christmas season and my own mothers dinners, the trusty carbs sneaked their way back in. To be fair, dinner in my Mam’s would include roast potato, boiled potato, mashed potato, sur I didn’t have a chance. Anyway long story short, Carbs 1, Me 0!

Heading into 2015 I decided that I would give the old “clean eating” a go. Everyone was jumping on this bandwagon, far be it for me to be left behind. To be fair, it was really good. The weight came off slowly but I found myself constantly being thrown off course with holidays and communions and christenings and bla bla bla more excuses to drink wine and eat cake! By December just gone I was exactly the same weight as when I started in January! Even writing that is demoralising!

I made a promise to myself that I would stay on track in 2016 but didn’t jump straight in. I spent the last few weeks deciding how I would approach this years weight goals. I decided to do Dry January. To be honest as much as I like a glass of wine, it doesnt kill me not to have it, so not a massive sacrifice. I then came to the conclusion that I would follow the IIFYM lifestyle. For those of you who don’t know IIFYM stands for IF IT FITS YOUR MACROS. Something about it really appeals to me. You can eat, you just keep within your daily macros. Simples! Armed with a little knowledge (thanks google) I downloaded a free app and input my stats and hey presto I was ready to go. I decided to start this morning. Although its Friday and although I have to face in to a weekend of getting used to counting up the macros in my food I thought why put off tomorrow what I can do today. And then motherhood kicked in……..

12.30am that was the time she woke last night. My other new years resolution was to get my almost 3 year old to sleep in her own room. And having started this last Sunday we were now 5 nights in. The previous 5 nights were relatively OK. Yes I got up about 5 times a night BUT I always managed to get her back to bed. “Mammy I need a drink”, “Mammy I need a snuggle”, “Mammy you didnt give Lambie a kiss goodnight”, “Mammy get in beside me”, “Mammy I need another drink”, “Mammy I had a bad dream” and on and on it went for anywhere between 30mins and an hour. Last night however was a new experience! Last night between the hours of 12.30am and 4.55am I was met with a new kind of toddler determination. It was somewhere between the child you see in the supermarket having a melt down and the incredible hulk. She was sleeping in my bed and that was that! In the past I probably would have given in at around the 2 hour mark hence the reason I have an almost 3 year old who is only now learning to sleep in her own room. Last night I was determined to win out. When I finally did manage to get her to drift off and get some shut eye for myself, which felt like 30 seconds she was back in. This time with the “morning mammy, open your eyes its morning” She was right, it was morning. It was 7am and she was up for the day.

It was when I boiled the kettle for coffee that I realised that today was the day that I start counting my macros! Of all the days to start a new diet I picked today. I pushed on and logged into the app and started logging what I was going to eat today. First question “is today a training day” Are you kidding? NO! If I dress myself today I will feel like I have done my bit. No, I would just scrape by today doing minimum amounts all the while eating in accordance with my allowance!

4 times already I have had to put the penguin bar back in the press. Its only 3pm and already I am giving myself silent pep talks “put it back fattie” The penguin is safe for now. It has always been a coping measure for me to eat my feelings. In fact I had started to do it at expert level. Not anymore. So far today, sticking to my macros. It is in the back of my mind though that I still have dinner time, getting dressed for bed time, brushing teeth time, putting to bed time, staying in bed time, all ahead of me, That Penguin may not be safe after all……..