Because, for the briefest of times – just a few weeks, it seems, and unbeknownst to us, there were five in our family.
And now, once again, there are four.
An ‘early’ period. A huge amount of blood, very quickly lost. Faintness and shaking led to the Sunday morning call to NHS24, given my precarious health.
The blood slowed, I felt better. NHS24 called back to check on me. ‘It’s probably your age, you’re getting on, your periods will get more irregular given your family history of early 40s menopause. Plus you’re on warfarin and your blood is very thin at the moment’.
Arrangements were made for me to go to my GP today for a blood test and an internal just to check everything was OK.
The thought of a baby didn’t cross my mind, I laughed when she asked me to pee in one of those ridiculous little pots.
And then I cried.
Because this is the kick in the head. I had been warned not to have any more children, that my illness – that wreaked havoc on my body throughout my last pregnancy – would probably finish us both off and leave two small boys without their mummy. Even if, by some miracle, we made full-term, the effects of my medication on a foetus can be pretty horrific, and not something you would wish on a child. The NHS do a wonderful job, but they tell it like it is; that the best, kindest and most sensible option for everyone (including themselves) would have been a termination.
Spontaneous abortion is a term I have loathed for many years, having suffered several heartbreaking miscarriages before my sons were born. I still hate it, but must bregrudgingly admit that, in this instance, it is more apt and, in a way – and I despise myself for this – I am oddly relieved that this was sudden and spontaneous, and that that massive decision was taken away from me.
But I am far from absolved from guilt.
I am numb. I am lost. I am dealing with feelings I have never encountered before. I am trying to put on my big, brave girl mask for my boys, and my friends, and all the people who don’t really understand what’s going on with my health; but inside I am a mash-up of emotions. I am rational, and calm, and objective; I am aching, and mourning and cursing this fucked up body of mine that tries to claim not just my life, by that life within me too.
I am staring at walls.
I miss you, little Fifth. I never knew you were with us, and I understand you wouldn’t have been with us for long, but I miss you now you’re gone. And I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I couldn’t be your mummy.
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