Tuesday 8 October 2013

Haven't we said goodbye before?

Today has been really bloody tough. Like epic scale tough. I know a lot of you hate it when I'm low and blog but it's better than me turning to drink, drugs or old methods of coping.

It was an ok day to begin with- nothing particularly untoward. Non-spectacular entrance into school, nothing wrong with the buses and didn't have to stop off at Tesco, which makes a change. The tie dye efforts of the kids were still tied to the fence to dry so I undid those before nosy fingers snuck a sneaky peek. I did the first one with bare hands so by the second, I had strangely smurf like hands, which bemused the school for the rest of the day (my new haircut having done the same the day before- too many changes!) As a school., we are all reading Little Mouse's Big Book of Fears and my year group partner and I felt that we should address some of the children's worries and fears by creating worry dolls (out of wooden dolly pegs) and a drawstring bag for them-hence the tie dye! The dramas involved with procuring the material and then the constant remaking/ throwing out of mouldy vegetable dyes, I won't go into now but the kids were pretty impressed by the results of our chemical dyes which made it all worth it.

The morning was spent going through our trip in the afternoon, finding adults to walk with and then the usual teaching bits until maths. I won't go into what happened in maths as it isn't my story to tell, needless to say it was incredibly sad and horrible.

After spending lunch hunting for bottles of water and cups for the kids who hadn't brought a water bottle, and the afternoon at a local secondary school where the kids played sports all afternoon, we trekked back in the unseasonably warm October weather and arrived back just at the end of the school day. Just as I opened the door, one of the children squealed that child A's baby sister was out in the playground. This is my colleague's child. The one who was due about a week after my fourth miscarriage.

Just seeing the pram ripped me into pieces. Luckily most of the children had already gone home- there was one child who was quickly sent to lates and the other was my TA's daughter. The pain of my missing baby just hit me like a juggernaut to the chest. The missing baby, who I saw on that ultrasound and I should be to cuddle now. That bloody unfairness that someone else gets their baby and I don't. How many more miscarriages do I have ahead of me? How many more times do I have to watch woman after woman get pregnant, have a bump and then get the baby at the end of it? It should be something that I as a woman am able to do. I should be able to keep a pregnancy for more than ten weeks without it fucking dying on me and for someone who is otherwise reasonably fit and healthy, I should be to carry at least one pregnancy all the way through to the end. Not lose five pregnancies. Five possible babies.

I am terrified of not trying for even a month just in case that is the month that we could possibly get our baby. What if that was the month where we would have a chance of having a baby? It feels like an addiction that I am eating,breathing and sleeping. The only escape is work and that is not even getting 100% of my attention. It's swallowing me whole right now and I'm so angry. I am so angry that there are so many people out there like me who want to be able to congratulate people on a new baby without thinking when is it going to be my turn? Will it ever be my turn? People keep saying that it will happen but right now it really doesn't feel that way.

My best friend rang me this evening and it was so good to hear her voice. She made a comment when she came to see the new house that it was the first time in a long time that she had seen me seem so normal. I'm fighting the crazy right now and desperate to stay sane but it's hard. Really bloody hard. When P came home, I told him what had happened, both about the maths lesson and then sat cross legged on the floor with Max flopping around my knees, desperate to sit on my lap. I sat there and wept whilst P sat on the stairs, not quite knowing what to do. That's the problem, there is nothing we can do.

Tomorrow is another day.

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