Wednesday, 18 November 2015

So you think you're better than me? Fuck off!

So I joined a debate...I regret this decision. 

The debate involves a bunch of women half who have ended a pregnancy due to a pre-natal diagnosis, half who have continued a pregnancy with a pre-natal diagnosis, who also incidentally say they are pro-choice but who think termination for medical reasons is wrong?! 

Let me first clarify. I have no problem with people who chose another path to the one I chose. In fact I applaude them. They came to a different decision than I did, it doesn't affect me in any way and I'm happy that that decision was the best for their family. 

What I do have a problem with is how I am judged for the decision I made. I have been called a monster and selfish. I have been told by choosing to end my pregnancy with Albie I have made their children's lives worthless and devalued and that I have discriminated against people with disabilities. Also that I made an uninformed choice based on ''perfect ideals''. I've also been told I defend my decision because I regret it and that I have missed out on a joyful life by ending my pregnancy. 
None of this is true. I made a choice based on all the information I could get my hands on. Facts as well as what ifs. And I would never ever discriminate against anyone including those with disabilities, anyone that knows me would stand with me on that one. 

The worst bit? Over and over again Albie, and other babies, were referred to as just a foetus. 
I shall just say, as many of you know, to me, Albie was not just a foetus. He was my baby. He had tiny hands and tiny feet, with 10 tiny fingers and 10 tiny toes. He had a nose and a mouth and 2 ears and 2 sleeping eyes. I laboured and gave birth to him. I held him in my arms and I kissed his tiny forehead. I told him repeatedly that I love him and how I wished with all my wishes that things could have been different. 
Does that sound like ''just a foetus'' to you? 

I truly tried my hardest to word my responses in a way as to not offend anyone with a disability or a disabled child. I repeatedly reiterated the fact I believe that there is no right or wrong and that decisions are based on what is best for that individual family. It just so happens that was what was best for us, as a whole family, including Albie. 

So why is it okay to judge those who chose to end the pregnancy, like our baby was not wanted and unloved? We are not monsters, we are not selfish. We did what we did out of love, just like you did what you did out of love. Everyone makes different choices in life, choices that are best for them. This doesn't make one person better than another, this does not make anybody more or less worthy than another. 

I'm surprised after so much awareness recently this is still such a massive debate. 
I love Albie and I will defend my decision if I need too and I will never regret it. I will never put down anyone who chose a different path than me and I would never judge anyone for defending that path. All I ask in return is that same courtesy. 

Wednesday, 14 October 2015

Baby loss awareness week

So this week is baby loss awareness week. I wear my badge with pride, not just this week but always. 

I don't care if it makes people uncomfortable, I don't care if people think I go on about it too much, every single day people talk about their living children why shouldn't we talk about our angels? 

I have been taking part in 'capture your grief' this month too. It has been an eye opener. I've thought about things a lot and I've realised how far I've come. I'm proud of myself, I'm proud of the woman I have become, proud of the mother that I am. I will be uploading all pictures in a blog post when the month comes to an end, to reflect on the awareness this has made. 

I'm glad people are starting to realise how many people baby loss affects. It's not something many wish to talk about, mostly for fear of upsetting someone or making someone feel uncomfortable. But I hope now, people will talk about these babies and say their names without any hesitation. 

Please join me and many others all over the world tomorrow evening (15/10/2015) by lighting a candle for an hour. If everyone over the world lights a candle at that time for that long there will be a continuous wave of light for the whole day. 

Remember our babies, remember us having to live our lives without them. 

Thankyou xxxx


Sunday, 4 October 2015

From facials to funerals - The start of my journey

As I sit here the night before I start my new job I can't help but reflect on the last year. 

It was this time last year I fell pregnant with Albie. It was meant to be the start of one of the best journeys I would ever take. Instead it turned out to be one of the worst. But as I go over in my head at how far I've come since then, I feel proud. I'm proud of the woman I've become. If it wasn't for Albie I would never be taking this huge leap into a new career. 

I love beauty therapy, I really do, but I've never wanted to compete with all the other beauty therapists around. It was always a bit of a convenience job. I had Lily young and needed something that would work round her, beauty therapy gave me that option plus I enjoyed it so it was always a bonus. 

Giving up my job in the salon was a bit of a split decision. I found it really, really hard after having Albie, to carry on at work. I felt guilty for having had so much time off, although now I realise that it wasn't much considering what I had just been through. I carried on, unhappy, and fell pregnant again. When we lost that one I knew I wasn't doing it again. I wasn't putting myself through the feelings of guilt again. I had nothing to feel guilty about, I had done nothing wrong. 

I spent two months searching and searching for job after job but I found myself scrolling past any beauty therapy jobs and being attracted to jobs in the funeral business. 

I've always liked helping people, even with beauty therapy it was less about making people look good and always more about making people feel good. I loved seeing that look on people's faces when you had finished a treatment and they were happy, relaxed. 
I also kept thinking about how I felt when deciding what we wanted for albie's funeral. I felt like we mattered. Like my son mattered to someone. I felt comfortable with this lovely man looking after our baby on his final journey. And it just clicked. Why am I not doing this for other people? I want to give those feelings to others. The feeling that the person who is looking after their loved one really cares. Because I do care. 

So I went for it. I applied to a position that sounded perfect for me, always in the back of my mind thinking, it won't be this time, but I knew I wanted it so badly I'd keep trying. 
I filled in the application form and felt stupid. I had no experience, all I was was a beauty therapist and young mum. Why would they want me? 

A week went by and I was asked in for an interview. I've only really ever had informal interviews before. Interviews for beauty therapist positions are normally about what sort of personality you have so its more like a chat than an interview, if that went well you would then be offered a trade test. So a formal interview was a bit alien to me. I went in trying my hardest to feel confident. I came out with my confidence in tatters. I felt silly. I was asked a series of questions but as I had no experinace in this particular role my answers were based on a totally different job. I just thought there is no way I've got it. 

I put it to the back of my mind. Gutted it hadn't gone how I had wanted. Out of the blue I got a call asking me in for a second interview. I was gobsmacked, thrilled, but gobsmacked. 
I went for my second interview and got the job. I can not explain how amazing I felt. The start of my new career. A career that I want to progress in. A career that I feel is totally suited to me. I was so happy, and it was all because of Albie. 

Some people think I'm mad. Some people think I'm somehow clinging onto death, but I'm not. Death has brought a new life for me. Yes it was the death of Albie that pushed me to go for it, but not because I can't let him go, because I want to give people that feeling that I was given. 

I'm ready to start this. I'm ready to jump in with both feet. I couldn't be happier with my decision. 

On this occasion, I'm not sure it's fitting to leave on my usual ''life goes on'' so I shall leave on a different note. 
Sometimes you just have to take that chance. 


Thursday, 24 September 2015

Pro life? I call it lack of empathy

For some reason, recently I've had quite a few ''pro-life'' things pop up around me. On Facebook, Twitter, media reports, even messages from people who have read this blog. With the exception of the direct messages it has to be coincidence, right? Or is it just I'm noticing them more? Have they always been there and I just scrolled past with no thought to how it may one day affect me....because now it does. 

I truly believe one of the main ingredients of being a good person is empathy. Having the ability to put yourself in someone else's shoes, to understand the way they feel and reasons for their actions. I don't believe anyone ''pro-life'' has that ability. 


I know it's hard, if not impossible to change the mind of someone that is so adamant that what they believe is right. And if I'm honest, in this case, I can't be bothered to try. I read these posts/articles and I try to understand why they feel the need to make women in such a heartbreaking situation feel like what they are doing is wrong. 

In some ways I get it. I understand the reason behind their logic. But it's not as simple as 1+1=2. There are hundreds and hundreds of reasons behind abortion. I've lived through one myself, my son was incompatible with life. He had so many anomalies he would not have survived. What about the ladies who themselves wouldn't survive the pregnancy? Or ladies who have been raped? Or ladies who are in no way financially stable to bring up a child? It's not just a case of that woman doesn't care. She cares!! She is doing what is best. In many cases (especially with the late abortions) the baby was very much wanted. That decision is not one to be taken lightly. 

Why not look around you, outside the box. The care system is over loaded with children that deserve to be loved and to have a happy home, should that really be added too? To the ladies who felt they were unable to bring up a child for whatever reason, you made the right decision for you. 

I pity these ''pro life'' people with the inability to feel for another human being. Empathy can heal people, it can create lasting relationships and make existing relationships stronger. I hope none of these people find themselves in a situation where they have to make this choice, but if they ever do, I believe the majority of those people would change their mind. 

For me personally, I accept that there will always be divide in the world. I accept the belief of these people. What I don't accept is the belittling, the name calling and the harassing. It disgusts me that human beings can be so vile towards one another. These ladies, me included, did what was right for them. Their own bodies. Their own families. 

To anyone ''pro life'' reading this why not just try to have some empathy. Why not try reading or listening to other people's situations and reasons and just try to understand why. 

To all the ladies who, for whatever reason, ended a pregnancy, you have nothing to be ashamed of. You did what you felt was best. Don't let others who just don't understand put you down. You made one of the hardest decisions, you are strong. X 

Tuesday, 15 September 2015

A stronger love

Our journey of heartache is a bittersweet one. 

We have, on one hand, the pain, the heartbreak, the loss. However, on the other hand we have strength, unity, love. 

Brent and I have worked hard at our relationship. It's not been easy. There have been so many times where it would have been justified if we'd have fallen apart. After all, our world was broken, we'd been through so much, who would have blamed us? 

That's never been an option for me. This man, this perfect, strong man has kept me going. Don't get me wrong, he drives me insane sometimes with his snoring that could burst an eardrum, his irritatingly loud eating habits, and his stinky feet, to name just a few. Despite this I wouldn't change that man for the world. 

He's strong. He's understanding. He's sensitive. He's caring and kind. He worships the ground I walk on and he loves me. He loves me more than I could ever wish for. 

This is why I decided that we needed counselling. 

I didn't want to loose that man. Loose him in the heartache and the pain. I couldn't bare the thought of him looking at me and wishing he'd chosen a different path. We couldn't change what had happened to us but we couldn't let it break us. 

I contacted a lot of councillors before we found the right one. A lovely lady who used to be a midwife. 
We've been seeing her now for quite a few months. At the beginning it was really hard. Hard to talk about how we felt, hard to deal with what had happened and hard to see that it was helping us. 
We have said some things in that room that I will never repeat. Things that we didn't necessarily mean, things that we'd never told anyone before, things that have upset each other. But they needed to be said. We needed to get those thoughts out of our heads in order to move on. In order to carry on living. 

It's not always been bad. As we learned to deal with our emotions and find ways of helping each other we talked more about our future, how proud we are of each other, how much we care for each other. 

It's helped us in more ways that I think we'll ever know. We bicker less, we can take time out from conversations when we feel they are becoming too heated, we care more about how each other feels and we respect that sometimes we get sad and that's okay. We've found ways to support each other in that sadness and to help one another through. 

We have nothing to be ashamed of. We go to counselling and it's helped us. We never went because our relationship was failing, we went to help us understand each other and to help and support each other through the loss of our children. 

We are parents who have so much love. What's happened to us is unfair and soul destroying but we owe it to Lily and Albie (and the other 2 little beans) to keep this love going. If anything good has come out of all this it is that we are stronger people, independently and together. Our love only grows and I'm not ashamed that we had help in doing that. 

After all, life goes on. 




Monday, 14 September 2015

My pain is no different just because I'm young

Yes I'm only 23! Yes I am a mother! Yes I am a bereaved parent! And that makes me no different than any other bereaved parent!

Since starting my blog I've had so much response. I've had messages from people that support me, I've had messages from people who say I have helped them, I've had messages from people who understand, and messages from people who don't but who want too. 
I've also been introduced to pages and forums with other bereaved parents, under an array of different circumstances. 

This is great. I love that people can come together in a time of grief to help others. But one of the main things that keeps popping up is age. Don't get me wrong I haven't seen anyone out right say, 

''I hurt more than you because I'm older.''

But often I get the feeling that this is what people imply. 

I understand, I really, really do. I know the pain and upset, I know how unfair it all is. I know the feeling of wanting a baby so much and seeing all these people around you getting pregnant and having babies with no problems at all and it's just not fair. But I also know that the majority of those people deserve to make a family as much as anyone else. Regardless of age. 

I often see posts from bereaved parents stating that a family member/friend has announced their pregnancy. This will often be followed with how unfair it is. I've posted similar myself. Yes it is unfair and that's a perfectly normal part of grief and a perfectly normal feeling. What I struggle with is the reasons why it is unfair. 

''This person has only been with their partner 1 year!'' 

''This person isn't even married'' 

''This person is younger than me!'' 

''This person is only 21!''

''This person shouldn't be having children!''

The only valid reason for being upset about it is because this person is having a baby, and it should be you. That's fine. Envy is a part of grief but that doesn't mean because they have a different life than you that it means they shouldn't be able to start a family. 

This is where I come in. 

These type of ''so and so is pregnant and they shouldn't be'' posts get under my skin. They really upset me. The reason being I'm a young mum. I had Lily at 18 and I hadn't been with her dad very long. I hadn't even been with Brent a year when I fell pregnant the first time with the ectopic. It had only been just over a year when I fell with Albie and under 2 years when I feel with the next little bean. 

But I am a good mum! Regardless of my age! And I deserve to have a healthy baby just as much as anyone else. These comments make me feel I don't deserve it. The fact that someone has been married 10 years, they're 30+ and desperate for children makes me feel unworthy of children at 23. 

I've seen comments saying that these bereaved women were too young and they should try again when they are older and more settled, when they have a better career and own their own house. People say, ''It was for the best.''
Like they wouldn't have been a good parent anyway and therefore don't deserve to grieve for their child as much as someone older who has all these things. 

Ive had similar comments said to me.  And it makes me feel like shit. I'm am no less deserving of a child than someone else because of my age, where I live, who I live with and how good of a job I have. I have provided for Lily, and albie to some extent and I will provide for any other children I may have in the future. 

So please please think before you speak. Wether you have no idea how we feel or wether you've unfairly been through it before, Just because a person is younger, less experienced than you it doesn't mean they are less deserving. And it doesn't mean their loss doesn't hurt as much as anyone else's. 

It is unfair but after all, Life goes on. 


Tuesday, 8 September 2015

The first funeral I ever attended - and I had to arrange it

I recently got asked about Albie's funeral. I haven't really thought about it since. At the time I just got on with it, never really thinking about how it was affecting me. 

I had never been to a funeral before, which is clearly a good thing, but it meant I had no idea what to expect. I just kind assumed it was a one size fits all kind of thing and you had no choice in what happens. 

When I knew the outcome of our pregnancy with Albie and we had decided to end that pregnancy I asked the question, 

''What will happen to my baby when he's born?''

It was explained to me that the hospital had services that would organise a ceremony, cremation, whatever I wanted. But it seemed so impersonal. A close friend of mine (Katy) was friends with a funeral director (Jay). I had met him before and he always seemed like a lovely, caring man. It made me feel better knowing he would be looked after properly. So we got in touch. 

Speaking to a funeral director about the death of your baby before he's even been born is indescribable. I just couldn't do it. Katy had filled him in on our situation and my mum rung him to find out the details. You see, Albie had to travel all the way to St George's hospital in London for his post mortem and then he would need to travel back down here again to end up with Jay so he could get him ready for his funeral. I wanted to know the details were sorted and he was going to be alright on his journey. 

After I had Albie and we had spent some time with him and said our goodbyes, he was taken away by a midwife. I didn't see him again until his funeral on 12th March. 

I wanted his funeral to be sorted before he came back from the post mortem so the was less time waiting around. 
Like I said, I'd never been to a funeral before let alone organised one so I had no idea what to expect. Jay was lovely and talked us through the options. 

The main thing I knew I wanted was to put some special things in with Albie. This was non-negotiable. We all wrote him a letter, I can't speak for anyone else but I just wanted him to know how much I loved him. I wrote and wrote about my love for him and how he would always be a part of me. Katy bought him a St Christopher to keep him safe on his journeys along with a teddy. But the most important thing to me was his bunny. We had two. I kept one and he kept one. And Lily had the same when she was born (although hers is a lot bigger). Lily drew some lovely pictures and she wanted to send him her hand and foot prints just like he'd given us his, so Brent, Lily and I all got out the paint and printed out hands and feet for Albie to keep forever. 



When it came to the actual funeral we knew we wanted something really little, just me and Brent. We also knew from the beginning we wanted him cremated. It's hard to talk about someone nobody but us really knew so we decided against anyone speaking and we wanted it to be a time to reflect and say goodbye so we didn't want any music. Brent wanted to carry him in and we wanted to keep the curtains open while we left rather than them closing. It felt too final and I wasn't ready for this all to end yet. The rest was down to me. 
We chose a single flower, a yellow gerbra, to place on his white casket. I made a frame to put up next to him with a short poem and two pictures of him. It was lovely to read and remember him. Brent and I also decided to write each other a letter to read quietly to ourselves. It was lovely to know that we both still felt so strongly about our relationship. How much we loved one another and I knew we'd be ok. We were strong. We had already been through so much and we were now at the funeral of our son who we loved more than anything, but we were here together, supporting each other, loving each other. 



After a while we decided it was time to say our last goodbye. We left the chapel, and we left our baby, safe in his tiny bed surrounded by love. 
We walked through the cemetery for a while, it was comforting and peaceful and that's when we decided that we wanted to bury Albie's ashes. We hadn't been sure what to do with them before but we decided that this was best for us. 

We had attached messages onto balloons so we set off up too beachy head to let them go. We thought they would fly off over the sea...the wind was blowing the wrong direction and they blew over the fields instead but it was still lovely. We watched them for ages just holding each other's hand, not saying a word. A few people had gathered round to watch but we felt so alone in the world. I'll never forget that feeling. 



We then set off again. We had booked a table at a quiet pub for lunch. There, we raised a glass to our beautiful son. Our son we would never see grow up but our son that we loved with all our broken hearts. 

And that was that. The day I had dreaded. The day that I though would be the hardest day of my life. It wasn't! It was lovely. It was just how we wanted it. It was our chance to send our love to the sky. And somehow I felt lighter. I felt a sense of relief. I felt thankful. Thankful for Brent, thankful for Lily and thankful that for only a short time I felt my son, full of life, inside me. Thankful I had saved him. 

We buried Albie's ashes in our local cemetery on 13th May. I chose the spot for his forever bed because it was calm, colourful and felt full of life. 
It's one of my favourite places to be. Somehow, It's not full of sadness, there feels no sense of loss, all that is felt is love. It radiates off every colourful bunch of flowers, every windmill blowing in the wind, every beautiful word written and every candle lit. All that is there is love. 



I miss my baby boy every day but I know he's always with me. His heart is embedded in mine forever and I will keep going for him, for Brent and for my amazing Lily. 

After all, life goes on. 


Friday, 4 September 2015

She doesn't know how special she is

Lily starts school tomorrow....

I've been the textbook mother these last few weeks getting Lily ready. I got her uniform weeks and weeks ago before the 'mad rush'. We've been shoe shopping, we've got book bags and PE bags, we've been doing extra reading and practicing writing and I've been telling her how amazing it's going to be. 

She's so excited.....but I'm terrified! 

I know she's going to be fine. I know she's going to enjoy it. I'm not worried about her. She's bright and bubbly. She's polite and kind. She will love every second. I'm worried because I'm loosing the only person in the whole world who truly knows how to make me feel normal. 

What am I going to do on my own? Yes, Lily has been to nursery since she was 6 months old but never all week and I've always either been at college or worked while she's been at nursery. She's my rock. She's helped me through it all, but she's growing up and she's becoming more and more independent.  

This is it, the end of just her and me. The end of our quiet days out, the end of our all day colouring and making dens and playing in puddles while the dog goes mad. 

The end of my stand-by cuddles when I'm sad, the end of our snuggles under the duvet for hours in the morning. 

I have to let her go I have to learn to do it by myself. She can't hold my hand forever. 

I'm dependant on her, I need her but I have to let her go. 

After all, life goes on 



Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Facts V feelings

I'm very good at telling people all the facts, but I'm rubbish at telling people how I feel. 

Facts are easy. They are easily explained and easily understood. Feelings however, are hard to explain and a lot of the time people don't understand them. 

Since Albie, my life has been a series of good days and bad days. I'll have weeks where the bad days are over and above then I'll start feeling good again and those days will become more frequent and it's a vicious circle. I guess that's how grief works. 

People think that the loss of a baby during pregnancy (especially due to medical termination) is not the same as the loss of a baby at or after birth. But it is. That baby was still their child. That baby was still loved. That baby was as important as any other baby born, alive or sleeping. That grief doesn't just go away. I'm sure with time it will become easier to live with but it will never go away completely. 

I don't tell people how I feel for a number of reasons. A lot of the time I think people just think 'oh just get over it'. I feel I annoy people when I'm upset so I tend to keep it to myself. I also think it makes them uncomfortable, they don't know what to say and how to make me feel better so again, I keep it to myself. 

Some days I cry so much my eyes get sore and my lips go puffy. Some days I can't even function, I'll go through the motions but I can't hold down a conversation. 
Some days I don't know what I want. Some days I need someone there and sometimes I'll tell everyone to go away even if that's not really what I want. 
It's easy to take the rejection of a grieving parent personally. But they need you really. Maybe not right at that second, but they need you.  

I've pushed people away and I've shouted at people. The feelings I've experienced over the last few months are completely new to me. It's like a heavy brick that I carry about in my stomach. It never goes away. It's eased slightly sometimes. When I'm happy or even when I cry. But it's always there. On the bad days I feel like I'm trapped in a small room, unable to escape. I tell everyone I'm fine. I won't tell people I'm not ok. 

Sometimes I want to feel sorry for myself.
Sometimes I want to be on my own  
Sometimes I want people to check I'm ok, because I'm not.  

I'm not ok! 

This is something I need to work on. I don't want people to avoid me. I don't want people to feel uncomfortable. I want people to understand. I want people to know that I miss my baby, that I feel it's just not fair. I want people to know how hard it is for me seeing so many others with their growing bumps or their new born babies. I want people to understand me, because this is my life now. I have to live with this brick, under this dark cloud. And if you can put up with me when I feel like that then know that you helped me. You've helped the sun push through those dark clouds. 

After all, life goes on. 




Saturday, 29 August 2015

It's his baby too

Words can't describe how amazing Brent is. I don't think he even realises, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't have ever been able to get through the last year and a half.  

I know how lucky I am. He's stuck by me and Lily through the ectopic and me nearly loosing my life. He was by my side throughout the whole of Lily's accident and did everything he could for her. He was there for me and strong for me the whole way through the pregnancy and grieving process with Albie. And he was there for me when we found out our next baby's heart had stopped beating. And he hasn't stopped being there for me since. 

I just hope I've done the same for him. I couldn't imagine life without him and I just want him to know I'm there for him too. I came across this poem that I think hits the nail on the head and I'd like to share it. 


A father's grief
 
It must be very difficult
To be a man in grief
Since ''men don't cry''
And ''men are strong''
No tears can bring relief. 

It must be very difficult
To stand up to the test
And field the calls and visitors
So she can get some rest 

They always ask if she's alright 
And what she's going through 
But seldom do they take his hand and ask
''My friend, but how are you?''

He hears her crying in the night 
And thinks his heart will break
He drys her tears and comforts her 
But ''stays strong'' for her sake 

It must be very difficult
To start each day anew
And try to be so very brave
He lost his baby too. 


So Brent, Thankyou. I'll be strong for you too. You are perfect and I promise you will always have me to lean on. 

I love you 





The worst thing to say to a parent of pregnancy loss

There is one thing I hear time and time again. Something that makes no sense to me at all. 

'At least you still have Lily!'

Really?! Like I'd have loved Lily less if Albie had been fine. 

Is that meant to make me feel better? Lily is my world and I love her more than anyone could ever imagine but I also feel that way about Albie. The love felt is the same. I wouldn't have loved Albie any less if he'd have been healthy. 

Don't get me wrong, I know people are just searching for a way to make me feel better. Nobody knows how to deal with baby loss whatever the circumstances. It's so hard to know what to say. Sometimes I don't know what to say myself, but this to me is by far the Worst!

Just think about it for a minute. Would you say to a bereaved mother of a 14 year old that 'at least you've got your other child'? 

Or a father who's just had a stillborn 'at least you've got your other child'? 

No you wouldn't, because it's like saying 'never mind least you've got another.'
And nobody would dream of saying that to parents who had lost a child in those circumstances, so why is it ok to say it to parents that have lost their child through pregnancy? 

Just because those parents were unable to meet their babies it doesn't mean they weren't a part of them. It doesn't mean they weren't as much a part of their heart and soul as any other children they may have. 

Sometimes saying nothing and just being there is more important than trying to say something to make that parent feel better. 


Thursday, 27 August 2015

Telling your child they're never going to meet their sibling

I've always maintained that honesty is the best policy, especially when dealing with children. 

There's being honest and there's being too honest when it comes to children. It's a fine line and often easy to cross. 
People often forget that children know a lot more than they are letting on. They know when you are worried or upset about something, they may not know what that something is but they know there's something going on. 

Lily is a natural worrier, just like me. When she knows I'm upset or worried or stressed it, in turn, worries her. I try to be as honest as I can with her without causing her too much upset. But there's some things she doesn't need to know the details about. 

When I had the ectopic Lily was 2. I was taken in to hospital in the middle of the night. We all lived with my mum so it wasn't too worrying for lily when she woke in the morning to my mum instead of me. When I came home a couple of days later after surgery I was in pain and extremely upset. We told Lily I had a poorly tummy and it was sore which was why I was upset. She worried about cuddling me incase she hurt me which was really hard. But she helped my mum look after me and was soon back to her usual snugly self. 

Lily had turned 3 when I became pregnant with Albie. We told her before our 12 week scan that she was going to have a brother or sister. She was so excited! She was always talking about 'the baby in mummy's tummy' asking when she would meet her sibling. 
When we found out something may be wrong with Albie we didn't tell Lily. Partly because we didn't want to worry her and partly for selfish reasons. She was the only person that still treated us the same. There was no passing looks of sympathy and she didn't avoid the subject. She was still happy to talk about him and spent her time making sure he was ok in there, chatting away to him, telling him stories and cuddling and kissing my ever growing belly. 

When our 20 week scan showed how poorly Albie was and we knew the outcome we still didn't tell Lily strait away. On the day I was due to be induced we had booked Lily in at nursery. We knew this was the best idea for her as it was a safe place and if she was at home she would be constantly worrying about where her mummy, her Brent and her nannie were. My mum sorted Lily's care out and made sure there was someone there to look after her. My dad and my brothers stepped in and Lily's dad had her over night. 
When I returned home numb the next day the best I could do was sit on the sofa and sob. There were people around me but I felt totally alone. That was until my wonderful amazing girl came home. I needed her more than she had ever needed me. 

Her little face when she saw me like that I'll never forget. I knew I had to tell her there and then. My heart broke again that second. I told her that the baby in my tummy had been very poorly and he hadn't grown properly so he had to go and live in the sky. She asked lots of questions like why was he poorly and was he still in my tummy. I was honest. I said his brain hadn't grown properly and that he had come out of my tummy. We told her that we called him Albie and that he will always be her baby brother and that he loved her so much. She sat in silence for longer than I've ever seen before (Anyone that knows Lily knows she doesn't sit still for 5 seconds). You could see she was trying to process the situation in her head. She asked some more questions and said ''But we were going to live in our own house and be a family'' it was one of the hardest things I've ever had to hear. I assured her that we were still going to have our own house and no matter what we're were still a family and Albie will always be a huge part of our family. And that was it. She cuddled me and then asked if she could have her dinner. She accepted it just like that. That's what had happened and no one could change it. 

I'm im awe of that little girl every day. She's had so much to deal with in her short little life. But she picks herself up and she carries on. She's stronger than all of us. She's bright, she's kind, she's polite, she's the only one in the world that can put a genuine smile on my face on the really bad days. She talks about Albie every day and I love it. She's such a proud big sister. If it wasn't for her I don't know where I'd be right now. She's 4 and she understands me more than anyone. She understands that I can't always take her out every day because I struggle to even get out of bed, she understands that when I cry all I need is a cuddle. She knows that tomorrow is another day and that we can start over again and do exciting things. 
Don't get me wrong I feel the guilt of those bad days I don't want her to miss out but I'm so glad she's the way she is. She's perfect, and I'm so proud of my little rock. I try my best for her, my world. 

After all, life goes on. 


Monday, 24 August 2015

Everyone needs friends

I have some amazing friends. Friends I see most days, friends I maybe won't see for months and some friends I've never even met. Every single one as amazing as the other. 

I just wanted the world to know how thankful I am that you care about me. How I would have coped without all your support, I don't know. 
I know I've said it before but Thankyou for all my heartfelt gifts and the kind words you have all given me. Thankyou for all the candles lit for my babies. But mostly, Thankyou for being there. Thankyou for being you and putting up with my good days and my bad. And Thankyou for caring about not only me but my family. You are all truly amazing and I hope I can return the love and care you have shown for me. 

I love you all xxxx


Sunday, 23 August 2015

3rd time unlucky

What happens when it all goes wrong? You pick yourself up and you try again. But what if it keeps going wrong time and time again? 
 
My main question after I had Albie was 'will this happen again?' No body was able to answer this right away. I was told a post mortem would be able to tell us more. So we opted for a full post mortem, I try hard not to think about what was involved. Reading the consent form was hell and I don't care to re-live that. They assured us this was the best option. However, after weeks of waiting for my baby boy to come back from St George's hospital in London, still no one had any answers. All the post mortem did was confirm the anomalies not give us any answers on what might have caused them and if it would happen again. 

We were given a date for a meeting to go over the findings of the examination on Albie. This meeting was pointless. I got more from reading the report myself than talking to the doctors. They assume you won't understand or won't want to read it so conveniently leave bits out. Bits that I thought were extremely important (but that's another story). Obviously we asked our question... 'Will this happen again?' Their answer? 'Probably not so we advise you to try again and see what happens.' Were they joking? Probably not? Is that all they could say? Try again and see what happens? What are we, guineapigs? I left that meeting angry and hurt. This was the 1st time (but not the last) I felt like I was an experiment to them. They don't know what my baby had. It might not even have a name yet. But they want to find out. I understand why, but at least try and sugarcoat it. But there wasn't much else we could do. We weren't ready to try again. 

This was back in April 2015. My cycles were still up in the air after having Albie and I wanted to wait until they had sorted themselves out before starting any contraception (minus the obvious). But...after a few non appearances from the lovely aunt flow I got a little suspicious. I took a test but it was negative, so I contacted the doctor. I was reassured that it was normal and that I should just wait and see. I gave it a couple more weeks. Still no show. So I took another test and me being the fertile oddball that I am it was a big fat positive!! 

All the fear and all the heartbreak whirled round in my head again like an angry tornado. Strait away I contacted the screening midwife who had looked after me through my pregnancy with Albie. I was sent strait away to the early pregnancy clinic to make sure the pregnancy was in the right place and it wasn't another ectopic. Is was firmly in the correct place and what's more was the egg had come from my right ovary, the one without a tube. I was fascinated. My left tube had grabbed the egg, it had been fertilised and this tiny being had made its way past all the obstacles and implanted itself in the right place! It gave me hope. 

Undoubtedly I was still worried. More than worried, petrified! But I had that tiny bit of hope. I wished all my wishes. I took pregnancy vitamins religiously, I ate all the right things, stayed away from all the bad things. I was careful, really, really careful. I didn't just want this baby to be ok, I needed it to be ok. I couldn't do it again. I wasn't strong enough. 



People close to me started announcing their pregnancies too. Two of my best friends due the same month I was. But Brent and I kept ours a closed secret. We didn't want anyone to know. If there was something wrong we'd decide what to do and keep it to ourselves. I couldn't put my family through the pain and worry a 3rd time. 

I was booked in for the 12 week scan with the consultant who had looked after me with Albie (and I use that term very loosely!) but i would have been nearly 14 weeks! I was so angry. I was told after Albie I would be bought in for a scan dead on 12 weeks with the next pregnancy and no later! I tried and tried to change the appointment but with no luck. So I opted for a private scan that cost £70. It was booked for the day I turned 12 weeks. 
The day after I booked the private scan I got a call from the screening midwife telling me that they had a space on that day with another consultant, so I took it. I cancelled the private scan and was happy i'd got my way but not so happy about the consultant. I couldn't winge so when the day came we made our way to the hospital. 

Now, this consultant hadn't made the greatest 1st impression on me. She was the one who had carried out my amnio two days before I gave birth to Albie. She had no empathy. She was very matter of fact and when she couldn't retrieve a decent sample the 1st time didn't even blink before sticking the giant needle through me a 2nd time. Not once did she check I was ok, not once did she even say she was sorry. So I wasn't about to jump for joy when it was her doing the scan. 

I was so worried, I can't even begin to describe how completely numb I felt. All I kept thinking was what am I going to do if the NT level is raised again? I just can't do that again. I was shaking by the time I was led to the scan room. The very same one the amnio had been preformed in. The screening midwife had made sure she was free so she could be there. I sat on the couch and Brent sat beside me in a chair and we waited. We waited and we waited. We went through a few questions with the midwife, and we waited. For an hour and a half we waited for this bitch of a consultant to turn up! She knew our history, she had read our notes but she kept us waiting agonisingly long. When she finally turned up there was no apology. She was stone faced and it made me feel like we had put her out. 

She sat down in front of the screen and put on the jelly. The scanner hit my skin and my whole world came crashing down just like it had done before. All I wanted to do was scream! Why us? What had we done that was so bad for us to be put through all this? 
Brent had no clue. I know what you should see at a 12 week scan. I know what the picture on the screen should be as soon as the scanner hits. It wasn't the same! I knew our baby had stopped growing. 
She asked to do an internal scan which confirmed there was no heartbeat. We had to endure another 10 minutes of a huge TV with pictures of our sleeping baby. Even in 4D. There was no way of telling wether it had the same anomalies as Albie had.

I was told to get decent and someone would be along to talk to me about what happens next. Then the consultant walked out the door. No sorry, not even a look on her face of compassion for a couple who had just lost their 3rd baby! And I didn't see her again. 

We waited again. We waited and we waited. Still stuck in this awful room! Finally we were walked through my options. I could either go home and wait for the pregnancy to pass naturally or I could take a tablet and come back in 2 days and pass it in hospital (basically be induced). What they hadn't counted on was this girl right here does her research. One of the things I'd looked up when we had found out about Albie was what procedure would be necessary at what weeks of pregnancy. I knew at 12 weeks or less surgery was an option. 

I sure as hell wasn't going to go through labour. I didn't want to see this baby. I didn't want to know. And as for going home and waiting. Were they kidding? It could have been another 2 or more weeks before anything happened!! 
I demanded they give me surgery. Or at least send me somewhere that could. They were hesitant. But I was insistent. 

We were lead into a private room where yet another doctor came in to speak to us. He told us that the option of surgery was a bad idea because the foetus wouldn't be able to be tested for choromosomal abnormalities and other genetic conditions. I was gobsmacked!! They wanted me to go through more physical and emotional pain to use our babies and us as guineapigs! They're at a loss as to what is causing babies with mine and Brent's DNA to turn out like this. They want us as an experiment. It's new to them and they want to know why. And as much as I want to know why, the pain and suffering out ways that by miles.  They reluctantly agreed the surgery. And I was booked in for the next day. 

I couldn't keep pictures this time around. I haven't come to terms with it yet. I've found it harder to keep living my life. Im grieving for the loss of this baby while still grieving for the loss of Albie. I've found it really tough to be around and talk to my friends that are pregnant too. I constantly feel like I'm in an enclosed space where the walls are ever so slightly moving inwards, all the time. I don't want to loose my friends and I want to be happy for them but every milestone I think that should be me. I don't know how I'll feel when January comes. But I hope I can be there for them as much as they have been there for me. 

After all, life goes on. 





Saturday, 22 August 2015

A fear of the departed - fear of the unknown continued

I have a keen interest in psychology, specifically criminal psychology. I find the minds and actions of psychopathic serial killers fascinating. I read book after book, watch every documentary I can find and will research anything from Dennis Nilsen flushing his victims body parts down the toilet to the Suffolk strangler brutally murdering prostitues. But my fear has always been seeing a departed human being. 

I've been frightened for as long as I can remember and I have no idea why. Let's face it, they can't hurt you. As a teenager I would often take my horse out for hacks alone in the woods and down secluded trails. I always worried I would come across a body, how I'd feel and what I'd do. (Maybe I read too many serial killer books). 

It's that fear of the unknown again. I had never seen the body of someone who had passed. In fact I've been very lucky in my life, apart from the death of my paternal grandparents when I was very young I'd had no deaths of anyone close to me. 

I've lived with this as fear, as I'm aware, the best part of my life. But it was Albie that made me overcome that fear. 

I was anxious about Albie's birth for the obvious reasons but more so because I didn't know what to expect about the way he was going to look. The fact that he would be sleeping panicked me. And the two days leading up to his birth that's all I could think about. I had no idea if he would look like an ordinary baby, how big he'd be and what colour. It was terrifying.

Labour was hard with Albie. The pain increased rapidly and I took all the pain-relief I could (apart from an epidural - another fear of mine). So throughout those few hours the worry of meeting Albie wasn't on my mind. But when the time came and I needed to push I suddenly remembered. 
I panicked but it all happened so suddenly. By the time my mum had rung the emergency bell and all the midwives came flooding in he was pretty much out. 

And then the pain stopped. This was it. This was when I was going to meet my beautiful little boy. Brent couldn't look either. He had his face buried in the pillow beside me. I took a deep breath and the midwife handed him to me. 

He was gorgeous. He looked like an ordinary baby. Yes he was tiny but he looked perfectly formed. You wouldn't have been able to tell he had anything wrong with him at all. And just like that the fear was gone. I wasn't scared anymore. 
My mum urged Brent to look at him. He did and I knew then that Brent had been as scared as I was. 

We spent a fair amount of time with Albie he was wrapped in the shawl that had previously wrapped Lily, myself and my 3 brothers. We spent most of the time cuddling him and talking to him and the midwives had brought in a Moses basket so we made sure he had his teddies in there. We took pictures of him and prints of his tiny hands and feet. 
It was so peaceful and I wondered what I'd been frightened of. He was my baby. He wasn't scary. And I realised that I'd spent my life being afraid of something that was so calm and harmonious. In a way I felt silly. 

I think of things differently now, I'm not afraid of a lot of things that I used to be and I have more empathy. All thanks to a little boy who was just to perfect for this world. I just want to make him proud. 

After all, life goes on. 



Friday, 21 August 2015

Fear of the unknown

I'm a person who needs information. As much information as possible. I want all the gory details and all the possible outcomes. 

Medical professionals never understand this. They like to keep things from you. They don't like you to worry, but my worry is the unknown! 
I think I've always been this way but more so when I became pregnant with Lily. I was 18, not in a very stable relationship and had never even held a baby before, let alone looked after one. I couldn't imagine myself being a mum but I loved that little pip inside me from the moment I knew she was there. So I spent my spare time looking up everything. Reading books, sharing on forums and most importantly talking to my mum. My pregnancy was a breeze. I loved every second, but like any pregnant woman I worried about labour. My mum was very honest with me about the pain but it's still hard to imagine when it's all so new. I watched graphic videos and read about people's experiences. 
I felt I was well informed and this made it less scary for me. 


I refused to make a 'birth plan' much to my midwives disapproval. I couldn't imagine anything worse than planning out the perfect birth of your baby and nothing going how you wanted. Why add disappointment to something so wonderful? 
It was quite lucky because Lily decided to make an appearance 6 weeks early so nothing had been planned. I didn't even have a bag packed. 

Labour with Lily wasn't nice but I had done my research so knew what was happening. It wasnt scary and apart from having to be given steroids for Lily's lung development and my waters having to be broken 3 times, there were no complications. I was reassured my baby would survive when she was born, after all, babies survive being born a lot more prematurely than that. And she was fine. She was tiny and looked like a de-feathered sparrow, but she was perfectly fine. I leaped into motherhood with both feet. It's such a cliche but it really does come naturally. 


And that's how I cope when I'm frightened of the unknown. But what happens when you can't do any research, no one will share their experiences and no one has any answers? 

After the ectopic pregnancy I didn't know if I'd ever be able to conceive a viable pregnancy again. No one was able to tell me for sure if I would or wouldn't. No amount of trawling through websites or listening to other people's experiences was going to help. I just didn't know, no one did. 
I lived with this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach until I became pregnant with Albie a few months later and was told he was in the right place. 
It was like someone had turned off a switch in my brain. Suddenly I wasn't worried about wether I could become pregnant again. I knew I could. 
However, that was short lived. When we were told the possibility of our baby having a life threatening condition that feeling was back. It came over me like a dark black storm cloud. I thought tests would tell us what was wrong. The results took 4 agonising weeks, where every day that cloud would get a little bit darker. But they were all clear. The cloud stayed.

At our 20 week scan we found out the physical things wrong with our baby boy. But we still had no idea why, or what condition it was. All the doctors were stumped. We had more tests but they were all negative too. A post mortem was carried out but all that did was confirm the anomalies. No one could say what had caused them and no one could tell us wether it would happen again. 

We have since seen a genetic councellor who has delved into our family history, checked we aren't related (eww) and researched everything about our angel Albie. We're still no closer to finding out what caused him to develop that way and the professionals are all out of ideas. 

I'm having to learn to live with this cloud because I doubt we'll ever know why Albie was the way he was. And trying for another baby is so hard to do. The worrying sick feeling at the thought of this all happening again is indescribable. 
I'm not looking for the answer I want, I'm just looking for an answer. I just want to know either way so I can carry on with my life knowing, and not stuck here surrounded by the cloud. 

I'm trying really hard to just let the world keep turning and just walk into the unknown with my head held high. Some days I know I can do it. Other days I take a bit of persuading but what else can I do? 

After all, life goes on. 
 

Thursday, 20 August 2015

The termination of a WANTED pregnancy - an honest account

I don't think I've been this honest since all this began. I havn't even said it all out loud. I havn't even written it down. 

It all started back in February 2014. I was rushed to hospital with servere stomach pains in the middle of the night. I had an ectopic pregnancy which had caused internal bleeding and resulted in emergency surgery and removal of my right Fallopian tube. I was told the chances of me falling with a viable pregnancy naturally again were slim due to the partial blockage of my left tube. I was only 21 and hadn't even known I was pregnant. 
The news was deverstating. Not only had I lost a baby I hadn't even known was there, I had also nearly lost my life and left my then 2 year old daughter without a mum. But the worst part was I thought I'd never have another child. All I've ever wanted is to have children. I've never been career minded and I'm very family orientated. My daughter is my world but I desperately wanted to give her a brother or sister and I desperately wanted to give my partner, Brent, a child. 
No help was really given for the loss we had just experienced, a couple of leaflets were given to us but as soon as we stepped out the hospital we weren't their problem anymore, we were forgotten. 

It was hard to get back to a normal routine. But a short getaway to Amsterdam helped Brent and I to realise that we could still be happy and that whatever was thrown at us we could stick together. 


Fast forward a few months to October 2014, I unexpectedly found out I was pregnant. After believing it would never happen again I was secretly thrilled but it was tainted at the thought it could easily be another ectopic. I was sent to the early pregnancy clinic who confirmed the pregnancy was in the right place and everything was fine. It was the best news but somehow I couldn't shake this feeling that there was something wrong. I put it to the back of my mind and tried to be as  excited as Brent was. 
The uneasy feeling had grown into genuine worry by the time our 12 week scan came along. I had every right to worry. Medical professionals have this way of letting you know it's not right before even saying anything. It's the silence. 
Sure enough our baby had an increased nuctual translucency (NT level). This meant a risk of Down's syndrome and other chromosomal abnormalities as well as heart conditions. 


2 days later we were sent up to Kings College Hospital in London for a repeat scan which showed the NT level had increased further and a CVS test (where a very large needle is incerted through the abdomen into the uterus to collect a sample of placenta for DNA testing). It was heartbreaking, scary and painful. 
We waited weeks and weeks for the results but finally they came. Negative. Down's, negative. Turners, negative. All the other 90+ conditions they tested for, negative! 
We also had a fetal cardiac scan to check for any heart conditions but that was all clear. 
I didn't know what to do. On one hand the tests were all negative which was a good outcome but on the other hand my heart was still telling me there was something really wrong. 

I reluctantly let myself get excited. I started buying a few clothes. Looking for new gagets that weren't around when my daughter was a baby. We bought a new crib and bedding. We had a private scan in 4D and saw our beautiful baby. And I finally started telling people I was pregnant after 18 weeks of trying to hide it, and not really succeeding. Maybe the increased NT level was just one of those things? Maybe they got it wrong?



We had our 20 week anomaly scan booked at Kings on the same day as another cardiac scan. The cardiac scan was first thing in the morning. All was fine. The 20 week scan was last thing. We waited hours, long, anxious hours! 

Finally I layed on the couch as soon as that scanner hit my belly the consultant did that thing they do....silence. And that was it. I knew it was over. I knew that this baby I'd bonded with, that I loved with all my heart, wasn't going to be able to come home. My daughter would never meet her brother or sister. 

After telling us the problems our baby had the consultants said that there was an incompatibility with life. We had 2 choices. Carry on with the pregnancy which would result in late misscarrige or stillbirth or worse, our baby could live a few painful, heartbreaking days. Or terminate the pregnancy. 
Unless you've had to make that decision you wouldn't understand what its like.  The guilt you feel. The pain in your chest at the cracks forming through your already crushed heart. 

We had talked and talked about this outcome since the day we had our 12 week scan and every time we'd come to the same conclusion. We knew we couldn't be selfish and spend those precious few days with our baby whilst they were in pain. If there was, by some sort of miracle, a chance of survival, what sort of life would they have? And where would that leave Lily? If this baby needed 24/7 care for the rest of their life, her life would change forever. She deserved as much care but she would be pushed to the back. 

We made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. It wasn't something we took lightly, it wasn't because we didn't want or love our baby. We did it because it was the least selfish thing to do for everyone. And I don't care what anyone says it wasn't the easy way out! 

I was sent for more tests including an amnio (more massive needles but to collect amniotic fluid this time) and given a tablet to loosen my cervix. 
I went back two days later and was induced. I went through hours of labour which was somehow a million times worse than labour with Lily, like my body didn't want to let go. Like I was fighting it. At 18.22 on 30th January 2015 our beautiful, amazing, tiny little baby boy Albie George Kevin Hitchen was born weighing 310g. I savoured every moment knowing this was the only time I would ever cuddle my baby the only time I'd ever get to hold his hand, the only time I'd ever get to say to him I loved him. 

He was smaller than he should have been, his brain hadn't developed, and his genitals had not developed how they should, he had club foot and other frozen limbs. Which made sense as he never moved when we had any scans, he couldn't move. He also had abnormal facial features and an underdeveloped bowel. A postmortem confirmed all this.

From then on my life changed again. I, as a person, had changed again. People think of me differently now some people disagree with our decision but the majority of those people will have never been in this situation. This is why I'm writing this. This is why I'm telling my story. The help and support I got after the loss of my son was nil! I was given a number for counselling which I had to sort myself and still 7 months on that hasn't started yet. I've finally got a date for my 1st appointment but that whole time I've been on a waiting list. You won't find many, if any support websites on the Internet. No one wants to tell their story because it's painful and the thought of someone judging you is too much to bare. But I'm breaking the silence! Judge me if you've been in that situation, if not you don't have a right. 

I think about my gorgeous angel Albie every day but we're trying to get on with our lives to make him proud of his mummy, daddy and his amazing big sister. 

After all, life goes on




Wednesday, 19 August 2015

The moaning of life


I'm a self confessed natural moaner! 

I moan at almost everything in day to day life. That I've got a headache, that it's raining, that things cost too much, that I'm too hot or too cold, that there's a towel left on the floor, that I have to cook 2 different dinners because somebody doesn't like it, or that the woman in the post office is rude. The list goes on and on. These things I have no trouble having a moan about. But when something happens that changes everything I try my damned hardest not to moan about it, because if I do a wave of guilt crashes over me. Why? Because I always tell myself there will always be someone worse off than me in the world. 

This has become obvious in the last few years. Well, I've always known, but it's not until something life changing happens that you realise it really is true. No matter what you're going through, no matter what happens there is someone out there somewhere that is going through worse. 
This is all because of a little girl who I don't even know the name of. Let me explain. 

Last year on 26th May 2014, my daughter Lily (among others) was involved in a collision involving a go kart travelling down hill in excess of 30mph. She was hit and knocked unconscios. She had suspected fatal head injuries and was air lifted to Kings College Hospital in London. As it turned out she was extremely lucky. Her head injury wasn't as bad as they had first thought, she had a deflated lung which was easily fixed and a cut lip that required stitches. But she had her life and I had my baby. But our time on peadiatrics intensive care was scary, and heartbreaking but not only because Lily was hurt, because there were so many other children literally fighting for their life. I will never ever forget one little girl on that ward. She must have been 8 or 9 maybe, she was in the bed opposite Lily and she had just undergone surgery for her second transplant! That little girl had every right to sit there and moan about how unfair it was, she had every right to scream and shout and I'm sure there were times that she did, but she was a ray of sunshine. She was polite and happy and cared deeply for the other children, strangers! She made jokes and laughed and every single day she would ask me how Lily was. She asked about the things she liked and the books she enjoyed reading. Always thought about everyone else. 

This brave, amazing little girl didn't moan so do I have the right to moan? 
The answer to that is yes! I do! I don't mean the day to day life I mean the big things. The things that you would wish away in an instant, the things that change you as a person. 

I've come to realise that it doesn't matter what's happened it's no more or less important than what's happened to someone else. That person is no more or less important than you. 
I'm not going to sit around feeling sorry for myself and I'm not going to to moan about my problems to everyone I see but just sometimes when I really need too I won't feel the guilt that I always have done. 

After all, life goes on. 


My first time (blogging)

This is my first ever blog post. In fact it's the first time I've ever really considered creating a blog. 

I needed a way to open the tap, let out some of the things that swirl around and around in my head but never really go anywhere. 
This may not have seemed like the most obvious way, why not write myself a letter? Or talk to a close friend? I've tried that. A letter to myself doesn't really go anywhere, I write it down and yes, it's out of my head but then I read and re-read and its back in there. Talking to a friend? You never really think about what you want to say, you miss bits out, the conversation evolves and other subjects arise, you can never go over what's said, take bits out and change bits. 
So this is why I've decided creating a blog is the way forward. I write it down its out of my head but I'm sharing it at the same time. And it's gone, out in the open! 

After all, life goes on.