Wave of Light Memorial Service October 2017

Sunday 15th October marked the end of Baby Loss Awareness Week. An amazing week where the topic of baby loss received great mainstream publicity. It really felt like the message for getting out there that we are not alone. This was also evident at the memorial service held at St Mary’s church in Banbury. Over 75 people came together to remember our babies and light a candle as part of the global Wave of Light. It was a very special service –  the first of its kind in Banbury. I spoke at this event what I hope was a message of hope for the future so here are my words for those of you who were unable to attend on the night.


I’m a survivor. I’m a survivor of baby loss and often I feel I wear that badge with a heavy heart. You see your world stops when you loose a baby. It slams into a wall with the full inertia of all your hopes and dreams, expectations and love you have for your baby. We loose a lot when we loose a baby.

Having children is the craziest, richest part of life. Full of highs and lows, it’s ridiculous and sublime, testing, fulfilling and purpose-giving. But for parents like us it is so much more – there is more pain, more sadness, more grief, more regret, more tragic memories, more difficult decisions regarding our babies, funerals, post mortems, spending time with them or not. We know how precious life is.

It is also less – less an entire person, the lifetime of the baby/child/adult that we lost, loss of friends, relationships, time, loss of innocence, loss of a sense of peace, loss of faith perhaps, loss of what could have been.

Those first days, weeks and months, even years can be a dark place, a lonely place, a frightening place. We gathered here today know all about those days. We recognize the weariness of those days, the longing for happier times, for joy. But we can feel robbed of turning our minds to the future when our hearts are in the past. Frozen in time, when the clocks stood still and we laid our babies to rest. The thought of turning forward, to hope, to plan, can feel like turning our backs on our babies, leaving them there as we move on. But I want to say to you today this is not true. We carry our babies in our hearts with us into the future. They are ever present, as we remember and honour them. Their future is with us and we must have a future.

When you lose a baby you do not lose the right to happiness, joy, purpose or fulfillment. Your future does not have to be ruined by your past even if your present still hurts like hell.

It is a truth for all of us here today that we can still go to lead joyful, happy, purposeful and fulfilled lives. It will take time and we survivors of baby loss will feel like it’s a fight for joy after loss. But it is possible.

I want to make you a promise today, wherever you are in your journey of grief, however long ago you lost your baby, you will find happiness and joy again. You will find hope. Fragile, wisp in the wind hope that will become stronger and clearer until you can grab hold of it to wear as armour as you forge ahead, your baby in your heart, to dare to hope for better days, a family, life again, a new normal.

#Wave of light

In the rich tapestry of life there is sadness and there is joy, there is anger, regret, excitement, anticipation. They all go hand in hand but for us, we can feel heavy and full with these emotions, thoughts and feelings.

I feel I’ve felt that full spectrum of those emotions, you see I’m now a mum looking after 2 children. Florence is only 5 months old, Poppy is nearly 5, and my oldest Evelyn would have been turning 6 at the end of this month had she lived. I’m like every other parent in the sense that I have children that I’m actively caring for and yet I am not like them. I am alone, separate, different, changed. I am a parent of a baby who died. Who has seen things, experienced and felt things, gone through things that most will never know.

So one of my fights is the joy of life with children, just as I fight to minimize the sadness. And even for parents like us there is joy to be had – not that I would have believed it for a long time after Evelyn’s death. The bittersweet quality of our lives is ever present. To begin with more bitter than sweet and we have to fight to swing that pendulum further away from the bitter and more towards the sweet. And what a fight it is. When you have had thoughts of ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save you’ about your own child everything else can pale into insignificance. But there is still joy to be had like the wonder of nature, a rowdy football match, time with friends, a favorite film watched on repeat or a personal best at the gym; we don’t want to be robbed of that too, to loose that too.

Also I think some of being a parent after loss is having to fight for the right be a ‘normal’ parent who is tested and gets tired and gets annoyed at their children and who gets down from time to time from the daily grind of family life. It can feel complicated when you are faced with the normal challenges of parenthood when you’ve lost a baby.

For me, honesty time, I’m finding it hard having a 5 month old and a 4 year old, juggling their different needs, lack of sleep or time for myself, worrying I’m doing a good job. But for me, it’s really hard to admit to myself that I’m finding it hard. Harder to admit to others that I’m finding it hard and hardest of all to admit to you fine folk that I find it hard.

You see I don’t want to appear in any way to be ungrateful for having these children with me. I know how lucky I am to be doing this at all. I know how I longed to be looking after a baby after I lost Evelyn. I would have given anything to be up all night with a baby crying. And yet I’m finding it hard. I found our recent holiday hard – juggling a beach day with heat and a very fussy baby who wouldn’t feed well and a four year old who wanted to go rock pool exploring and got grumpy with tiredness and hunger.

But all this can reside side by side – being grateful to be a parent but finding the challenge of it difficult. Feeling excruciatingly sad that our baby died but also fantastically happy and joyful at a first word, first day of school, first dance. All this is life, real life. It’s ok to feel overwhelmed by the very thing you longed for. It’s ok to laugh and feel joy even though you lost your baby. It’s ok to embrace life and look to the future. Take you babies, nestle them safe in your hearts and look to the future and see what wonderful things come of it. We all stand together, bravely piecing our lives back together, we understand our loss, we understand our fight for joy.

Until next time, do what you can to find your smile

x

 

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Unflinching look at grief – the day Evie went to school

starting-school

Today is a difficult day. Today, my eldest daughter Evelyn should be going to school but she’s not. She’s not going anywhere. She’s been buried in a cemetery in Chipping Norton for nearly 5 years.

Still, she has been a constant presence in our lives, elusive and ethereal.A wisp so light and semi-transparent that dances around the periphery of my vision at all times and yet this ball of energy, this soul, carries the gravity of a planet, drawing me in, pulling me towards her trails of smoke, my hand daring to reach out and grasp her finally, only to touch nothing more than tingles of a shadow.

The yearning for my daughter, the desire to know her, feel her, experience her; to laugh with her, know her fears, learn her interests, marvel at her features, smell her skin before bedtime and a millions other ways we become experts on our children is insatiable. I am greedy, hungry for her and yet have been denied.

The milestones are always hard. Society has so neatly structured our children’s lives with markers that you cannot ignore them – they are everywhere. For me today, I feel an outsider looking in, a famished parent looking through the window with starved eyes onto a huge feast of crisp new school uniforms, obligatory pictures of  beaming smiles standing statue-straight against random doors in the house, tearful goodbyes (from the parents) at the school gates, new black shoes and colourful school bags brimming with promise and expectancy. I am Separate, Different.

Mum and daughter going to school

I have tried, quite successfully, until now, to push aside these thoughts of school, these comparisons of what would have been. I have learnt that to go down that road of wishing for the old life, wanting that previous trajectory to follow carefully and loving crafted plans is a bitter one and nothing but misery can come from it. I have learnt that I can devise new plans and carefully and loving throw out my heart into the future once more to see what wonderful things can come of it. I have learnt it and I live it… most of the time.

But today, today I must unflinchingly look once more at my grief. Unfold the memories and cry. Sob out loud my dismay, my hurt, my anger, my sadness, my love. Declaring that this sucks validates how I feel and by doing so I become less separate and different. By doing so I find a warm reception from others just like me, fellow mourners making our way through life, navigating the milestones, helping each other along the way. By doing so I also discover I am not alone and have ready comfort given by those close to me who have not lost a child. Their compassion and regard are just as valuable and reviving. For they lost Evelyn too. If it takes a village to raise a child, it also takes a village to remember and mourn a child.

So today is hard and my heart is heavy, my eyes are sore and my head is lowered but I will put one foot in front of the other.. for next year, next year I will be sat at the feast with Poppy and I can’t wait.

Until next time, do what you can to find your smile

xx

So where did it all start? First comes love, then comes marriage and then comes a baby in a baby carriage. Part 1

So where did it all start?

Having been focused on getting my career started after leaving university and being newly married, I didn’t have much time or inclination to think about having children.

My sister had a son and being an aunty was quite enough for me.  So for someone like me that was not really inclined towards babies, this had definite contraceptive properties. I was content with my life as it was 1+1 = 2 and I was in no hurry to make it = 3.

I was still thrilled to say ‘husband’ not ‘boyfriend’ and tried to get it into conversations as often as I could. My husband (see what I did there?) Matt, and I had met at school, he was 16 and I was 17 – yes I wooed a younger man. We had been together for 7 years when we got married near our Cotswold home in a hotel. A beautiful grapevine, from which the hotel took its name, ran the length of the ceremony room where we lovingly said our vows in front of all our friends and family.

We were excited about all life had to offer and the wind felt full of potential and opportunity. Sorry that sounded a bit Jane Austen or something, but it was true. We both had new jobs – our first ‘proper’ jobs – and we were using all our energy to navigate the choppy waters of the ‘world of work’. I found it hard not to take everything personally and would often get my knickers in a twist about small and sometimes insignificant episodes at work. The idea that I had done something wrong or didn’t understand something was clearly shameful and obviously any criticism was tantamount to a dismissal and would surely indicate my last day in the job. (oh my stupid brain!)

My perfectionism frequently got the better of me in those first few year of work, but now I must say that with my new perspective on what really matters I am somewhat more relaxed about work. While still seeing it as important (clearly) I can just separate myself from it better and be more matter of fact about the task in hand. Any way back to neurotic Lydia… I loved being a working gal with my cute office clothes and heels, going to after-work events and mingling, I mean networking, with other young professionals. It suited my love of conversation and mildly flirtatious nature, I thought I’d made a grand choice in PR as a career and enjoyed the writing challenges it gave me. So we were two Oxfordshire newly-weds living in Birmingham making our first forays into work, owning a car and generally doing grown up stuff.

So far so good.


 

Baby in a baby carriage
Baby in a baby carriage

In the summer before we had our first foray into parenthood, we decided that it was a journey we wanted to undertake.

I was unhappy in my PR job (shock I know) and wanted a change. Living in Birmingham meant we missed our families in Oxfordshire so with a little one on the way moving back home felt right. It was the next chapter and we were excited and giddy at the thought.

We were blissfully naïve to the consequences of our innocent choice to start a family. I had spent my youth taking every precaution not to get pregnant and surely now we had made the decision to have a baby it would happen very quickly, wasn’t that how it worked? I’m sure this notion of getting pregnant being easy came from secondary school where us girls were taught that if you did not actively prevent pregnancy it would definitely happen. So now as a responsible adult it surely couldn’t be simpler, you chose to start a family and it happened.

For us, thank goodness, it was rather simple; it took 6 months to conceive each of our girls. However, I must at this point just say that since losing Evie we have meet many people who have lost their babies, some of whom getting pregnant in itself was a cause of grief. It has taught me that having children is not a right; it is not deserved by some and not by others, the biological mysteries of who can and cannot is beyond all of us, in spite of scientific advances.

So we put our plan into action and life become fuller; indeed, I became increasingly large with expectation literally and figuratively. I had a new job as a PA and found out I was pregnant the week after joining the company – not ideal but I embraced the change in pace and growing belly. I was nauseous for 3 months straight and only emerged from tiredness and the toilet bowl at around 14 weeks, I was round but not obviously pregnant and I felt that cliché glow of a mum-to-be. I really did feel I was carrying a VIP, well a VILP – very important little person – and I proudly stroked my tummy, discussing the latest pregnancy factoid I’d learnt as if I alone had discovered the miracle of childbearing and as a leading expert was duty bound to share the secrets.

I realise now that I approached this pregnancy – my first – as if it were a module at university. I studied hard and felt calm and confident, reassured by my knowledge of what was happening to my body. I had mastered the process and therefore was in control of it. I was convinced knowing the theory was enough to pass the practical with flying colours. I felt entitled to this little baby, it was mine and it was an absolute certainty that I would meet them and look after them in 9 months time. Pre- and post natal issues and labour difficulties were for other people; faceless people I didn’t know who lived far away. They were not for the likes of me – (special people who get what they want, perfectly as they planned it). Oh how that thought makes me chuckle now, chuckle in a 1950s cartoon villain kind of way that is.

To be continued…

Until next time, do what you can to find your smile.

Lydia

x

And the Nobel Peace Prize goes to… how to stayed married when you lose a baby

Loosing a baby is a very harsh lesson in perspective. It really levels the playing field in terms of what is important and what just isn’t. When you can say ‘well it’s not as bad as my baby dying’ then everything falls into place…or does it?

I know I’ve just said that experiencing such a tragedy makes you really not sweat the small stuff but I must admit there were many times when the little things were all I could think of.

My pregnancy with my second daughter was a contradiction of not being able to see anything but the bigger picture and focusing on tiny annoyances.

The pregnancy was tough for many reasons:

  • my body had not recovered from the deliver of Evie and getting pregnant only six months after meant the hormones coursing through my veins played havoc on my stretching muscles.
  • It was a constant battle to keep me mobile and independent. By the time I got to 19 weeks I started having physio at the same hospital where Evie died. The almost weekly trips to have painful muscle massage to help me walk for the rest of the week were exhausting.
  • Trying to control my anxiety was also a constant battle. Managing my fear of losing this baby and trying to function threatened to bubble up and drown me at any moment.
  • I was trying to hold down the new job I had got at the University of Oxford, do my share of the housework, cooking, oh and appear sane and not let on that I was going mad.

SO… quite a list really!

I often found the enormity of the ‘big picture’ just too damn scary, the realities of death and the genuine possibility of babies dying was overwhelming. So in a way the ‘little things’, like whether my blessed husband had put the towels back properly in the bathroom, became much more of a priority. It was easier to be swept up into petty arguments to distract from the grim reaper permanently sat in the corner of the room.

Big picture

I’m sure you’ll agree the whys and the wherefores of how much cleaning each person has done that week are insignificant in the scheme of things, especially when compared to – is this as bad as Evie dying? Honestly though, I really do think it morphed into a competition between my husband and I to see who could be the most tired or hard done by. We irritated each other frequently in our independent struggles to keep going. I think I nearly drove my other half mad by rearranging the fresh washing he had spent half an hour laying out. This was exacerbated because increasingly he had to take on the lion’s share of household tasks as I drew nearer my due date. He also had to navigate my Jekyll and Hyde mood swings which would give UN Peace Keepers a run for their money – (I blame the hormones, oh and the huge stress I was under). So part diplomat, part housemaid = being my husband in 2012, and was a feat worthy of the Nobel Peace Prize – God bless my husband.

People don’t talk about the strain losing a baby puts on a healthy relationship

It was a very intense time with reality and our senses in a constantly heightened state. Our nerves were raw and frazzled and we had little reserves or resources to cope with the little curved balls life always throws at you (parking tickets, dropped jars of jam, bad driving of others – you get the picture). It felt more like a haunted house ride with one fright or scare after another or Total Wipeout (naff TV show with obstacles presented by Richard Hammond). Life had gone from feeling reasonably easy and straightforward – a ramble through country lanes if you will – to full on attempting to summit Mount Everest.

Now for the pseudo – psychology – wisdom according to me…

Within a healthy relationship there is a normal ebb and flow where each person needs to take from the other and both are happy to give to the other. This flow of support from one to the other and back again can be for small and big things, for example:

  1. Man reassuring woman regularly that she’s beautiful no matter her size and woman supporting man through applying for a new job.
  2. Woman putting man’s clothes away that have been there all week and man taking out the bins weekly.

In scenario 1. He may be annoyed that she doesn’t seem to hear him when he tells her she’s gorgeous but he loves her so will tell her as many times as she needs. She knows he’s shy about talking about himself and his achievements but he wants the job so she’ll talk interview tips with him and say how proud she is of him until he feels ready for it.

In scenario 2. Both parties are compromising to help the other and get the chores done. She doesn’t like doing the smelly kitchen bin so he does it. He’s often deals with work calls in the evening so doesn’t get chance to tidy and she is happy to help keep the bedroom tidy for both their ease.

In both scenarios neither partner feels compromised and both feel their efforts are appreciated, recognised and add to the overall well being of the household. Crucially neither feel taken for granted.


 

When a baby dies there are huge discrepancies between what each person needs at any one time in order to survive the day, moreover asking for what you need becomes ten million times harder.

So you’ve got two people who were very happy, felt equal and valued in their relationship who experience a trauma that tears at the very fabric of that well stitched union. Both want to take support from the other without being able to return the favour – something’s got to give.

Relationships can feel like a tug of war
Relationships can feel like a tug of war
For us, initially I was very needy both physically and emotionally. I was a support leech; you would offer it, I’d take it, and I wouldn’t be able to give you anything in return. But perhaps more significantly, after the first 2 years when my physical needs lessened, I still felt the dire need for emotional support and that it was my husband’s job to give it to me. I didn’t realise it but I believed he owed me. He owed me for suffering the physical trauma of our daughter’s birth and getting off without a visible scratch. I weighed our suffering and ruled my was more/worse and so he had to make up for this huge injustice and inequality of pain.

In essence my daughter’s death created an imbalance between us – a black hole that threatened to drag us down. There isn’t a statistic on how many relationships in the UK breakdown after the loss of a baby but it doesn’t surprise me. The strain can be intolerable at times and take you to breaking point. The long-term effect of me believing that my husband had the responsibility of making me feel better about what happened could easily have spelled disaster but it is not all doom and gloom.

Grace – sometimes it’s all you can have for yourself, your partner, your relationship.

This is what I think grace means:

Grace is the free and unlimited favour given to someone regardless of whether you feel they deserve it. It means forgiving and understanding someone when they cannot necessarily see the consequences of their own words and actions on you or others. You can also demonstrate grace towards yourself.

I truly believe this is what saved us – grace.

We needed it in spades but by hanging on in there when it was really tough, by remembering why we ever loved each other and holding on to the belief that we were stronger than this trauma helped us muddle through the darkest time of our lives and our relationship. We did not want our daughter’s death to come between us and destroy all the good between us.

The most difficult thing to tolerate is each person grieving differently and not understanding the other person’s demonstrations of grief. This is where grace can be a light in a dark place.

If you are reading this and feel you can relate to anything I have said, remember this:

You are not alone in your grief, you will survive this time, you only have to be good enough and try your best – it is all anyone can ask of us and the most we can asked of ourselves.

Relationships are so private and unique to each pair of individuals but I wanted to share what needs to be talked about so we can support each and not feel alone. I’d love to hear your comments if you feel the same.

Until next time, do what you can to find your smile.

Lydia

x

The art of convalescing

I had an overwhelming need to convalesce in the very old-fashioned sense.

I need to retreat into myself, my family and home to lick my wounds and slowly regain my health and mind. I spent just over 4 months at home after Evelyn died but I can’t really tell you what I did for most of that time. I clung to Matt up until Christmas as he was off on compassionate leave, I helped my brother-in-law with his business accounts and answering the phone; but other than that I can’t really recall. I felt physically possessed by my grief, riddled with it and desired nothing more than to be in intensive care with experts handling my fragile state. It does sounds rather melodramatic but I really did feel winded by the trauma of what had happened, it was so at odds with my expectation that I reeled from this sudden change in direction for some time.

Me as a 19th century woman convalescing
Me as a 19th century woman convalescing

Having said that, I did try to push myself back into the real world at the start of the New Year by joining two recruitment companies with the aim of getting a full-time job…it didn’t go well. To begin with, sitting on the bus ride over was agonising due to my enduring injuries sustained during the delivery. This vein continued when I blubbed like a baby (kind of no pun intended) when I explained why I was looking for a job to the bewildered but kind recruitment lady, who sympathetically suggested I stay home, try to get pregnant again and put this working nonsense behind me. Not wholly helpful but I took the caring intention behind her words and cancelled my other interview that day and spent it with my aunt instead.

This period of my life was a strange twilight zone where new events and experiences came thick and fast and as an extended family we all entered the kind of trance-like acceptance that this crazy was the new norm. My visit to my aunts after the fateful recruitment meeting is a prime example where my aunt comforted me and then asked if I wanted to have a walk down to the funeral home because she needed to sort out some details of my Nan’s funeral. “Of course”, I replied, “why not, I need some fresh air,” as if this were an everyday occurrence and there was nothing distressing at all about my morning so far and that fact that my nan had just died and would be lying dead behind a wall metres from me at the funeral home.

…And so life continued in this vein for what felt like the whole of 2012, ‘A Series of Unfortunate Events’ by Lemony Snicket was starting to feel autobiographical rather than fictional if I’m honest.

Sleep

Something that people may not realise when someone grieves intensely is the lack of sleep or disrupted sleep that often comes hand in hand with it. It takes that peace that allows you to sleep soundly at night; and of course everything is worse at night – it’s dark, quiet and there are fewer distractions from your thoughts. I can remember all to clearly crying my eyes out sat in the dark of my living room looking out the window at 2 -3 -4 am pleading for the pain to subside enough for welcome sleep to envelope me. Sometimes it did and others it seemed to elude me.

Insomnia or troubled sleep adds to the sense of living in some twilight parallel universe because you permanently feel like a zombie living off adrenaline. You’re energy feels thin and insubstantial – you have no reserves or resources to draw upon, you are spent in your primal desire to survive but surviving means somehow bearing the awful pain that greets your every waking moment.So sleep then is your relief…if you can get any.

For me sleeping was a small mercy because I did not dream about what had happened; my brain protected me from reliving it while I slept. I believe in total I have had 3 dreams about Evie since she died and I am someone who has vivid, detailed dreams that I can recall in the morning with clarity, so I was so grateful to have peace when I slept. I know, however, this is not the case for many.

Why convalescing? Because it means:

to become healthy and strong again slowly over time after illness, weakness, or injury.

Latin convalēscere to grow fully strong, equivalent to con- con-+ valēscere to grow strong ( val (ēre) to be well + -escere -esce )

Synonyms: ambulatory; coming back; healing; mending; rallyinggaining strengthgetting bettersgetting over somethingpast crisis; recovering; recuperating; rejuvenating; restored.

References: dictionary.reference.com ; merriam-webster.com ; thesaurus.com

 

Lack of sleep can:

  1. slow down your thought processes
  2. Impair your memory
  3. Make learning difficult
  4. Slow down reaction times
  5. alter your mood significantly – make you irritable, angry and may lessen your ability to cope with stress.

According to the NSF, the “walking tired” are more likely to sit and seethe in traffic jams and quarrel with other people. Sleep-deprived people polled by the NSF were also less likely than those who sleep well to exercise, eat healthfully, have sex, and engage in leisure activities because of sleepiness.

“Over time, impaired memory, mood, and other functions become a chronic way of life,” says Siebern. “In the long term, this can affect your job or relationships.”

Chronic sleepiness puts you at greater risk for depression. They are so closely linked that sleep specialists aren’t always sure which came first in their patients. “Sleep and mood affect each other,” says Verceles. “It’s not uncommon for people who don’t get enough sleep to be depressed or for people who are depressed to not sleep well enough.”  Reference: www.webmd.com

So now you can see why we all go loopy for a while when our baby dies. Please share you’re thoughts and experiences of needing to convalesce or the lack of sleep – this is not discussed and should be.

Until next time, do what you can to find your smile again.

Lydia x

The day after… the aftermath

The beginning of the rest of my life
The beginning of the rest of my life

The day after I stood looking out of the bedroom window at the clear blue, crisp late autumn day, my favourite kind – how has this happened, how was I here and not pregnant? Everything looked so serene, a beautiful day; it should have been my second with my beautiful baby. We had slept in my brother’s bedroom as we were too much in shock to enter our apartment. The fear of the day had followed us home and we were afraid to go back into our house, which hadn’t been told that the plan had gone awry. It was just as we had left it the night before, full of hope and excitement, full. To go back would emphasis our lack of full arms and highlight our hearts full of loss.

We were required to return to the hospital to been seen by a queue of doctors, midwives, chaplains and lastly a registrar. It was exhausting for us both. I just remember lying on a hospital bed in a side room, hurting from head to toe inside and out, with the chaplain telling Matt that he had to look after me and think about being off work to take care of me. My dear husband lent against the windowsill, sunlight streaming past his hunched shoulders, the weight of the world settling on them. As this experienced man spoke, as he had done this many times before I suppose, there was a tangible sense of Matt taking on the manly mantle of caring for his distressed and hurting wife. He was not asked how he was, it didn’t seem important, he must turn his attention to me in full and ‘be there for me’ in the days and months ahead. Poor thing, poor us.

Neither of us were in much of a state to care for the other and so began the months of swapping between being career and cared for. Sometimes our roles would fluctuate throughout the day and other it seemed an endless stretch of me being cared for, I just needed so much. I was a leech sucking on the goodness of anyone who got near enough – offer any morsel of kindness and I’d eat you out of house and home. I was so needy and it felt strange to be so reliant on others but I had no choice, the delivery was traumatic to my body and I had trouble walking, sitting, standing – everything really except lying down, as long as it was on my side. My once stubborn, independent streak had been worn down and I was forced to submit to my need for intensive support to move around the house and look after myself. I hated it! I was so vulnerable physically and in so much pain and discomfort it took its toll on my state of mind and lead me to some dark places I can tell you.

For a long time when I thought of what had happen to me that day to get Evelyn out I felt assaulted, man-handled and abused. At the time I really was secondary to Evelyn and getting her out, I was happy to let them do what they needed to. I’d never truly been in a position of genuinely putting someone else ahead of myself. I know you change when you find out you are pregnant – you immediately have to adapt your life, what you can eat and drink, to ensure the wellbeing of the little one growing inside, but this was off the chain (to quote Hot Fuzz, an excellent film by the way). Looking back it was a very humbling experience and a sense that has stayed with me ever since of how much unconditional love owns you, compels you and brings out the best in you. I was at my best that fateful day, it was my most unselfish and perhaps my finest motherly act, to not fight them as they tried to loosen Evelyn’s shoulders enabling her to be born.

Until next time, do what you can to find your smile again

Lydia

x