The Dance - Blog Post

"Henry Ford Hospital," Frida Kahlo, 1932, oil on Sheet Metal, 12 ½ x 15 ½ in. Collection Museo Dolores Olmedo, Xochimilco, México. © 2014 Banco de México Diego Rivera Frida Kahlo Museums Trust, Mexico, D.F. / Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

As the pregnancy test signified Life, I swayed and revelled in her dance. I allowed Life to flow and welcomed her signs. Life caressed and soothed me, she reached out and said, 'Come, we can play this game together'.

Life was ecstatic with her creation - she cavorted, glimmered and sparkled and I was entranced. I felt her fingers stroke my skin and her body cuddle into mine. I was comforted, held and supported and she whispered to me her dreams. 

  'This little one is forming, my darling'.

My body obeyed and revelled in growth - hormones increased. I swam in the nausea, my breasts became full as my belly ripened and I felt every movement as if I was swimming in water. Sickness moved me as if by tidal pull, and Life kept encouraging, 'Yes, my darling, feel everything. Feel it all'. 

Calling to all the humans I needed, I tried to nest, to feel safe in the world. I needed to find the people who would support this pregnancy so I could meet this little one - to experience having a baby in this lifetime just. one. time.

And then one day at work, Death decided to visit and she called my baby's name. 

Death sang softly and so sweetly, every note caressing the air around me. The spectral pied piper of the little womb ones. Death danced around me whilst Life started to shrivel and cry. Death shimmied, allowing her pendulous breasts to swing, and she shook her childbearing hips. Death waggled her finger and spoke to me with a smile on her lips, 'My darling, thank you for growing this little one of mine'.

I could see Life was helpless in the face of Death's call and could only witness the events unfolding. She watched as my baby heard and reached out in joy to suckle on her breasts, sit on her soft belly and be cradled in her sumptuous lap. Death sang, soothed and tended... whilst Life, and I, looked on in dismay.

My body was so full, then so empty, as I straddled and embodied Life and Death. My body understood what was happening and vomit, blood and tears seeped from me - ravaged by the loss of my little one. My husband collected my heaves, wiped the red from my legs and helped me collect the remains of our little one as I allowed the cramps to sweep my uterus, making sure Death took every last remnant. 

Then I heard Death speak to me, 'You have given me four of your gorgeous babies and I am indebted by your kindness. I will leave you with four gifts in remembrance of your sacrifice'.

Death laid the gifts out in front of me, and smiled with gratefulness. 

First of all, here is acceptance, which will also bring you peace. When you meet me without resistance, you will see I will also bring you a deep, resounding peace that will continue within you always. I know your resistance to me has devastated and exhausted you to the point that you are ready to receive this gift now. I nodded and took this gift into my hands.

My second gift to you is the ability to learn how to parent yourself - there is a little one within you that has waited so long for you to be able to embrace her. Now you can learn to look after her and allow her the healing she craves. This little one desires safety, comfort and love from you so very much. I understood the wisdom in these words and agreed.

I also allow you the capacity of compassion so that you can mother the lost ones in the world who are in desperate need of love. You are being given a limitless well of compassion so you can support others in their growth and allow them to find their own way. I took the gift without response.

Lastly, I bestow on you the title of 'Warrior'. A woman who has witnessed the dance of life and death of her own children she was unable to keep learns great courage and knowledge. A woman who can embody Life and Death and is able to hold them within is taught some of life's greatest secrets. There is very little in life you will be unable to handle. I bowed as I took on the title and tried to integrate this with who I think I am.

Death watched me receive these gifts, nodded and slowly bowed. 

She then turned and walked away with my little one in her arms.

 

Play free my dear Little Sprouty, play with your brothers and sisters in the spirit world - come and find me when I am ready to dance with Death once again.

I love you.

 

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Letting Go - Blog Post

I was hauling a brown splattered 17kg suitcase through the mud of Bushy Park just a day after I had passed the majority of my third baby and all that entails. We had just buried little Noodle with their other siblings by the tree we had chosen nearly two years ago.

As we were trawling through, I looked up at the sky and said, 'Why are you pushing me to my limit?'

And I heard a voice say, 'Let go and all will come.'

The day I heard that I had lost this little one I had to make my way to a friend's house over an hour away. Diving into overcrowded, claustrophobic tubes, doubling over with cramp, I sweated my way to a hug and a goodbye as she left to look after her relative. I grabbed a hot water bottle, sat down and let the warmth of the water seep into my abdomen, which was indignant as I had allowed another internal scanner to poke, push and annoy.

Sitting on that couch, I soon experienced a sense of blissfulness. I fell into the deepest gratitude as I was so grateful for this pregnancy, one that took over a year to achieve. I was so thankful for every single hormonal signal - from the positive pregnancy test, the sore breasts, the bloating and nausea to the increased saliva and deep deep exhaustion. Food never tasted better, sleep never felt so refreshing and the knowledge that a little life had chosen to grace my uterus with their presence was gratifying and humbling. I promised myself this time that I would love every second of the pregnancy and I did. I relished every single second of being a mama and immersed myself in the maternal love kept only for this little being.

That evening, I felt this deep joy and relaxed deeper and deeper, knowing it wouldn't last forever and that the inevitable pain of attachment would soon catch up. I tasted sweetness from the cup of gratitude and allowed my body to submit and let go - glowing, free and relaxed.

That evening, a friend sent me information about a film maker called Richard Martini who speaks about how miscarriages can occur for the spiritual development of the parents. Since reading up on him, I have been guided to read, 'Letting Go' by David R Hawkins and 'Ask and It Is Given' by Esther and Jerry Hicks. I have had dreams instructing me to meditate and I am trying to come back into my body slowly.

Clearly, this is another opportunity for spiritual growth and development that I need to work on although I am a very slow learner at the best of times.

Though I was provided a taste of how I could feel if I just let go, I know I am resisting and as a consequence feel a build up of anger, pain, upset, hurt and can feel myself drowning into waves of this. I find it difficult to find peace and see myself react, react react.

Because, for me, nothing feels right after experiencing deep maternal loss. Physically, emotionally, hormonally, spiritually and in relationship to any or everything. I feel off kilter, unlike myself and raw - as if layers of my skin has been hacked off and my sores are left to bleed. I find human interaction exhausting, limiting and frustrating. In Real Life, I have found nobody who can truly understand how lonely, sad, painful, brutal, traumatising and heartbreaking repeated miscarriage is and so I know it is only up to me to brave this initiation, find a way through and learn.

I keep being told that it is up to me to choose the way forward, that I can make the decision to be joyful whilst processing this grief healthily, so I can heal and set myself free. I know the universe is on my side and will help me to learn. In the meantime, I will just take one day at a time and trust that it is possible even if I am not there yet.

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Limbo - Blog Post

***Warning - quite a graphic blog post***

I have never been in this position before and to be honest, before I found myself here, I had never thought about all the women who have been through this, who are experiencing the waiting for a natural missed miscarriage right now. It's comforting to know I am not the only woman in the world who is preparing for their child to enter the world even though we know they will never take a breath.

No one tells you about limbo - the waiting and uncertainty of each moment. The time between finding out your child's heart is not beating until the moment they can find their resting place. No one tells you about the agony of looking for and analysing blood on your pad or when you wipe and perceiving a glimmer of pain, hoping and fearing the process is about to start. No one tells you the tumult of emotions, looking at your belly every so often, knowing this is one of the last times you will see this child creating a hillock inside. No one ever tells you the struggle of never being too far from home. Just. In. Case. It. Happens.

Yet on motherhood forums there are stories, crashing together, all unique. On these pages there is fear, pain, agony, heartbreak, upset and the torture of waiting. And blood - lots and lots of blood, mixed with hCG levels, hormones, placenta, cord and the sac which some women will cut open so they can see whom they have carried, their particular miracle that was not meant to be, whom they call their Angels. I have read words of encouragement around the world from a sisterhood who have been there, who say you can do this and you will get through this, 'You have got this mama, you are a warrior and you will make this baby proud.'

And for those who had no indication of an imminent miscarriage, there is anger - so much fury at the injustice, treachery and deception. No one tells you how utterly betrayed a woman can feel by their body's lies. There is talk about hCG levels and how when they are still high, the symptoms of pregnancy continue - the broken sleep, waking up to nausea and having larger sore breasts. Women who are walking as if in water as exhaustion sits on their shoulders, their brains less capable of processing the world around them. And because of these hormones, their body still won't let go. It refuses to believe it will not be a mother to this particular child. It cradles the remains in mourning, clinging to its lifeless form.

No one tells you that if you are far enough along, a natural missed miscarriage can be like labour and you can experience the cramping, labour pains and blood just like any other pregnancy. No one tells you about women all around the world lying on their bathroom floor, almost wanting to pass out in pain or vomit with extreme nausea or sitting in a bathtub in bright red water needing heat or holding a sieve under themselves when sitting on the toilet as they don't want to lose their baby amongst the diarrhoea that is exploding because of the hormonal changes.

They don't tell you of women who want to miscarry naturally but who are bleeding so much they have to rush to A & E to be operated on.

Yet there is a huddling of women all around the world who repeatedly say they can't express what is happening to them to people in their Real Life because it's too intimate, real, gory and painful. The worry that people will not understand makes these women mute in front of family members and friends who can only say, 'I'm sorry' or 'I wish I could give you a hug.' Magnifying the impotence of friends and family who have no idea what to do or how to help, who have no idea what happens to a woman, or their partner, who is experiencing this. All I can say to those people is become aware, learn what it means when a woman says they are going to lose their baby. Please sit alongside them - whether in person, on the phone or by text - listen to them and hold them when they howl with grief, feel endless guilt, express their anger or anxiety about one tiny thing they think they did wrong.

Otherwise, your 'I'm sorry' means absolutely nothing.

And how to speak of the unbearable sadness of when you hear a pregnancy announcement, when you see another woman who is pregnant or have babies in their arms, against their chests. How to speak of the heartbreak and mixed emotions when people close to you bring a beautiful one in this world, ready for their adventure of joy. Sometimes no words can express what is felt very deeply inside.

One beautiful thing about humans is that it is in our nature to find a way through this. So in the forums there is also something else, other stories, and they are of hope, possibility and joy. Women who have braved the process again and have come out the other side with their baby's heart beating and breathing. Women who have had countless miscarriages, years of pain and heartbreak, who suddenly find themselves with a family of their own. Women who thought it was too late but managed one more time for their dreams to come true. 'It can happen!' 'You will be like us too!'

Now, in the waiting, I document everything. I document the slightest change, because I know that I will want to share my story with others so that whilst they are waiting, in fear of the pain, blood and their transition from motherhood into shidu fumu - a status so unbearable to the English language, we have to borrow from the Chinese. I will write so I am able to give someone else a little respite from their worry or concern and maybe one day, I will also be able to post a message of hope.

Until then, I will remain in limbo.

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