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LOSS

1
TRIGGER POST.

You go for a wee. And you wipe. And hold your breath. And it’s ok. No blood. Breathe out. Thank whatever deity you believe in. Until the next time. And the next. And the next.

You go for your second ”early reassurance scan” as you’ve lost two beans. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. 

”You haven’t had any bleeding? No pain?”

”No, why? Should I be worried? What’s going on? Can you tell me please? Can you tell me what’s happening.”

”The heartbeat from last time has gone. We are sorry.”

And you want to scream. And

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laugh. And yell. Because it’s just so shit – how can it be true?

My party of five is no more – we’re going back to a four. I am a churning, angry snakepit of emotions, my body still thinking it’s pregnant, my mind too cluttered to understand.

I’m eat chocolate. I watch Poirot and Marple and Bargain Hunt. I do some excellent expenses calculations (I’m great at admin when I suffer loss). I cancel client calls and briefly worry that I’m letting them down. And then I cry again and think “who could I help when I’m like this.”

I stare at

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the exquisite beauty of my two children who are with me. I wonder how this body – which has failed to keep three beans safe – has nonetheless managed to grow two such sublime and exotic creatures. 

I stare at my bloated stomach. My breasts already darker, bigger, the milk seemingly ready for the arrival of the latest inhabitant of my uterus. I hate how huge I am. I love how beautiful I am. I hate how wasted it all is. 

I’m so sad. But there is love all around me. And love has to mean there is always hope. 

And people’s words. The male

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urgent care doctor who said (as he shoved my fractured and dislocated toe back into place the day after this discovery – a great distraction admittedly):

“you’ve got two already! Imagine if you had none. So just remember how lucky you are!” 

Of course I am lucky. Of course I know I will never have to suffer the agony of losing all my babies. But this one still counts. This is still meant to be another glorious, complicated, funny, silly, infuriating, wonderful person.

So now I wait for surgery. And I pray that my body will remain thinking

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5
it is pregnant – weird perhaps, but after my last miscarriage at home, I’d rather the surgical detachment of a hospital and removal.

Why share this? A couple of reasons. I’m sharing as a catharsis for me. Whenever I say it it acknowledges that this beautiful pregnancy is real. That it was hope. 

And I’m sharing in the hope that others who see this will feel they can share. And grieve. And know that we are not meant to do this alone.

 

 

Laura is a confidence and business coach, mum of a two year old boy and three year old

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6
girl, secondary school music teacher, singer, blogger, podcaster and lover of women. She works with creative, brilliant clients who want to grow in confidence in life and who want to feel excited about their lives, their businesses and motherhood. She has a rather lovely Facebook group that you’d be welcome to join.
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- 7 Jul 18

TRIGGER POST.

You go for a wee. And you wipe. And hold your breath. And it’s ok. No blood. Breathe out. Thank whatever deity you believe in. Until the next time. And the next. And the next.

You go for your second “early reassurance scan” as you’ve lost two beans. It’s so quiet. Too quiet. 

You haven’t had any bleeding? No pain?”

“No, why? Should I be worried? What’s going on? Can you tell me please? Can you tell me what’s happening.”

The heartbeat from last time has gone. We are sorry.”

And you want to scream. And laugh. And yell. Because it’s just so shit – how can it be true?

My party of five is no more – we’re going back to a four. I am a churning, angry snakepit of emotions, my body still thinking it’s pregnant, my mind too cluttered to understand.

I’m eat chocolate. I watch Poirot and Marple and Bargain Hunt. I do some excellent expenses calculations (I’m great at admin when I suffer loss). I cancel client calls and briefly worry that I’m letting them down. And then I cry again and think “who could I help when I’m like this.”

I stare at the exquisite beauty of my two children who are with me. I wonder how this body – which has failed to keep three beans safe – has nonetheless managed to grow two such sublime and exotic creatures. 

I stare at my bloated stomach. My breasts already darker, bigger, the milk seemingly ready for the arrival of the latest inhabitant of my uterus. I hate how huge I am. I love how beautiful I am. I hate how wasted it all is. 

I’m so sad. But there is love all around me. And love has to mean there is always hope. 

And people’s words. The male urgent care doctor who said (as he shoved my fractured and dislocated toe back into place the day after this discovery – a great distraction admittedly):

you’ve got two already! Imagine if you had none. So just remember how lucky you are!” 

Of course I am lucky. Of course I know I will never have to suffer the agony of losing all my babies. But this one still counts. This is still meant to be another glorious, complicated, funny, silly, infuriating, wonderful person.

So now I wait for surgery. And I pray that my body will remain thinking it is pregnant – weird perhaps, but after my last miscarriage at home, I’d rather the surgical detachment of a hospital and removal.

Why share this? A couple of reasons. I’m sharing as a catharsis for me. Whenever I say it it acknowledges that this beautiful pregnancy is real. That it was hope. 

And I’m sharing in the hope that others who see this will feel they can share. And grieve. And know that we are not meant to do this alone.

 

 

Laura is a confidence and business coach, mum of a two year old boy and three year old girl, secondary school music teacher, singer, blogger, podcaster and lover of women. She works with creative, brilliant clients who want to grow in confidence in life and who want to feel excited about their lives, their businesses and motherhood. She has a rather lovely Facebook group that you’d be welcome to join.

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Hi, and thanks so much for stopping by! I'm Laura, and I'm the founder of Power of Mum. I love a hot bath. I'm also on a mission to gently encourage a world of confident, compassionate, creative women, one client at a time. This looks like creating communities of women who support each other to live deeply contented lives, rooted in confidence and positivity. Or, to be practical, I help women find confidence and clarity to lead the lives they want, and get unstuck. I'm also a secondary school music teacher, professional classical singer, podcaster and POET.

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