A sudden wave
This post is best read while listening to Sweet Disposition by The Temper Trap.
Sometimes, it just hits me. It happens without any notice, mostly on days when the weather is grim and the leaves are blown away by strong, unkind winds.
It hits me all with a force that I can only compare to what I believe a tsunami might be like.
The positive pregnancy test. Our house full of hope and love and anticipation. Our first, good scan. The only good scan we would end up having. The first round of alarming news. Talks of something being so terribly wrong with our unborn child. More tests, biopsies, bloods taken, scans. Finding out about his heart condition. Very serious, very complicated, but not fatal. Breathing a tiny sigh of relief at the prospect that everything could be fixed at birth. With open heart surgery, mind you, but fixed nonetheless. And then, the final blow. The final wave, the actual tsunami. Discovering that our unborn baby was, in fact, so poorly that it was very unlikely he would even survive. An incredibly rare genetic disorder, they said. We could (should?) consider terminating the pregnancy, they said. But I was already 26 weeks pregnant... so, they injected a lethal mix of drugs to stop my baby’s heart. I carried him dead inside me for two and a half days. I was induced and went through excruciating labour pains to deliver him stillborn. Tiny and silent and getting colder by the minute.
It just hits me all, and I can’t stop it. How the fuck did I survive. How did we all survive, those who lost babies? I don’t honestly know. I never will.
I just sit here, watching my rainbow baby mesmerised by Luca’s secret garden, saying his name and smiling. And I’m amazed, and proud, and alive.