Testing Times

I’ll never forget the shock and surprise when the first blue line changed my life forever. And the rollercoaster ride we embarked on, first with Daisy and then Poppy, was a journey like no other. But never did I think our journey would end here. In a waiting room getting ready for tests to try and answer the questions I have constantly whirling round my head: why have I lost three babies; will I have another? But no-one can tell us.

So this morning I found myself sitting in the clinic of a new hospital – I couldn’t face my old hospital having walked out there empty-bellied and empty-handed three times, the joyous memories of my two glorious girls there diminished. Pouring grains of rock salt into my raw wounds (my last miscarriage was only 5 weeks ago), two women sit in the clinic with me waiting for their newborn’s checkups, their post-baby bellies exulting their triumphs, while my flat stomach hosts only my grief. It doesn’t matter that I have two beautiful babies, they and any subsequent babies will never rub out the loss of my other three. All I have of two of them are the scans, and the sound of their heartbeats still thudding in the dark of the night as I lie awake, wondering.

I have nothing from the third. It was announced with a blue line on the day my previous pregnancy was due. But six weeks later it was gone. Like a new mother, I am intimate with the long lost hours of the night, sleepless as if my brain is expecting to be woken through the night, in denial that I have no baby to soothe. So instead I go and check on my girls, my glorious girls, and their sleeping smiles soothe me. Grief is the loneliest emotion. I cannot share it, I cannot explain it. It just is.

And suddenly I am lifted. A new doctor, and new face. She is kind and patient and authoritative and just what I need. We will have tests – antibodies, chromosomal, bloods, scans, but more importantly we have a plan. I’m not going into this alone. It may only be aspirin and hormones, but it feels as though I am doing something positive. It may lead to more heartbreak, but it may lead to a new wonderful life, and either way I’ll know we tried everything we could. It may be another rollercoaster, but I’m ready for the journey.

I promise to return to a more jolly festive fever soon…..

About Grin & Tonic by Alana Kirk

Bouncing into middle age armed with courage, ambition and a pair of tweezers (chin hairs for anyone over the age of 45 reading this) I am a writer with a mission: to redefine this midway point in my life when the last thing I want to do is hang up my high heels and become invisible. This is the end of the beginning, not the beginning of the end. A single mum to 3 fabulous girls, an author, and a fundraising consultant, both ends of my candle are on fire. As I enter this new stage of my life, I want to explore what it means for 'mid-aged' women today, who were promised they could have it all, ended up doing it all, and just do not identify with the traditional image of middle age.
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5 Responses to Testing Times

  1. Kate says:

    Oh, I wish you a happy 2010 – bringing good things, and a good conclusion to your heartbreaking story. I had 1 miscarriage, before my third baby – it was a missed miscarriage, so I didn't know until I was 11 weeks pregnant, although the baby died at about 7 weeks. I can't imagine how you must feel after 3 miscarriages. I still nurture my thoughts of the baby I didn't have and remember the due date – how painful it must be for you. Stay strong and positive.

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  2. cath c says:

    alana, if you want to talk, feel free to contact me, i not only lost 2 within 6mos of each other but was pregnant by the next month with my little girl after the last one, with which i also prolapsed.

    i also lost others before i had my boys many years earlier. so i am very familiar with the grief and the tentative hope you are feeling now. it's good someone is taking you seriously re: testing.

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  3. Josie says:

    Wishing you some answers and all the luck in the world.

    Much love xx

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  4. foodie mummy says:

    I really hope you get to find out. I can't say I know what you are going through, as it has never happened to me. But I really wish you all the best.
    XX

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  5. Mummy mania says:

    thank you all – i really appreciate it. It seems odd to be able to talk so honestly to people I've never met, but it's so cathargic. So thank you…. and i feel a new strength about going forward. Anyway, off to write something a little more uplifting.. it is the season to be jolly after all, and I have two girls to make me jolly all the time. talk soon, 🙂

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