It’s funny the things that trigger it off. You think you find a place for the grief, and then you open the Sunday paper and it bleeds out all over the pages.
I won’t go over old ground here. Suffice to say loosing three babies took its toll and took time to try and deal with. When the draw of diving into a depression of grief became too tantalising, I had to make a decision that I wasn’t going to let my losses become the over-riding force in my life. That has to be my gains; our girls, and now my third baby on its way.
But there are still moments. Moments still given over to my lost children; moments that belong to them; moments of longing and lost memories. But they are moments amid the mayhem of life and living, happy loud days where the sound of Daisy singing and Poppy laughing fills the silence. And my moments are easier because I know definitively that my babies were lost. I know absolutely they had died. And I know why. I know my chromosome disorder meant they were never going to live. I am lucky.
For the countless women reading the paper with me today who have also lost babies and do not have those assurances, I cannot imagine their pain. The ultrasound scandal that has jammed the Irish radio airwaves and blackened the newpapers has opened up raw wounds for so many vulnerable parents. As more and more women emerge to tell their tragic stories of being told their babies were dead, booked in for D&C’s, but somehow had the instinct and strength to fight for second opinions only to discover their babies were alive and well, more and more women who didn’t fight, who couldn’t insist, who believed the authority bestowed on medical staff – and will now never know if they lost more than their dreams must be feeling the earth has shifted on its axis.
I have felt my losses all over again this week, and my heart aches for those women forever haunted now by the thoughts of ‘what if’……