When Mother Nature has other ideas

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For those of you who regularly read my blog or follow me on social media you may know that I have been waiting for the news about my heart since before Christmas (see this blog post if you need a catch up).  Anyway that decision was supposed to be discussed with me this week, when I was due to see my cardiologist about my MRI scan results from last year.

Snow

My hospital appointment was on Wednesday, the morning after the night the snow came that caused gridlock across the north west. It meant my cardiologist was one of the many people unable to get into work that day, so, alas again, I am still awaiting news as to what the future holds for my heart and for me.

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Wednesday morning 6am

Frustration

Initially I felt really frustrated that I still don’t know what will happen and all because of a bit of snow! Then I remembered that this isn’t the first time Mother Nature has put a spanner in the works for me and, in the grand scheme of things, this time I feel a bit of snow is quite a minor one.

Other “Mother Nature” surprises

Previous Mother Nature surprises have included nightmares such as my first child Violet being born with a heart disorder that was 100% fixed, thanks to medical science, then only to die from an extremely rare lung disease.  Then I am diagnosed with a heart disorder too, that it seems I was born with.

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Violet’s butterfly in our garden reflecting the warm lighting from inside the house

My second baby was given the all clear as healthy at his 16 week scan. Then we were told at the 20 week scan that his brain hadn’t formed correctly so we’d need a TFMR.  During both of these births medical procedures went wrong and I nearly died.   Then I was told the issues both babies had were probably genetic and inherited from me. After tests it turns out the faulty gene is so extremely rare they can’t identify it as yet (of course it bloody is!).

Not all bad surprises

Then Mother Nature pleasantly surprised us with my third pregnancy, which we weren’t expecting as it was immediately after losing Arthur. This time it went smoothly producing the beautiful Aurora.  Perhaps she felt she owed me one!

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Aurora watching the snow – her first.

So Mother Nature continually surprises us on a frequent basis so I really don’t know why a bit of snow causing gridlock on the one day I really wanted to be able to see a consultant shocked me at all.  I should be getting used to this by now.

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Our neighbours snow covered garden so pretty

Ride the Wave

I need to remember to a certain extent to “ride the wave” or “go with the flow”, when forces beyond my control come into play and balls everything up.  It really is like the shipwreck analogy of grief. I’ve been clinging to the “I’ll find out about my heart on Wednesday” piece of wood to stay afloat and buoyant for the last month only for it to suddenly disintegrate plunging me under the icy waves once again.  Anyway now I’ve clambered onto the “meh so what” Irish whiskey keg barrel and seem to have recovered again!

All I can say is that if a higher power does exist they certainly have a very dark sense of humour with the twists and turns they deliver to me on a regular basis.

I’m just hoping I get to see my cardiologist soon and that he says I can have a keyhole procedure in the not too distant future.

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Good job the snow is so pretty.  Can you spot the birds?

Hope none of you were adversely affected by the snow and scuppered by our good old Mother Nature.  Keep warm.

Big love

Sarah x

Always Violet Skies

You might be interested in the following posts too –

More of a mother – does a natural birth make you more of a mother?

Somewhere after the rainbow – what happens if you lose your rainbow?

Mothering after loss

Guilt when a mother of loss

Grief is like being Ship wrecked

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This time of year we find a little tricky because this is the week our baby Arthur was due to be born, and although we marked his official first birthday and day he died in September, I still feel a little tug that says we should be having a first birthday party for him in early January.

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Our little boy Arthur

Why is grief harder for a TFMR?

Grieving for Arthur I find harder and more complicated than I do for Violet as the situation is much more complex:

  • We never knew Arthur not properly. Yes I felt him move and kick inside me (a lot) but we never got to met him alive.
  • We were the ones who decided to end his life prematurely based on medical facts and delivered him early sleeping. The hardest decision we’ve ever made.
  • The bittersweet this is that if we hadn’t decided to lose Arthur when we did then we wouldn’t have had Aurora and she wouldn’t be here today. So that is hard to swallow – how can you feel sad about someone who led to the creation of someone else?

Thank you Arthur

Anyway I saw my counselor this week and she said we should thank Arthur for giving us Aurora so tonight we will toast our little boy.  She also passed me a really lovely article that was taken from a guy called GSnow’s Reddit account.  Some of the original isn’t really relevant to child loss so I have edited it somewhat and also added some of my own words but you can read the full piece he wrote here.

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The Bay of Kotor

Grief is like being Ship wrecked

“As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating for me luckily it was my husband and we clung to each other. Some of my family and friends also floated nearby providing sustenance for us to carry on. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

At the start

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, seeing another young family similar to yours on the street, the sound of a baby crying. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Eventually…

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or a family gathering. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out. Occasionally the wave can come from no where and totally overwhelm you but again you rise up, gasp and breathe again.

The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too.”

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Sunset over Auckland

Dianne Oxberry

I started to write and plan this article before I read the sad news today about local BBC newsreader Dianne Oxberry who sadly passed away.  I have lots of friends who were her friends and everyone who met her spoke fondly of her, so this article is dedicated to her friends and family.  May you ride the storm of grief and find some lovely memories from the beautiful ship to cling to.  If you know those close to her please help them to stay afloat.  Do this through kindness and compassion.

Big love and hugs,

Sarah x

Always Violet Skies

You might enjoy these blog posts –

More of a mother – does a natural birth make you more of a mother?

Somewhere after the rainbow – what happens if you lose your rainbow?

Mothering after loss

Guilt when a mother of loss