Very Cheap Thinking

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Wednesday 15 December 2010

Christmas is coming

Have rediscovered some old tunes and came across Bright Eyes.

And now I just see you dying over and over again.
I see you looking at me through the incubator wall, searching for relief.
I hear your screams as they sought for veins.
I see your mouth after they removed the ventilator. Forced open, throat bulging unnaturally.
Your poor tummy bloated and black.
I hear the alarm as you arrested the second time.
I see the doctors running. A swarm around you.
I see your skin so pink then like a mottled red web then ice white.

I don't want to remember but I don't want to forget. There will be no new memories to replace these.

Monday 1 November 2010

Miss you much

It's been nine months, one week and two days since we let you go. Since we agreed to let the living torture stop, let the nurse take the tube out of your tiny throat and allow you to just be - even if that meant you would leave us. Which you did.

That day you broke my heart. And it is still broken.

I just wanted to let you know.

Mummy x

Thursday 5 August 2010

Hornsey Lane Top Ten

1. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star

2. Wind the Bobbin Up

3. Row, Row, Row the Boat (inc. polar bear verse)

4. If You're Happy and You Know It

5. Sleeping Bunnies

6. Old MacDonald (with puppets)

7. Five Currant Buns

8. The Hokey Cokey

9. The Hello Song

10. The Postman Pat Theme Tune

Friday 30 July 2010

A month to go

Ceremony - booked

Dress, cake, rings - bought

Reception - booked


Come on, you lot. Reply to my invite!

Monday 12 July 2010

A letter to Elliot

Dear darling,

Today is your 6 month birthday so you have been very much in the thoughts of your daddy and I. This afternoon I was out getting a haircut at the time you were born and I was sitting in the chair remembering seeing them hold you over the screen. I had already seen Hugo as they carried him off crying but you were blue and still, hanging from the surgeon's hands. It took you a few moments to find your voice and it was such a soft cry. You melted my heart all over again when you did. I was just thrilled because they had told us you might not breathe by yourself.

Do you remember those first hours? I didn't see much of you after that moment as they whisked you past my nose and into an incubator to keep you warm. I made them get your grandma to be with you so you wouldn't be without someone who loved you on that first day. I knew I couldn't be there in person, you see. No, I didn't get to meet you properly until the next day but that doesn't mean I wasn't trying. I was lying on that bed upstairs trying to lift my legs and get them going again, fighting that anaesthetic just so I could get down to the SCBU to see you. But it didn't work, I hope you understand that there was nothing I could do.

Anyway, that day was so, so positive. You breathed by yourself and all we had to do was feed you up to get you big and strong to come home. Let's stick with that memory for tonight and forget what happened after. That day you were tiny but perfect and that's how you remain in my mind.

Come and snuggle with me in my dreams tonight, darling, and we'll dream of being together in heaven one day.

Thursday 24 June 2010

Uncle Justin takes good pics

Tuesday 22 June 2010

Yum, yum in Hugo's tum

Today was a big day for my little family. Hugo tried food and he liked it. First up was porridge which was sucked off the spoon like a hoover. Then at the next meal Hugo discovered the delights of banana and it was good. So there was a banana porridge mash up to round things off.

Have a look at the pictures to see how Hugo felt about eating for the first time.

Thursday 17 June 2010


I'm boiling with anger, pain, resentment, frustration and disbelief right now. Not about anything except that my son isn't here with his brother.

Elliot should have been lying on my quilt cooing at me next to Hugo at 6pm today.

He should have been in the park watching the children on the swings at 4.

He should have been at Rhyme Time in the library this morning.

He should be here.

And I am just so, so angry about it. I should feel 'special' for having twins, not for having a dead baby.

I should be able to perch one 5 month old identical piece of joy on each leg while I skype my brother in Japan and let my babies talk to his 2yr old and 4mth old.

I should be able to feel two little heads cuddling into my neck when they're tired.

I should be able to hear them cooing to each other in the cot in the morning rather than hearing one lonely little boy calling for me to have some company.

I hate this.

Tuesday 8 June 2010

Rhyme Time Rocks

Hugo went to his first Rhyme Time today. A very sleepy boy was suddenly transfixed by a room full of mummies and babies singing and performing the songs.
Thumbs up Crouch End Library.

Friday 4 June 2010

I wish I had written this

The Wish List

1. I wish my baby hadn't died. I wish I had her back.

2. I wish you wouldn't be afraid to speak my baby's name. My baby lived and was very important to me. I need to hear that she was important to you also.

3. If I cry and get emotional when you talk about my baby, I wish you knew it isn't because you have hurt me. My baby's death is the cause of my tears. You have talked about my baby, and you have allowed me to share my grief. I thank you for both.

4. Being a bereaved parent is not contagious, so I wish you wouldn't shy away from me. I need you now more than ever.

5. I need diversions, so I do want to hear about you; but I also want you to hear about me. I might be sad and I might cry, but I wish you would let me talk about my baby, my favourite topic of the day.

6. I know you think of and pray for me often. I also know that my baby's death pains you too. I wish you would let me know those things through a phone call, a card or note, or a real big hug.

7. I wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over in six months. These first months are traumatic for me, but I wish you could understand that my grief will never be over. I will suffer the death of my baby until the day I die.

8. I am working very hard on my recovery, but I wish you could understand that I will never fully recover. I will always miss my baby, and I will always grieve that she is dead.

9. I wish you wouldn't expect me "not to think about it" or to "be happy." Neither will happen for a very long time, so don't frustrate yourself.

10. I don't want to have a "pity party," but I do wish you would let me grieve. I must hurt before I can heal.

11. I wish you understood how my life has shattered. I know it is miserable for you to be around me when I am feeling miserable. Please be as patient with me as I am with you.

12. When I say, "I'm doing okay, " I wish you could understand that I don't "feel" okay and that I struggle daily.

13. I wish you knew that all of the grief reactions I'm having are very normal. Depression, anger, frustration, hopelessness, and overwhelming sadness are all to be expected. So, please excuse me when I'm quiet and withdrawn or irritable and cranky.

14. Your advice to "take one day at a time" is excellent advice. However, a day is too much and too fast for me right now. I wish you could understand that I'm doing good to handle an hour at a time.

15. I wish you understood that grief changes people. When my baby died, a big part of me died with her. I am not the same person I was before my baby died, and will never be that person again.

16. I wish very much that you could understand-understand my loss and my grief, my silence and my tears, my void and my pain. BUT, I pray that you will never understand.

Wednesday 7 April 2010

All the small things

I had concluded that G and I were the unluckiest people in the world.
No, really... Well, at least that I've ever met.

But, today, I won £30 of Morrison's vouchers so how about that then, eh?!
Then I lost H's car blanket. That was his first possession in SCBU. We would wrap him in it when we took him out of the cot. What is the sentimental value?
By the way, if you have recently lost a child on an Intensive Care Unit don't then watch a documentary about it. It's like pressing on a large purple-black bruise just to see if it still hurts. Which, of course, it does... a lot.
ditto spotting the local twins club get together in the park and not immediately walking away.

Friday 2 April 2010

One in a million

My son Elliot was one in a million.

What are the odds of having identical twins? About 3 in a 1000.
How many of those babies have growth problems? Less than half.
How many of those also have heart problems? A tiny proportion.
How many of those develop NEC and die at eleven days?

One in a million.

The Wriggler

And how many have an identical twin who is perfectly well?

The Smiler