Journey of a Soprano

Sunday, 12 March 2017 It's been quite the time between writings. Much has happened. Many maps have been traversed, pages turned, dog eared, smeared, pencil markings in the margins, chapters closed, and new ones begun. Even now, approaching two years on from the miscarriage, there are still days where it hurts. It's fresh again, and weeping around the edges. It traverses each cycle of the moon behind my eyelids, in that darkened space, healing but never forgetting. In September 2015 we were blessed with a second positive pregnancy test. We didn't dare to hope too hard. After being lulled into a false sense of security by all the symptoms the first time, it was impossible to relax. Every twinge, every tug, every wave of nausea on my morning bus trip, every painful ligament stretch could mean everything or nothing. I obsessively checked for blood, and yet was still afraid to breathe when nothing appeared. We had gone in for a reassurance scan at 7+6 weeks to make sur...

Tuesday, 18 August 2015 Every day, at some given point, sometimes multiple times, I react to no longer being pregnant. I know precisely, without calculating, that my miscarriage began 11 weeks ago this Thursday. I know, exactly, that I would be 22 weeks by now, able to discover our baby's gender if we had elected the option. I know my womb is empty every time I can order a glass of wine. I know my womb is a barren wasteland every time I don't have to consider the food in front of me. I know that I hate this. With a passion. A passion unbecoming the person I used to be before. Before. What I wouldn't give for before. I rarely talk about my experience, or my grief, any more, not even with my husband.  I know he hurts. I know that he finds some days more testing than others. I know he doesn't want to hurt me by showing his pain. I know he misses our little dot, and can't help but think about what would have been. But I don't want to bring down his e...

Thursday, 18 June 2015 Disclaimer: This blog post may contain description which could be graphic or distressing to readers. In the last two weeks I feel it's safe to say that my husband and I have encountered a number of crossroads whilst trying to overcome the miscarriage obstacle... Which direction do you choose to take in conversation? Which way do you respond at the rescan? Which choice do you make if they ask whether you want to see the ultrasound screen? Which choice do you make when given the "management" options? Which face do you pin on? At home? In hospital? In public? To friends? To family? Even harder, which face, if any face, do you pin on for each other? At the first sign of bleeding, at 2:50am on Thursday the 4th, I called my midwife service and was recommended to attend the A&E at my local hospital. Unfortunately, all they could do was have me checked over externally by an ED doctor and be referred to the Early Pregnancy Unit, as no i...

Monday, 8 June 2015 I've turned to writing as an emotional outlet many times throughout my life, and it seems apt that I return to it at this life-changing obstacle into which we've hurtled this week. On April 13, I was overwhelmed with surprise and overjoyed to find that the pregnancy test showed a positive result. Immediately incapable of stringing together a sentence, or breathing regularly, I managed to use a form of eyebrow raising and charades to tell my husband that I was pregnant ... in the thirty seconds we had at 5:49am before he left for the station to catch his train. Appropriately timed to a Blur song, like some of the best moments of our relationship, we shared the briefest exchange of joy. And now, in the aftermath of Thursday, I reflect on the irony of that brief exchange. Just like the brief exchange that was our impending excitement at being parents, right up until the moment that the bleeding started without notice, without pain ... Right up until t...