Closing my eyes for long enough, the splintered visions are there.
Glimpses of warmth: they seem teasingly real. The fleeting images are exquisite in their beauty. Simple images of soft baby skin and a grown manâ€™s joy. All too quickly, they disappear. The dream is an illusion. My reality becomes the nightmare.
Our second baby was due sometime in April. The precise date escaped my memory. Maybe it fled to the place where my assorted hopes and unrealised aspirations now hide? Continue reading Sometime in April
Does prolonged exposure to the rigours of infertility necessarily destroy a relationship?
Can love die for the want of a baby?
When hope is lost, what is left?
These last few months after loss have been unspeakably hard. So much has happened since another Baby Wobbles left us. It has largely been the same old by now very familiar drill: suppress all grief, anger and sadness. Just keep going regardless. Continue reading You Can’t IVF What You Want
‘Hold on to me!’ He said with some urgency.
So I did. More tightly than I could remember doing in any of the previous five years. Then I wept some more, thus continuing the pattern of virtually every day for the last four weeks.
I am at a loss to really explain to Wobbles what is going on. I feel fearful. I find it hard to imagine better times. I cannot seem to control my emotions. I am more anxious than I can ever recall.
There is worse still. I think I have reached that place I never thought I would. Continue reading Lifeslurper’s Tipping Point
Three days spent alone immediately after news of an early end to pregnancy is a sure-fire method to become acquainted with isolation.
My only direct communications were Wobblesâ€™ many phone calls and Twitter. There were three short impersonal calls from the nurse. I had single interactions with my mother, my GP and the woman at pathology. Continue reading What Becomes of the Broken ARTed?