I had a meeting with the bereavement support guy during the week. He has been great and through our meetings I got a lot of things off my chest that otherwise might not have found expression. I’ve also seen some aspects of what has happened to Littlegirl and the rest of us in a different light, so I’m armed with more tools to think about it all.
I didn’t arrange another meeting with him though. I found this week that I was almost making up answers to his questions because, relatively speaking, I feel ok these days. He said he saw no reason for me to come back – unless I wanted to – and that I can do so at any time. Which is great because you never know when grief is going to flare up again. I suppose it’s like malaria that way. It’s chronic.
Not that things are entirely rosy in the garden. Last week Irishmam had a scan, the first one of this pregnancy that I didn’t attend. We both get quietly apprehensive before these appointments, so she said she’d text me as soon as she had the scan while she was waiting to see the doctor.
The appointment was for half two, which in my mind meant I should hear from her about three. Did I? No.
I was sitting in a meeting when I noticed it was about a quarter past the hour and I still hadn’t heard anything. So I sent off a quick “What’s the story?” text and tried to take part in the discussion at hand.
But I wasn’t in the room anymore. I was somewhere between the 4th of December 2008 when I was expecting to hear from Irishmam any minute that everything was fine (it wasn’t) and picturing her in the present being sat down with a cup of sweet tea after being told that once again there was no heartbeat to be found.
My level of distraction got worse and worse until an unknown number rang my phone. This is it. It’s the doctor ringing me to tell me to get over there. fuck fuck fuck.
But it was her. She’d forgotten her phone. All was well.
This pregnancy is like a smooth long-haul flight…we know that flying is generally safe, but we’re the jumpy passengers that freak everyone else out. Every rumble of turbulence makes us thing we’re going down.
Unfortunately our last flight was smooth too but crashed on final approach…so I’m not sure we’ll be comfortable ’till we’re passing red-eyed through customs with nothing to declare.